DISCLAIMER: SKIP BEAT! and its associated characters are the creations of Yoshiki Nakamura. This author claims no ownership of Skip Beat or any of its characters. All other rights reserved.
Note: This is a reaction fic to Chapter 309.
Word: The word-prompt for this one-shot is 'Criticize.'
People Will Say We're In Love
Don't take my arm too much
Don't keep your hand in mine
Your hand feels so grand in mine
People will say we're in love…
"Mogami-san?"
"Yes?"
"Afterwards…may I have a moment of your time?" Ren Tsuruga was looking at her earnestly. "We need to talk."
"Y-y-es," she said. Of course. From the way he was acting, it wasn't about work—he wouldn't have needed to talk to her privately about that. Then what was it? Could he have heard her telling Koga-san she hated him?! Was he upset? Ever since he'd confessed, she hadn't known exactly how to interpret his actions. He owed her no explanations, and yet he'd called to explain the new pictures of him and Kana in the tabloids. And he'd explained the necklace, and then that shameless bit of flirting in the stairwell—!
Oh no. He was upset, wasn't he?! What had she done? And yet she couldn't very well tell Koga the truth, could she? The man was already too perceptive as he was. Difficult as it was to dissemble, she had to do it. Surely Tsuruga-san could understand that. But she knew how hopeless he was about matters of the heart…
She fell to the ground, frustrated.
"Kyoko-chan, are you ready for your scene?" The director's voice interrupted her thoughts. "And don't despair! Remember, it's you who makes True despair."
Kyoko bowed and nodded her head in agreement. Of course. She needed to get into character. Moko was waiting for her, and they were to shoot a whole scene together. She smiled and joined Moko, who smiled back.
"READY! AAACTION!" the director said.
And they were off.
=.=.=.=
The scene went well. Everyone said so—Kyoko hadn't even noticed the crowd gathering to watch her and Moko do their wirework stunt fight. Evidently, both Moko and Yashiro had noticed her lack of reaction to the skin-tight supervillain costume she'd been asked to wear. Yashiro looked downright disappointed at her equanimity. But it was, as she reasoned, far more cover than Setsu had. AND Liar didn't have piercings, so really—wasn't it a softer look?
Kyoko had just changed back into her street clothing and was exiting the dressing room when she felt his presence looming by the door.
"Tsuruga-san?" she asked.
Ren had been waiting by Kyoko's door since seeing Kotonami-san leave. He wanted to catch her alone, and the watchful eyes of her best friend would have been awkward, to say the least. "I thought perhaps we could grab dinner?" he responded. He raised an eyebrow as her eyes narrowed at him.
"Only because Yashiro-san asked me to make sure you ate tonight," she said. "He said you'd be finished around the same time I would be, and then he said he had an appointment so he wouldn't be able to accompany us." She blushed as she said the last words. She remembered what Ren had said about Yashiro—that the manager thought they were truly dating.
Inwardly, Ren thanked Yashiro for having thought of it. The man was a godsend, truly. "Shall we go to that diner you like?" he asked.
She was walking alongside him primly, her back ramrod straight, clutching her back in front of her with both hands on its handle. She looked calm and composed, and Ren wondered, not for the first time, whether he affected her at all. "Last time we were there, people recognized you," she said. "Wouldn't it be troublesome if you were spotted?"
He looked away, abashed. The last time they were there, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the restaurant. He hadn't quite realized what his feelings were for Kyoko, but even then he'd been fixated on her. Having just realized she was his little playmate by the stream recast her in another light. Things which he'd perceived as odd became adorable, things which had puzzled him became clear. But she was right—he did vaguely remember a table full of girls tittering nearby, and Kyoko's subsequent grudge deployment. "I guess you're right," he responded. He was feeling somewhat disappointed that he wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing her eyes light up over a plate of hamburger steak. "Where, then? Shall I choose a place?" He was considering taking her to one of those nicer, more discreet restaurants in Roppongi. He hadn't ever bothered before, but he was sure Yashiro would know people who knew people.
Kyoko nodded her head. "You'll need to choose someplace that can give you a nutritious but balanced meal, Tsuruga-san," she said.
"Chez d'Antibes," he suggested. He wasn't sure whether she would've heard of it—it was Tokyo's newest Michelin-starred restaurant, expensive and glamorous and dark, with enough space between the tables to keep them relatively incognito.
