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When Utahime’s manager proposed the idea, she blanched. Obviously, she’s known forever that a good portion of the supposed passionate relationships between stars is often fabricated. One of her close friends, the television drama star Kento Nanami, is currently ‘dating’ a big-time American model, an agreement made in order to gain Kento connections to American television producers and for the model to break into the Japanese industry.
Perhaps Utahime is being presumptuous, but she hadn’t thought she needed something like that. She’s done well enough on her own, with her first album opening to quite a resounding success. She’s starred on a few comedy variety shows, done spreads, and has gone on two national tours. She didn’t think she needed the boost.
Especially not from Gojo Satoru.
Gojo Satoru is known for many things. His impeccable acting; his inhumanly good looks that required no surgery; his charm and enigmatic draw; and, most of all, his most recent scandal.
It had been all over the internet. The infamous video of Gojo being slapped silly by the granddaughter of Japanese politician Gakuganji Yoshinobu. The woman had been very clear about what angered her—infidelity.
Gojo hadn’t even tried to defend himself, a fact that Utahime is positive his manager had been tearing his hair out over, and soon was spotted with another woman. This time a brown-haired beauty, swapping cigarettes with her outside a club in Tokyo.
Utahime doesn’t know Gojo and has never had the chance to meet him even at the parties they’ve both frequented, but already he irritates her. If she had been caught cheating and then with another man so soon afterward, her career would have been ruined.
“I really don’t see how this can help me,” Utahime says.
Her manager, Nitta, explains, “Your album is streaming well but only in Japan. Gojo-san has an international rapport. If we can get the Twitter groupies talking about you, we can get your music some recognition.”
“But won’t it make me look like the next idiot hanging off his arm?”
“If he does anything stupid, it’ll just make you look more sympathetic. You have a reputation for being innocent and wholesome. Nobody will side with the man who breaks your heart.”
Sweetheart Hime, that’s what the media tends to call her. Thanks to her soft melodies of true love and devotion, and her dollish appearance, she’s been packaged neatly into a boxed stereotype. It doesn’t really bother her much. It sells and she gets to live her dream.
Well, sometimes it bothers her. Like when her producer scolds her for writing darker, rougher music when she ought to be “sticking to what she’s known for.”
“And what does he get out of it?”
“A better image. A few directors are threatening to kick him from their projects if he keeps this up. They respect his talents, but they aren’t willing to take on the bad publicity.”
Utahime hums noncommittally and leans back in her seat, tapping her fingers against her Cherry Coke can. She doesn’t like it, but the help with marketing her music would be beneficial.
Nitta smiles at her, “The president said she likes the idea.”
“Mei Mei likes the idea of me making her more money.”
The two women giggle together, and then Utahime sighs in resignation, “Alright, I’m game. What’s the worst that can happen?”
The ‘first date’ takes place at an upscale restaurant hand-picked by the label’s PR team. A well-known, romantic spot with large windows and sprawling outside seating. The perfect place for the paparazzi to capture pictures of stars to sell to shitty tabloids.
She’s dressed in a simple yellow sundress, aligning with her public image of daintiness, and her hair has been piled into a gorgeous updo complete with a pretty white bow. Her staple.
Makes it easy for the paparazzi to spot her.
Gojo Satoru, for his credit, is the pinnacle of class. Clean, pressed slacks and a light blue button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his enviable pale skin. Since they sit outside, he wears expensive sunglasses, letting them slide down the straight bridge of his nose so that his bright blue eyes peek at her over the rims.
“‘Hime-chan?” he greets as he approaches, an easy smile on his glossy lips.
Her own lips twist into a disapproving frown, “A little inappropriate for first meetings, don’t you think?”
“But we have met before. Smile!” He grabs her elbows, his touch light. His fingers are so gentle on her that she could easily pull away if she so wished. Genially, he presses a fleeting, chaste kiss to her cheekbone.
