Don't Apologize

Sho's eyes followed her as she walked across the set. The red kimono she wore flowed loosely around her legs, wider in the skirt and lower in front than traditional.. Her long, black Momiji ponytail lacked its typical stark leather band; instead, an ornate gold clasp fastened her hair high. A single press from his hand on the side release was scripted to bring her hair down in a shining tumble across bare shoulders. His hands shook slightly as he tried to force himself to walk across the set and greet her. But what was he supposed to say? Where would he even start?

Own it.

Sho worried at the sleeve of his own kimono. Tsk, he scolded himself. Creating drama where there was none. One conversation, that's all it was. Sure, she'd pulled him to pieces but it changed nothing about their relationship. She was still friggin' annoying, and he was still dominant. Friendship with her was a pipe dream.

And yet he stood there, watching her. It was she who held command over the set, chatting with the director about her cues, while he waited on the sideline. He couldn't help but recognize there was something different, something richer and deeper in her than he'd seen in her since they left Kyoto together. His bone and feather earring — a nod to his Prisoner MV— clinked against his shoulder as his head sank in thought. Sho almost ran his fingers through his hair but stopped himself in time before he messed up the intricate braid the stylist had woven down his back. He snarled. He couldn't decide if he loved his costume or hated it. The phoenix tattoo covering his back was sick, especially the way the fire from its tail wound around his side and down into the front of his pants. But white? He rubbed his thumb on the edge of his sleeve again. Seriously, white for Fuwa Sho? And this braid— the stylist had left his shaved sides as-is, choosing to weave into the pompadour a long, blond braid reaching all the way down his back. The only bright color in his entire outfit were the blood red feathers in the earring.

He'd written Chocolate to be about lust, but here he was wearing mourning colors with an emblem of death and rebirth twisting around his body. The symbolism stirred emotions all too similar to his conversation with Kyoko. He fidgeted, torn between stalking over and getting it done and tearing a path back to the costume department to demand changes.

His eyes connected with hers. Shit. He turned to leave. He wasn't ready for this. Kyoko's voice calling his name rang out clear across the set. Shit. Sho slowly turned and nodded at her, walking reluctantly to her side. He bowed to the director silently.

He saw Shoko raise an eyebrow in shock from behind the director and bared his teeth at her, daring her to comment. She just crossed her arms and smiled at him, popping a dark chocolate in her mouth. Sho swallowed, looking down at Kyoko. She had been so against the script when she first received it, but was now animatedly preparing for the call. Reserving all her drama for him when she could get away with it, just like some annoying kid sister.

The director hollered out for places and Sho slunk off to the side of the stage, still deep in thought. The first few seconds of film were solo Kyoko. His voiceovers would be added later, along with some cuts to the takes of him singing to be filmed in studio. He watched her curiously. Last time he'd seen her on set he'd been too preoccupied with the skill of Shizuma to really pay much attention to her character.

Kyoko's eyes were closed, her hands loose by her side. "Action!" rang out across the set and she swirled into sudden movement, flowing into a seamless kata of martial arts forms. She hit each new position with a beat and a breath, her body forming into the move for a heartbeat before releasing to reform for the next. Sand skittered around her bare feet as she spun gracefully, the red kimono flaring out at the waist with each crouch and kick. The director nodded at him in wordless signal when she reached the seventh form. Sho stepped forward.

He walked forward towards her, closing the distance incrementally as she continued to strike. He reached his hand up, ready to catch her final punch when "CUT" rang out over the stage.

"Fuwa, I need more power," the director called. "You are in control. Remember— this is about your capture and domination of Momiji by pure passion. When you approach her we need to feel that potential flowing from you."

Sho nodded and turned to walk back quickly, trying to keep his eyes from betraying his startlement. He'd obeyed the cue still thoroughly stuck in his own head. He had no idea the director could tell a difference merely in the way he walked. He retraced his steps and waited, trying to fill his mind with the right motivation. Dominance. Passion. The director nodded and called action again, studying the scene shown live on camera.

He clenched his hands in fists by his side, anchoring his jaw and staring her down as he paced forward. Just before he reached her side, the director called "Cut!" once more. "Sho," he called out. "Not anger - passion!" Kyoko looked up at him curiously.

She beckoned to him, keeping her voice low so only he could hear her. "Forget about our talk for now. Be the old you, it's what he wants for this take." Sho frowned at her.

"Old me?"

"Jerk. Cocky. Thinks every female on earth is in love with you, especially me. Determined to make me recognize your superiority and confident I won't be able to resist caving." She winked at him. Winked. Sho gritted his teeth, blowing air out between them to try and prevent himself from cursing at her.

"That's what you think of me?"

"Nope- that's who you were. Might still be. Up to you whether it's still true or not," she said, a soft smile on her face. "But it's definitely useful for what Director-sama wants in this take."

