That Is Not Love
Kyoko realizes that Sho doesn't know the meaning of love, and maybe she never did either. Sho realizes that sometimes a prince is really a toad in disguise, and he didn't even know it.
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"Huh?" he said, confused. He gave a tiny shake of his head to clear her words and the resulting confusion away and began again. "I said I need you, Kyoko. I need your passion, and your support, and your beauty-"
"How can a plain, boring-" she interrupted angrily, eyes flashing in the sunlight before her lids narrowed on them dangerously.
He ignored it and continued on as surely as a steamroller. "-as my inspiration. You are my muse." He reached toward her hands again, to take them and draw her near, to let her bask in his presence the way she used to. They were secluded, surrounded by large boulders that almost formed walls around them, set at uneven distances from each other. No one could see them, and they couldn't see the rest of the cast, some distance away. No distractions.
"Why can't some other girl be your muse?" Her jaw clenched, and she took a step back and to the side, shifted her weight so she was just out of reach, as if knowing he wouldn't press the issue if he had to try to hard—that would be so uncool of him. Her hip jutted out to one side, and she placed her hand on it challengingly. With her styled hair and her pose, he looked at her and saw Natsu for a moment. Natsu, who was no man's plaything, was a dangerous exciting girl. Who knew her soul was housed in Mogami Kyoko's body?
But no matter; underneath it all was the girl who had adored him all through her childhood, when he was the only friend she had. She wouldn't throw that away, would she?
"They aren't as interesting as you," he answered dismissively, when he remembered to answer at all. 'Save the staring for another time,' he chided himself. 'So uncool.' Her school uniform was accentuating all the right previously-unappreciated areas, but there was time to explore that later.
Her mouth opened and closed for a moment, half-forming words she didn't vocalize, and she closed her eyes, her head lowering. She sighed. Natsu left completely as her shoulders hunched forward in that familiar posture that she got when she was simply done arguing about something. The light in the deserted clearing filtered through the treetops and still managed to highlight her hair as a few strands fell forward to mask her face.
He smiled, thinking it hadn't even taken all of the fifteen minutes of rest time the director had allowed when he'd shown up at her set, not knowing they were using the same location he was at to stimulate his genius as a spot for a special episode, and had spotted her just leaving for her break. He and Kyoko were clearly fated. They'd separated for a time, to allow each other to grow (him in fame, her in personality), but the cosmos obviously wanted them together.
And deep down, he knew Kyoko did, too. Why else had she worked so hard to get him to notice her? Well, he had now, and was more than willing to reconsider her.
He jumped a little, jarred from his triumphant thoughts, when Kyoko spoke in a low, quiet voice. "Is that what you think love is?"
He stared at her as blankly as he had two minutes ago, when she'd asked him contemptuously what he knew about love, after his declaration of his feelings for her. "What are you talk—"
"Me, supporting you? That's love?" Her face was unemotional, her bearing reverting back to that blank, attitude-cloaking hostess-stance she'd often used at his parents' inn. Her hands clasped before her lap in an oddly formal gesture at odds with their emotionally-charged conversation. "What about you supporting me?"
His brow wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean? You don't need me to support you. You have jobs again, and…friends, I guess. You've never needed my support." It twisted his lips a little unpleasantly to admit this, but it's not like she hadn't been trained to her role, and he to his—and he was not meant to be anyone's cheerleader.
Impatiently, he stepped forward and reached for her hands, tugging one loose and holding it tightly. "Kyoko, you wanted my attention. Now you have it. What more do you want?" he asked, annoyed.
"What do I want…?" she repeated tonelessly.
"I'm telling you everything you wanted to hear. It's not like I couldn't be saying this to some other girl, right now," he added. "I want you."
"Yes, you could be saying it to some other girl," she agreed slowly, not reacting to his touch, which was unusual for her, but at least she seemed to be coming to her senses. Or he thought she was, until she continued with, "and that's the problem."
"What?"
"I don't want to be just some girl to…the one I want. Easily exchangeable."
"Kyoko—"
"Do you know my favorite food?" she asked suddenly, an odd light in her eyes, as if she had suddenly come back to herself. She pulled her hand away.
"What-?" he said randomly, started by the change in topic.
"My favorite movies, TV show, song? Who my friends are, what I like to do for fun?"
'Fun?' Listening to him, surely, in her spare time…was this a trick question?
"How I'm doing at my jobs, why I like each particular role?"
"Of course not, you don't talk to—"
"You don't listen," she interrupted harshly, jerking her hand back, "even when I do talk to you. You only hear what you want to hear, Shotaro."