Kyoko tilted her head for a moment. "It sounds expensive," she responded, "and it's French. They'll be using too much butter—"
So she hadn't heard of it, then. He filed that thought away for later—perhaps someday, he really would take her there.
He tried again. "Jade Palace?"
"Taisho says the owner of that place is a jerk. Hmm…"
Ren paused for a second, took a look at her, and decided to go for it. "Well…"
Was he really going to do this?
"You could cook," he blurted out. There, he'd done it. Funny—mere months ago, he'd thought nothing about having Kyoko come to his condo, cook a meal, and stay the entire night in his guest bedroom. But now? Now, asking felt like propositioning her.
But Kyoko merely hmmed, and Ren felt a small thrill of hope. "I suppose I could," she said. "Yashiro-san did say I needed to make sure you ate a healthy dinner."
It was Kyoko's turn to avert her eyes as Ren lit up with that smile. She wanted to tell him to stop it—what if people came and saw him looking like that? She was aware that perhaps she shouldn't assent so quickly to cooking for him, but what was the big deal? She didn't mean anything by it, did she? No, no, she was coming over just as a friend. The fact that her heart was pounding was irrelevant. The fact that they'd be alone together again was irrelevant. The fact that she was aware of his presence around her constantly was irrelevant. After all, she'd been taking over his kitchen since she joined the LoveMe section. And they'd lived together! Of all things—
"Great!" he said, and then sobered. He had to control his enthusiasm. Somehow the idea of accompanying Kyoko to the supermarket in his building seemed far more appealing than any dressed-up romantic date out on the town. "Shall we?"
They started down the hallway, unaware that they had matched their strides with each other. Koga had left moments before, otherwise he might have noticed how Ren's arm had a tendency of being there to protect Kyoko from things like…chairs that might have been left in her way, or even wires from the suspension rigs the special effects team had installed. They were on their way to Ren's car, which had been parked a block away in a parking garage. They'd have to walk.
=.=.=
"Oh!" Kyoko was looking up in dismay from the awning that sheltered the studio doors. An uncharacteristic rain was pouring from the sky. Tsuruga-san's hair! His suit! Surely she couldn't allow him to get wet, not like this. "I have an umbrella," she said, rummaging in her purse. "Here—please take it."
She handed him the umbrella—predictably, it was one with fairies and flowers on it. What had seemed so normal in her hands now seemed comically small in his large ones and she felt herself flush at the sight of it, as if imagining it was her he was holding instead of her umbrella. Stop it, Kyoko, she told herself. Neither of us want to be anything more to each other than what we already are. Still, she couldn't help but peek up at him, watching his deft hands undo the little clasp that held the umbrella furled and then extend the umbrella upwards. He held the umbrella aloft, a funny pink thing above his stylish head, and stepped out into the rain.
Kyoko was about to run after him when he turned and held out a hand to her. "If we're careful, we'll be ok," he said.
She took his hand and for a second felt a spark flash between them. She didn't have to wonder how her umbrella felt in his hand now. His palm was dry and warm, and she felt his fingers curl over hers gently. The gesture sent her pulse racing. It felt intimate and possessive, and yet his hand exerted no pressure on hers. And though they'd spent entire weeks holding hands as the Heels, this felt new and dangerous. Nothing was ever really casual with him anymore, was it? She heard her blood rushing in her ears. Things that she'd been able to dismiss not-so-long-ago as Tsuruga-isms now took on new meanings. What did he mean by holding out his hand like that?
She was aware that the raindrops were falling on his sleeve and on her hand, and before she could think to resist, he'd brought her close to him and brought his arm around her waist. He'd put a coat flap over her body. She gave a small, shocked gasp, but he just chuckled. "If we stand closer underneath the umbrella, neither one of us will get wet," he explained. "Because it's too small to keep both of us covered side-by-side."