In her ear, he whispers, “They’re already watching. I know you’re no actor, but surely you can do better than this?”
Suppressing the urge to step on his foot, Utahime returns the gesture, having to raise up on her toes to reach the high of his sculpted cheeks. To her irritation, her traitorous heart skips a beat. Being a public figure, her label has explicitly forbidden her from relationships. She hasn’t been so close to a man in…well, she can’t even remember. She hardly counts her father and younger brothers.
When she pulls back, Gojo is grinning mischievously at her. He drops his hands from her elbows yet remains close. She has to crane her neck to maintain eye contact.
“Was that so hard, beautiful?” He teases, and she notices that his cheeks dimple when he smiles.
“I didn’t come here to flirt, Gojo-san.”
He chuckles, low and masculine, obviously amused by her attitude, and rounds the table to pull out her chair for her. “Oh? I thought we came here for a date?”
She takes a seat and he pushes her in before taking the seat across from her. Immediately a waiter approaches, placing tall glasses of water on the table. He looks politely unimpressed by them, more than used to the presence of celebrities at the restaurant.
“A bottle of champagne,” Gojo says to him. The waiter hurries away after voicing the usual pleasantries.
Gojo smiles at her and she folds her hands into her lap. Once she is sure the waiter is out of earshot, she says, “We came here for business. Let’s discuss the contract.”
“Ugh, so-o boring,” he waves her off, “Legal’s already taken care of all that. Let’s talk about you. ”
She scrunches her nose in dissatisfaction. “You do know this isn’t an actual date, right?”
He snorts, “Trust me, Sweetheart ‘Hime, I wouldn’t be caught dead with a nobody if I could help it.”
Her face burns at the insult. “I am not a nobody,” she hisses.
“You are compared to me.”
“I-”
“I know you’ve been trying to break into the acting scene. It isn’t going so smoothly, is it?”
His words shock her into uneasy silence. How does he know that? The question must show on her face, for he laughs at her. “I’ve got friends in low places. Let me give you some advice-”
“Didn’t ask for it.”
“-be more dynamic. You’re a real uptight little thing, y’know? That’s what they say about you. So hot, yet so cold. ”
She fists the fabric of her skirt in her shaking hands. How she wants to shout her response—but no. She must maintain her cool. Utahime takes a long, calming breath through her nose, and Gojo watches her all the while, smirking softly. To outsiders, it might’ve looked like they were two lovers staring into each other’s eyes.
The waiter reappears, swiftly pouring them two glasses of bubbling champagne, “May I take your order?”
Utahime goes to answer but Gojo beats her. He smiles dazzlingly at the man, whose face tinges with red, and Utahime withholds an eye roll. Not even other men are safe from Gojo’s incredible charisma. “The lamb puffs here are to die for, ‘Hime-chan. She’ll take an order.”
Annoyed, Utahime snaps, “I’m perfectly capable of ordering for myself.” Remembering that, yes, this is supposed to be a date, and the waiter is eyeing her curiously now, she plasters on one of her award-winning smiles and simpers, “ Darling. ”
See? She can act, god damn it.
Gojo’s mouth twitches in amusement, “Ah, yes, sorry.” He chuckles with the waiter, “I’m always trying to impress her. Oftentimes I just look a fool.”
Damn, he’s good. Anyone who heard that would think the man’s in love with her. It irritates her. Even more aggravating is that she has heard of the lamb puffs and does want to try them, but now she can’t or else she’ll lose to this grating sense of competition that’s rising in her chest.
She doesn’t get why Gojo immediately sets her on edge. He hasn’t been rude to her, apart from the nobody comment. Maybe it’s the fact that, even with the slight breeze that tangles in her hair, his remains entirely immaculate.
“I’ll have a lunch portion of the spring salad.” She orders, already regretting it the moment the words leave her mouth. A salad to match her image, even though she’d much rather be drinking beer than champagne and eating those stupid lamb puffs instead of rabbit food.