He rolled his eyes at her melodrama, but she wasn't done. She seemed to advance on him without moving, her voice rising in volume and power without rising in pitch, echoing around him. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. It was like she was releasing some malevolent force on him, without a single chant or hand-motion.
"Can I come to you with my problems? Will you even hear me? Do you even care? Do you?"
He stared at her wide-eyed.
She withdrew her forcefulness, withdrawing into herself again, and shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. "You don't know me, Fuwa-san."
He flinched, still confused by the mysterious air about her that'd he'd never felt before.
"And you surely don't know the first thing about love."
His lips parted to make some reply, but his voice had left him. She eyed him with cold disdain, the true source of Natsu's derisive disregard for those around her feed by her feelings toward him.
Natsu's dissatisfaction with everyone had been growing, her boredom harder and harder to alleviate, on the show; did that mean Kyoko's scorn for her him had been growing as well? Could he not jump-start her emotional roller-coaster any time he wanted to, anymore? Didn't he still have the power to move her whenever he wanted to? Didn't she know he was his to touch whenever he wanted, that no one else was to have this power over her?
He realized by the ricochets of fragmented words bouncing off the stones that he had been speaking his fear out loud.
She didn't change expression as she said, "No," so easily and simply.
They stared at each other for a few minutes, uncertain of what was going to happen next. Finally, he asked in a small voice that was unsure, and not used to defeat, "What do you want from me?"
What did it mean, that someone could say no to him? If the one who'd adored him most didn't want him anymore…?
Now she looked away, staring blankly to her left, thinking it over very carefully.
"Do you know," she said in an almost affable voice, "that Ren knows what my favorite food is?" She blinked, put her hand to her mouth in an action of self-censure. He wasn't sure what to think about the casual way she'd slipped up there. "I mean, Tsuruga-san," she corrected herself, not noticing his briefly appalled look. "He knows all about my roles and how I feel about them, and about how important Moko-san is to me."
Who?
"He asked me," she clarified. "He wanted to know how I was, all those times he called."
ALL those times? How many—
"I don't know why he cares," she continued slowly. "But I think…I think he wants to be my friend," her tone went thoughtful, musing over a fact she didn't seem to find shocking or unpleasant at all.
His mouth dropped open at her naivety, unable to find words.
"After you threw me away—and don't deny it, Fuwa," she said threateningly when she saw the denial forming on his face—"I didn't know why anyone would want to waste their time on me. But it seems like a lot of people do. I'm very grateful to them. Especially to Tsuruga-san, who has helped me so much, even when it was an inconvenience to him.
"You see, if you ever by some random chance become as famous as him, you still would be you, underneath, no matter how you act in public. He treats everyone beneath him kindly, even though he doesn't have to. Even me. But you?" She reached out as if to touch his cheek, then slowly wagged her forefinger in front of his face in a no-no gesture. "You would still throw people away. Because that is who you are." Her finger pointed directly at his face, directing the missile of her truthful words to their target.
She shrugged, half-turning away from him, head tilting thoughtfully. "How could I love someone like that?"
"Kyoko…" he said but trailed off, not knowing what to say, hands clenching defensively, instinctively. But he would never dare risk hitting her again, his anger held back just enough by the shame of that memory.
"I think," she continued, "if I had a choice, I would want someone like him, over someone like you. I don't think he loves me either. But he would never treat me the way you did." She seemed to think that over, an odd wondering expression crossing her face, before she nodded to herself. She turned back to him and gave him a formal bow.
"Fuwa-san, thank you for all that your family has done for me. And for giving me the push to get into this business." He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "And now, Fuwa-san, you are dead to me as a friend, as a prince, and as a rival. Please think of us as only ex-childhood-friends, who no longer speak to one another familiarly, and have nothing to do with one another."
She rose. "I have to get back to work."
His control snapped, and he caught her wrist as she made to leave, yanking her back to him. "You think you can dismiss me that easily? What if I say we're not done?" Her eyes had widened in surprise, and it encouraged him. "What if I say I want more?"
And he pressed his lips to hers once again, to remind her of her passion for him, incorrectly labeled as hatred, but still, all for him. He had to make her see…
Her lips were unresponsive, in shock, no doubt. But the biggest surprise was when he pulled away and saw her face was uncaring as well. He gaped at her lack of reaction, and she took the opportunity to place one hand on his chest and push off from him. He let her go automatically.