Kyoko's face was a flaming red. Flustered, she shook her head in assent. They'd been this close before, too, and not just as the Heels. He'd held her close to protect her from the crowd, the first day she'd started as his substitute manager. She could smell him—he smelled clean, with a hint of sandalwood. The hand around her waist tightened as she clung to him under the rain. When she looked up, she found him looking down. Their eyes met and for a second she felt it again—the feeling of falling from the sky, without cushion or parachute—
A car's horn broke their moment, and Ren found himself clearing his throat. "We'd better start walking," he choked out. Having her look up at him with those wide, starry golden eyes was too much. Even if the curtain of rain protected them from the prying eyes of the public, they were still too exposed out here. He wasn't sure he could keep himself from kissing her. And he wanted ever so badly to kiss her. He'd kissed her before, of course. There was that infamous 'thank you kiss' for that wonderful gelee she'd made him, and then Corn's kiss in Guam. But she hadn't been a participant in either of those kisses. They'd been fleeting, shallow things. What he wanted—what he needed—was not his lips on hers, but hers on his.
Kyoko looked away from him. Goosebumps were rising all over her body. How could she help it, with his arm around her waist like that? "Yes, let's go," she responded. Her words sounded far away. "If you stay out here, you might get sick again."
"It wouldn't be so bad if you took care of me like you did last time," Ren said.
Kyoko blushed. "You are a shameless playboy," she responded. "I only did what a good manager should."
"So you said," he snorted. "As if Yashiro has ever stayed up all night changing up the ice on my cold compress…" He felt she was about to protest but he squeezed his arm around her slim waist as they walked, and she merely huffed.
"Come on, then," she said. He quickened his pace until they got to the garage, reluctantly letting her go once they were under a roof again.
=.=.=.=
"Mogami-san," he said. They'd finally made it to his apartment, after a quick trip to the market located in his building. It had been torture, being with her. He knew it was just food, but he was tempted to put everything she looked at into the cart and buy it, for the sole reason that she'd had her hand on the damn package. He loved teasing her—she got so flustered when he put 'the wrong thing' in the cart. His eyes followed her hands as they held the pestle which was grinding sesame seeds for whatever magical thing she was going to feed him.
She startled at her name. She'd been grinding the toasted sesame seeds for goma-ae, a spinach dish she'd decided to make to accompany a simple grilled salmon. The rice was already cooking in the rice cooker he'd bought a few months ago, the dashi for the miso soup already made and simmering on the stove. It was already fairly late. It had been some time before she could start cooking, partially due to his outrageous teasing in the market and the fact that she'd spent some time considering whether or not to make a Western-style dinner or a Japanese one.
"Yes?" she looked up from the suribachi, setting aside the pestle as she paused.
"What I wanted to discuss with you—" He stopped abruptly. How was he going to put this? Mogami-san, please go ahead and hate me with Koga all you want? Was that what he wanted to tell her? Mogami-san, please don't look so interested during my fight scenes?
"Oh!" she said, before the blushing stained her face red. "I—I'm so sorry, Tsuruga-san! So very sorry. About Koga-kun…"
He could see where this was going and stopped her before she could get into a dogeza. "Yes—I was thinking…you should do more."
"More?"
"More I-hate-Tsuruga-talks," he answered. "With Koga-san."
"But—"
"He's terribly perceptive, isn't he?" Ren said. "He could figure it out—"
"Oh." She seemed somewhat deflated. "I had thought that perhaps you might think I really hated you…"
Ren sighed inwardly. She looked forlorn and sincere there in his kitchen. And so close. So close. He could take the step or two towards her and she'd be in his arms, and he could run his fingers through her hair as she trembled and sighed and—Stop, Hizuri, he thought to himself. Now is not the time. Do you want to hurt her career before she even has a chance to take off?
He made himself smile at her. "You would never give Corn to someone you hated," he said. "And you're here now."
She smiled, relieved. "But…Koga-san hates you so much," she said. "I don't know if I can be that convincing."
"The great Mogami-san," he grinned, "the greatest villainess of her generation—unsure she can be convincing?" He took a step towards her while she took a step back. "Oh I think not." He stopped his advance. "I think you could even convince me if you really wanted," he said. "I thought you did hate me for months."
"I—I'm sorry!" she squeaked. He put a hand out to catch her before she could descend into a dogeza again. "It's true that Koga-san figured out—how I felt…right after you told me…and that's when I started pretending that I hated you. While we were on the Lotus set."
"He's really good at reading you, then," Ren said, musing.
"Yes," she said. "It's a little scary, honestly."
"So we'll need to be extra careful around Koga," he said.
She nodded her head enthusiastically. "Don't worry, Tsuruga-san," she said. She looked determined now, a small fist bunched up as she accepted the mission. "Even Koga-san will have no doubts next time we're on-set."