Sho gestured at her rudely to hide his discomfort at how calmly she flung harsh words at him. He was used to her ridiculous banter, but ever since that moment in the van she'd had a totally different tone with him. Where once she had been full of wrath, now she was more dispassionate. Calm. Self-assured. It made the words sink into his brain like a lobotomy. A dangerous one that caused leaky eyeballs. Sho stalked back to the side and nodded at the director that he was ready.

Kyoko started to move once more, her rhythm never faltering. Her eyes were focused and full of determination even though she was repeating the same actions over and over again because of him. He swallowed and forced himself to repeat her inane words. She's definitely in love with me. She will cave. She needs me. He stepped forward, letting his full weight rest on his foot before moving forward another step, his eyes fixated on Kyoko. She desperately needs me, even if she doesn't know it. He moved forward again, his hand raising slowly to the level of hers. I don't need her, but she needs me. He opened his palm in perfect timing to catch her punch as she turned. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire as their hands connected. She moved to jerk backwards but he countered before she could, pulling her fist forward to jerk her into him.

She spun, her back pressed against him as he held her arm tightly. Her free arm shot up, the elbow seeking to connect with his chin. He ducked, his face resting close to her bare neck. I don't need her, but I want to use her. The next movement was to shift left away from her head butt, pulling the upper hem of her kimono down some as he drew back, but he found himself frozen. "I want to use her" repeated in his head like a sick litany. "I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to stop himself from reverting back to their conversation on the balcony. "I'm doing it again." Kyoko jerked in surprise, her face turning towards him.

"Cut!" the Director growled. "Fuwa-san, there are no words there. Why are you whispering?" He tapped his fingers against his clipboard rapidly. "Again. Marks."

"Director-sama," Kyoko called out, her tone mild. "Could we take a short break?" The Director scowled at her for the further delay, but nodded. She grabbed Sho's shirt sleeve and pulled him off to the edge of the surf, far enough away from the crew that the waves would hide most of their conversation.

"Shoutaro," she started, but he waved dismissively at her.

"This is on me, not you. I'll get my head straight," he said, scowling at himself.

"I picked the wrong time to talk with you about everything," she said. "And for that, I'm sorry. But believe me, I don't want to spend one more minute out here filming this with you-especially that section-than I have to. So no, I'm not letting this be on you. We are figuring this out and you are not getting any more NGs."

Sho snarled at her, turning to walk away but she grabbed him by the shoulder, whipped him around to face her with a stumble, and slammed her foot into his shin. "SHO. TAR. O," she snapped. "You will NOT leave until you understand your role!"

He fell into a crouch, clutching his leg. "Damnit, Kyoko! Why always the shin?! There's even less padding there in this stupid outfit!" He wanted to sit down but feared the wrath of the costume department and stood to face her with a wince. "Maybe I just changed my mind! I don't want to do this to you anymore!"

"To me?" Kyoko asked, her face skewed in question.

"To- with- whatever," Sho said, waving away his slip. "I'm sorry. It isn't a good dynamic for us and not one I should have forced on you."

"Sorry doesn't matter here," Kyoko said, her voice firm. "Contracts have been signed. Crews have been paid for. There is an entire workforce here on location - a location which you demanded, need I remind you - and you are going to finish this job. Here. With me."

"But-"

"I know I am not your type of woman," Kyoko interrupted, her voice scathing. "And I can't imagine why you forced everyone into you and I doing this type of shoot unless it was to embarrass me by making that fact very, very clear." She leaned up towards him, her eyes fiery. "But let me make something very, very clear to you, Fuwa. I am a professional actress. I complete my jobs with excellence. This, today, with you-it's just another job. Don't get any ideas about this being something important or precious to me." She turned away from him to look out over the ocean. "And don't apologize again."

Sho stared at her. He took a step forward, unsure what he was going to say but wanting to clarify and to let her know that this wasn't about hurting her. The words stuck in his mouth. He couldn't tell her what it was actually about without telling her far, far too much about someone else's secrets. He clenched his hand in a fist by his side, his shoulders falling as he fought for answers.

"If you still can't do it because of how I look," Kyoko said, her voice venomous, "then try imagining me as someone else. Maybe someone with bigger boobs." The glare she shot him over her shoulder was full of scorn, but something shifted again when she saw his posture. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Let's just get this done, Shoutaro. Imagine me as whoever I need to be to make you want me." She smirked, sticking her tongue out at him. "As absolutely disgusting as that sounds. If it helps, I tell myself you're someone else too."

Sho coughed in surprise at her revelation. "S-someone else?" he stuttered.

Kyoko just smiled at him and walked back to set. "30 seconds to pick a person. Mimori-san would love the honor."