She snorted at him, unimpressed. "Please, Fuwa-san. Don't think a mere kiss could change my mind. Don't you know the rule of the heart?" The what…? "The important thing is not who gives me kisses, but whose kisses I accept, as Mogami Kyoko. And to whom I give them to." Her eyes sparked briefly, and a hint of venom appeared in her tone. "And I will never give mine to you."
"Stop calling me Fuwa-san," he replied childishly, unable to make any sense of her heart-rule and stung by her response. No one denied him. He was Fuwa Sho! She was just trying to keep the upper hand.
"If you call me anything other than Mogami-san, I will no longer react," she said decisively, making a hand-washing gesture, declaring herself through with him. "And you do not have permission to call me Kyoko.
"Good-bye, Fuwa-san."
He followed her, completely thrown by her lack of reaction. "You can't do this, Kyoko!" No answer. He grabbed her arm, effectively stopping her before she could make it out of the circle of rocks and escape the clearing. "I won't let you."
He spun her, grabbed her by both shoulders. "Look at me!" See me…
"I apologize, Fuwa-san," she said flatly, "for what I am about to do. A woman must defend herself when she feels attacked."
And with that, she brought her knee up to his groin with enough force to dent a wall. Dropping soundlessly to his knees, his lips in an "oh" of shock and pain, he didn't even notice her leave. He dimly heard her words through his haze of pain. "I am not a possession, Fuwa-san, or an animal you can push around until you get your way. And I don't want to be your cheerleader-doll just because you need someone to do that and you think it should be me. That is not love."
He didn't know how long he stayed like that, bent over, hands clasping himself protectively far too late, forehead resting on the cold dirt, butt up in the air. At last he was able to settle back on his bottom, and became aware of a masculine presence at his side when the tears stopped flowing and the blurs at his side formed into shoes.
His head jerked up, halfway expecting to see Tsuruga's fist come flying at his face. Instead he met the cool gaze of a bespectacled man with brown hair in a perfectly tailored grey suit.
"Good afternoon, Fuwa-san," the man said in a dual-colored tone; at first, it seemed perfectly bland and businesslike. But the more one heard of it, the more one noticed the underlying black hardness. "It seems you have once again been stalking our little Kyoko-chan."
His voice hadn't returned yet, so he shook his head in denial.
"What I saw," the man continued, "was you dragging her into a secluded spot and attempting several times to physically over-power her, at one point attempting to sexually harass her. Luckily, Kyoko-chan has been learning to defend herself for one of her roles. But how would it look to your fans to know you are a sexual deviant?"
Even if he had been able to talk, he'd be speechless, gaping up at the man. Exaggeration! Lies! Threats!
"I think we can forget about this unfortunate incident," the man continued, and Sho placed him at last as the manager of his most hated rival, Tsuruga, "provided you agree to stay away from Kyoko-chan from here on out."
"Urgghhh" Sho croaked, face contorting with anger. Blackmail!
Suddenly the manager had dropped to one knee and grabbed his chin, forcing Sho to meet his eyes, which had turned so deadly cold Sho almost felt coated in a layer of ice. "You will not inflict your presence on Kyoko-chan, you will not call her, you will not spread rumors about her, you will not do anything to damage her reputation in any way or pretend to have a relationship with her." Without releasing him, he raised a gloved hand to show Sho an image on his cell-phone; it appeared to be a video, paused right as he was grabbing Kyoko's arm and twisting her about to face him. It also showed him what he hadn't seen before—the flash of fear in Kyoko's eyes as he manhandled her.
It felt like she'd returned and kicked him in the stomach, too. 'Oh.'
The manager let go of him and stood up, wiping his hand on his trousers and brushing off the dirt from his knee. "Now, whenever you get the urge to bother Kyoko-chan, you just think about this video, safe in my hands," he said pleasantly. "I'll take very good care of it, Fuwa-san, just as I will of Kyoko-chan."
The threat needed no further explaining; manager-san would go to the media if he needed to, to protect Kyoko's reputation if Sho tried to say or do anything damaging to her.
"Now, do excuse me, Fuwa-san; I was just passing through and have business I must attend to," manager-san said pleasantly, and spun on his heel, continuing on his way and following the direction Kyoko had gone. It didn't even occur to Sho to wonder if he was somehow managing Kyoko too or if for some reason Tsuruga was here.
He just sat there in the dirt, wondering for the first time if maybe, just maybe, he'd wrong about a lot of things.
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A/N: I despise Sho. I wrote this sometime after the forced kiss, I don't know how long ago. Posting before my computer dies...