"I have no doubt you'll be successful," Ren said softly. She was going to be magnificent, he knew. Once she took on a role, she took off. He was a little apprehensive about it, actually. "Though…maybe not so mean to me, Mogami-san?"
"I—" Kyoko pouted. What did he think? That she would attack him with a knife back-stage? Though…it was possible he did think that. She'd done the same as Mio during a Dark Moon scene. "Of course not," she said. "When have I ever been mean to you?"
"I seem to recall a notable day in LME when this wild harridan of a girl gave me the finger," he laughed. "And…" he stopped awkwardly. "While you were watching with Murasame-san," he said. "It might—"
She was watching him with wide eyes.
"Might?"
"Perhaps…don't be so enthusiastic about my action scenes?"
The blush on her face had faded, but this statement brought it back, rising from her neck until her cheeks blazed red. "I didn't mean to be," she said. "But surely Tsuruga-san knows how exceptional his action scenes are."
It was his turn to blush. A compliment from Kyoko outweighed every critic, every director, every other co-star's praise. "I just…I just don't want people to know we're…" in love, he was going to say. But he was afraid of saying it out loud. Since confessing to her, he'd been more aware of how his words affected her. It didn't always stop him from saying them, though. He simply couldn't help it.
This last thing was going to kill him. "The bentos," he said. "I love them, but…"
"A girl who hates you wouldn't make you bento," she said, nodding her head. She didn't make them often, and when she did, she always made one for Yashiro-san and another, lighter version for Moko. She'd thought it would be enough to deflect attention from the fact that the bentos really were for him, were always made to his taste, and were made to ensure he ate something. "But—"
"Or perhaps you can give them to Yashiro," he said, backtracking. The idea of being deprived of her cooking seemed categorically horrible. He'd been enjoying her cooking nearly from the start of their acquaintance. It hadn't even occurred to him that others might perceive her bentos as a mark of affection until he'd spotted Lory at the edge of the set with his eyes sparkling dangerously. The Shachou hadn't said a word about it, but Ren knew it had set the gears in his head spinning.
"Maybe he can say he made them," Kyoko was saying thoughtfully.
This made Ren laugh. "Yashiro? Yashiro can barely make instant ramen," he said. "On nights where we're not out, he stops by the conbini and picks up the kitsune udon that comes in the red styrofoam bowl."
"Well that's not good for him either," Kyoko said. "But very well. For both your sakes, when I make bento, I'll give them to Yashiro-san and he can give them to you." She didn't exactly feel mortified—she'd been making them lunches for months now. It was absolutely imperative that Tsuruga-san get the nutrition he needed. So what if she had to give the bento to Yashiro-san? He had to maintain—her mind flashed to his abs, flexing and oiled underneath what they called his 'costume' as he fought—his physique. Ahem. Yes. For work. For his career. She had absolutely no personal interest in them whatsoever, that is, except of course she wanted the best for Tsuruga-san's career as her respected senpai and actor. Nevermind how he looked underneath running water—
Get a grip, Kyoko, she thought to herself.
She went back to grinding the sesame seeds with gusto, moving so quickly that Ren had trouble following the movements of her arm. She stopped when they'd reached a coarse powder-like consistency, and then went to blanch the spinach.
She stopped halfway through as the spinach hit the ice water. Surely it wasn't just her who was endangering her secret? "Ano, Tsuruga-san…"
"Yes?" he said. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her since they'd come in through the door.
"You're as much to blame as I am," she responded crankily.
"What do you—?"
She drained the spinach, squeezing it hard to drain all the water out of it. Perhaps too hard. "You…you…"
She stopped, sighed, and looked upwards. "Why do you…?"
"Hmm?"
"The way you stood with me in the rain," she said. "Just now."
"Oh."
"Oh?" She mixed the spinach with the rest of the ingredients, dropping it into the bowl with the sesame seeds, some soft tofu, and the mirin. Avoiding his eyes, she continued. "The way you took my hand."
She was going to die. She could see the blush on her hands. "The way you…while we were on the way to the car…"
"Oh," he said. She didn't need to finish the sentence. He knew what she was thinking of, or at least he thought he did. The way he'd held her in his coat, ostensibly to keep her dry and warm but really just to feel her close to him.
"And the way you look sometimes—" she exclaimed. She was bustling around the kitchen now, grabbing the salmon from the broiler and then turning to reach for the plates.