“What the lady’s havin’,” Gojo says with a wink, and the waiter scurries off. He turns back to Utahime and raises an eyebrow, “You’re so skinny, a salad is the last thing you need.”
“I certainly did not ask you to comment on my body.”
“You make me sound like an ass.”
“Perhaps because you are being one?”
Gojo laughs, again. “Man, your mouth really doesn’t match your face. Here I thought I’d walk aaaaallll over Sweetheart ‘Hime.”
She shrugs. “You can’t be a pushover in the idol industry.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Gojo sighs and leans forward to rest his chin in his palm. She recalls that he had once been in an idol group. Some rock band that actually did quite well, before the members had quite the public falling out and Gojo broke off to go solo. “I don’t miss it.”
“It isn’t so bad. I only have to eat what they say I can eat, wear what they say I can wear, and date who they say I must date.” She knows she sounds stuck up, just like he accused her of being. People would kill to be in her shoes. She remembers the training, how girls and boys would destroy their bodies, cut up their faces, sell their innocence, all for the chance of being a star. She’s lucky. She’s privileged. Yet here she is, complaining.
However, Gojo simply nods his head when she thinks that he might call her out on it. “Trust me, I remember.”
Because of his shades, his eyes are hidden from her, but somehow she gets the impression that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Taking the hint, she drops it, switching gears to a new topic.
“Truthfully, I’m not very hungry. A salad will be fine.” She says. The soft wind flutters through her hair and her bow brushes against her bare shoulders.
“Why? Nervous?” He quips.
“You’re not?”
“To meet you? No. I’ve heard so much about you, felt like I already knew you.”
She frowns, “How so?”
He smiles, this time authentically, “A friend of mine is a big fan. She’s been begging me to use my connections to get an autograph from you for months.”
A rush of pleasure makes her smile despite herself. Though she had met a multitude of fans, she has never gotten over how touching it is to be appreciated. Gojo cocks his head at her happy expression, thoughtfulness crossing his face, and he continues, “Of course, I don’t know you. Just Sweetheart ‘Hime. Iori Utahime is a mystery.”
She suddenly finds it difficult to maintain eye contact. She brings her champagne flute to her lips and takes a slow sip. It’s good because, of course, Gojo would have good taste, even if he hasn’t touched his glass once. “Not much to know. I’m her all the time.”
“Her?”
“Sweetheart ‘Hime.”
“Surely there are times when you aren’t?”
She thumbs the flute, nervous suddenly, unsure if she should respond how she wants to. It’s entirely too easy to speak to Gojo. She hates that his charm seems to be working on her, too. Another idiot. Raising her shoulders in another, decidedly unladylike, shrug, Utahime says, “At home. By myself. Or, when I have to sit across from nosy, obnoxious men.”
He laughs, this time loudly enough that other patrons look their way, and he says, “I’ll give you that, I am being nosy. Just trying to get info for my friend. I’ll charge her a premium for it.”
Despite herself, she snorts in amusement. “Don’t do that, I’ll feel guilty helping you con her. Maybe you can bring her the next time we meet.”
Surprised, Gojo asks, “Ya sure? I never meet my fans outside of events. They can get a little wild.”
“Well, she’s your friend before she’s my fan, so I think I can trust it.”
“Ah, starting to open up to me, ‘Hime-chan?”
She rolls her eyes, “Hardly. I just might as well get a friend out of this arrangement if I can.”
“You’ll like her,” he reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. After swiping through it for a few seconds, he shows her the screen. She leans across the table to get a better look. To her surprise, the woman on the screen is the very same woman that Gojo had been sighted with outside the club right after the incident with Gakuganji’s granddaughter. A beautiful, pale woman with straight brunette hair and smokey eyes.
“Name’s Shoko. I’ll bring her next time.”