He came up behind her, trapping her between his countertop and the tall cabinet. His hands beat hers to the dishes she was reaching for, but her heart was pounding so hard in her chest as he moved too close to her. Again. He placed the dishes on the counter and then backed off an inch. Then a foot. And then he stopped, far away enough so that they weren't touching, but still too close.
"The way I look sometimes?" he asked.
She turned around to look at him, and again, she was trapped between him and the counter. "The way you look. You don't even know. It's the way you used to look at Mizuki."
He was blushing again. "Ah."
She sidled away, scuttling sideways to avoid touching him, reaching for the miso to finish the soup. He stayed where he was, staring up at the cupboard. "Kyoko-chan," he said.
She nearly dropped the ladle she was using to mix the miso into the soup. Kyoko, he'd said. Not Mogami-san.
"I wasn't looking at you the way I looked at Mizuki." He turned to look at her, and the face confronting her was the Emperor's.
Kyoko gulped.
"I was looking at Mizuki the way I've always looked at you."
He knew he might as well have dropped a bomb. She was giving him that look again—the one that looked like a pigeon who'd been hit with a pea-shooter. It was adorable and hilarious all at once, and he found himself smiling and then outright giggling as she glared at him.
"Lady-killer," she was muttering. He kept grinning at her until she gave him a sidelong glance. The tension of the moment broke and then he found that they were laughing at each other.
"And you shouldn't wait for me after the shoots," she said. "Especially not by the dressing rooms."
"We had a prior agreement!"
"Yes, but I thought that perhaps we'd meet in the lobby, or maybe you'd call."
Perfectly dense Kyoko, thinking he wouldn't want to spend any spare minute he could with her. "I wanted to see you."
"But Tsuruga-san—"
"Would you please call me Ren?" he asked. Having her call him Tsuruga-san or Tsuruga-senpai was fine in theory, but weren't they past that?
"—I can't possibly call you Ren, Tsuruga-san!" she said. "Then they really will know we're in—" She stopped suddenly, putting her hand over her mouth, mortified and embarrassed. She'd overstepped. Tsuruga-san had confessed to her, but how forward of her to almost say it.
He was smiling at her, smiling so warmly and with such joy that she felt herself nearly blinded. "—love," he finished for her. "People will say we're in love. You can say it."
"I—I can't."
"Say it just once, then. I want to hear you say it."
The soup had begun to boil on the stove, the salmon was getting cold, the rice cooker was playing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" as it finished its cooking cycle. Neither one of them noticed.
"Are you bullying me?"
"Obviously," he grinned. He bent down so that his mouth was at her ear. "Say it, Kyoko-chan," he whispered. "Tell me that Kyoko is afraid people will say she's in love with Ren."
She drew in her breath sharply. Ever since their confession, his proximity was something that intoxicated her—dizzied her, even. "Ren…" she whispered.
The man in question closed his eyes, took a hand to her shoulder and then placed his forehead against hers.
"Kyoko," he said.
It might've been minutes, or it might have been seconds, but she knew she had to stop—to disengage and to do it now before they were past the point of no return. A gurgle from the pot on the stove brought her attention back to the miso, and she picked up the ladle she'd left in the soup and yelped—it had gotten too hot when she'd dropped it.
"Kyoko-chan?" he said. "Are you ok?"
"Yes, yes, of course, Tsuruga-san," she said. She'd jumped back and away from him.
He sighed. Tsuruga-san again.
She paused. "Ren-kun?" she asked.
He grinned back. "You needn't look so pleased," she said.
"Can't help it."
"Well, it's time for dinner." He brought their dishes to the table.
"Ren-kun."
"Kyoko-chan." He smiled at her from across the table, thinking how wonderful it would be if this could happen every day. "Thank you for the dinner."
"We need to decide what to do, then."
"About what?"
"About—" She whispered, suddenly. He wondered why—they were alone in his apartment. "About this. To keep them from knowing—"
"Ah. New rules of engagement."
Her brow furrowed at that, but he just smiled.
"Just so," she said. "You can't hang out around the women's dressing rooms, for one."
"What if I need to talk to you?"
"Text," she said simply. "Or call."
"Done."
"And you can call me Kyoko-chan here, but you must call me Mogami-san anywhere else."