“Just your friend?” She asks, “You were spotted with her outside a club after your very public breakup.” While she doesn’t say it, they both see the insinuation that this Shoko might be the woman he cheated on Gakuganji’s granddaughter with.
Gojo huffs, his smile falling for the first time since they sat down, and he says, “First of all, don’t believe everything you see online. I couldn’t cheat on her because we were never in a relationship to begin with. We fucked once and she clung to me at parties.”
“Wow, what a gentleman.”
“Don’t give me that, a little fun between consenting adults is perfectly legal.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t believe that we weren’t together, do ya?”
Remarkably, she actually does believe him. “No, I do. I’ve had my fair share of people who couldn’t catch a hint, too. Usually, they’re producers, not the granddaughters of prominent politicians, but I digress.”
“I didn’t know she was Gakuganji’s until after we hooked up. It was a party, she was another faceless blonde in the crowd.”
“You’re a pig, you know that?”
“Kinder words have never been said to me, ‘Hime-chan.”
“Anyway, so, let me guess, she followed you around expecting something, then caught you screwing someone else?”
Gojo gasps, putting a hand over his mouth, “Language!”
“Oh, shut it. What happened?”
Chuckling, Gojo continues, “Nah, she caught me with Shoko. And before you give me that look, no, I have never and will never fuck Shoko.” He gives a theatrical full-body shudder. “I would rather dip my balls in molten gold.”
“Then maybe they’d be more valuable than they are now.” Utahime teases before she can stop herself.
Once again, Gojo laughs, and her chest heats at the fact that she’s managed to make him laugh twice now. It’s a struggle to ignore how handsome he is when alight with humor.
“Anyways—no, Shoko had stayed over at my place. She’s a med student so sometimes she crashes after late-night studying. I don’t know how, but that psycho got my personal address. She showed up at seven in the morning and the rest is history.”
Utahime scrunches her face in disgust, her previous horrible image of Gojo swiftly fading away. “Ugh, how awful. Now you’re-”
“Yup, a cheater, but what else is new.” He shrugs as if the publicity could hardly matter.
“What about your address leaking? Aren’t you worried she’ll dox you?”
“Awh, ‘Hime, are ya worried about me?” He asks with a dramatic flourish, pursing his lips in a pout and batting his eyelashes. When she only raises an eyebrow at him, he drops the pout and begins to play with his glass. “Nah. My lawyers have already taken care of her. In addition to this date, my manager is also moving forward with charges of defamation against the news outlets that labeled me without concrete proof.”
She nods, a breath of relief escaping her. “Good. I’m sure they’ll settle quickly.”
“And publicly.”
“Even better.”
“Speaking of public…” His eyes jump to somewhere just over her shoulder, “Paparazzi’s finally arrived.”
Utahime doesn’t bother looking, deciding to instead play the part of a doting lover by keeping her gaze on his face. “Wonderful.” She hates those damn pests but they have their uses.
The waiter returns to drop their salads. When Gojo doesn’t even look at him this time, he visibly deflates. As much as Gojo is known to be a flirtatious playboy, he is a professional first. He only has eyes for Utahime, and she feels the full weight of them as she pushes her spinach around her bowl.
“So…you doin’ anything after this?” He asks casually.
Fork pausing as it’s raised to her lips, she asks, “Why?”
“Being on a date with Sweetheart ‘Hime is nice. But hanging out with Iori Utahime sounds even better. How about it?”
She lowers her fork, fighting back the blush that threatens to overtake her face. “...alone?”
He snorts, “Nah. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to screw you. Thought maybe you could meet Shoko. Get that friend you wanted out of this.”
A friend…perhaps even two… does sound nice.
“And we can get pizza and beer. Not this crap.”
She visibly perks up and he grins. Looking away bashfully, Utahime says, “The salad isn’t that bad…but that can be arranged.”
Gojo leans back in his chair, watching her with obvious excitement in his eyes, “Y’know, ‘Hime, I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”