He'd wanted to protest that one. "Fine, but only if you promise to keep calling me Ren-kun here."
"Fine. And—and—I'll be sure to give any bentos I make to Yashiro-san," she said. "And I'll use the brown paper bags instead of the normal furoshiki."
"OK."
"And…I'll need to stop coming over like this—"
"No."
"No!?" she said, her eyes wide.
"They can have our lives outside, but we're not doing anyone harm here," he said. "I can pick you up away from the studios next time."
Next time, she thought, her heart thrilling.
"No," she said. "What if there's paparazzi? I'll come over."
"It's unsafe—I can't have you traveling alone—it would be ungentlemanly…"
"I've traveled to your apartment on my own many times," she said defensively. "It's best if we don't travel together."
"But—" He had to concede the point. He looked at her, pouting.
"Don't look like that," she said. "You look like my puppy-dog nii-san."
"Your…your what!?"
"When you were Cain," she said. "You looked at me like that all the time…"
"Cain was a lucky man," he responded. "He could have his Setsu all day every day."
"But you're not Cain," Kyoko said. "And people will—"
"—say we're in love," he finished, grinning.
She huffed and they finished dinner.
=.=.=.=
It was late—after midnight, even, by the time he pulled up to the Darumaya's back door. He hadn't even tried to get her to sleep in his spare bedroom. He thought back to the first night that had happened—how she'd hesitated to sleep in a single man's apartment. He'd laughed at her then, thinking it ridiculous that she was so worried.
He didn't think her fears were so ridiculous now. He would never do anything to push her or hurt her, but the temptation to be with her would've been terribly acute. And as for peeking at her in the bath—! He grinned to think that it would be he who ought to be afraid she'd peek, and not the other way around.
Kyoko sat in her passenger's seat, pensive. Her bag was tucked in her arms on her lap, and her posture was as prim and ladylike as always. He'd won a concession, after all their haggling on rules. Dinner, at least once every two weeks. Just the two of them, all alone. In his apartment, or out if they thought they could get away with it. She felt that perhaps she should have said no—what manner of friends did what they were doing?
"But you have regular dessert and shopping outings with Kotonami-san," he'd said, pouting. "And even the Ishibashi brothers get dinner with you occasionally."
"I know but…it feels different with you."
"Different?"
"It feels too much like being a couple," she'd admitted.
He hadn't said anything. She wasn't wrong there. Vague anxiety had risen in him—all the things she didn't know yet that he had to tell her were haunting him. "Do you—truly not want to?" he'd asked sadly. He wasn't going to force her into dinners with him if she didn't want to.
She hesitated. "I…do. I do want to," she'd finally answered. "I just don't want us to lose sight of our goals."
"We can support each other," he said. "I am still your senpai, after all. You can talk to me about acting."
That earned a look from her. "And don't you think it'll be nice to know I eat a decent dinner, for once?" he continued. "I wouldn't even need to show you the videos because you can watch me eat in real time."
She sighed and sank back into the deep seat of his Porsche as he stopped in front of her door. "Ready, Kyoko-chan?" he asked, looking over at her. The thunderstorm earlier had faded into a drizzle. The night wasn't cold, exactly, but it was damp.
"Yes," she said.
He exited the car before she could protest, grabbing the pink umbrella and opening her door. She took the hand that he offered as she exited his vehicle.
This time, he didn't reach to hold her close against him. Instead, he held the umbrella over her solicitously, ensuring that she stayed dry against the drizzle.
"Here," he said, as she opened the door. He handed her the umbrella.
"Well," he said. "Goodnight, Kyoko-chan."
"Goodnight, Ren-kun," she answered.
His feet felt like lead. He didn't want to turn around and go back home to his empty apartment. So instead, he took a hand and caressed the curve of her chin, memorizing the sight of her starry eyes lit by the ambient glow of Tokyo's neon shop signs.
She gave him a small, enigmatic smile and then stepped away. "Till next time," she said.
He walked back to his car wondering if it would be so bad to have people know, after all.
=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note (10/23/2022): This one-shot was inspired by the 2019 Rodgers and Hammerstein Oklahoma rendition of "People Will Say We're in Love." It's my 'penance fluff' for the horrors I visited upon you guys in "Kill Your Darlings." I hope it is fluffy enough. It was supposed to be part of the one-shot collection (thank you NCISDuckie for the word prompt, as always), but got too long.