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.
Author's Notes at bottom of the page.
Chapter X: A Very Excellent Piece of Work
Looking back on the things I've done
I was trying to be someone
I played my part, kept you in the dark
Now let me show you the shape of my heart.
Kuon Hizuri woke up feeling as if he'd sprouted wings. It was nearly 10am. He stretched his long limbs out, enjoying the cool cotton of the bedsheet and yawning. The day was his to do with as he pleased. For the first time in a very long time, he felt like an optimist. Not having any appointments had taken some getting used to, but now, given yesterday's events, he felt excessively grateful that there was no early-morning photo shoot or morning show interview. As far as he was concerned, the sky was blue, the sunlight was golden, the river was running swift and clear, and life was stretching out like an endless road towards the horizon, not a shadow in sight. How could shadows exist in the same world as Kyoko? Somewhere in this building, he told himself, she must already be up. Up and perhaps making his breakfast. Up and maybe wearing the kanzashi he'd given her. Up and perhaps making her way towards his room.
...making his way towards his room…!
The thought was enough to jolt him out of bed. What did his hair look like? He needed to brush his teeth! What was he going to wear? The thought left him feeling vaguely ridiculous. As an actor and model, he knew he had to look good to make his living. He'd worked hard at cultivating Ren Tsuruga's style and image, and by now those things came to him as second nature. But once his image had been established, Ren Tsuruga spent his life being dressed, primped, and styled by others. He rarely had to think too hard about clothing—he generally was told what to wear by the costume department, or by his stylist, or by his handlers. He'd been content to be a canvas for his characters to live on, or a mannequin for the designers that hired him. Regardless, it didn't really matter to Kuon what Ren Tsuruga wore. But Kyoko clearly paid attention to his outfits—why else would she have mentioned the suit he was wearing for the Dark Moon wrap party? He wanted—desperately—to look good for her. No, he thought. I want to look good TO her. He wanted to be someone that she wanted. He wanted to be the kind of guy she'd want to be seen on the street with, holding his hand. Someone she'd be proud to call her boyfriend.
In the golden light of mid-morning, everything seemed possible. She was going to come with breakfast, and they'd eat together. Then go out, perhaps to see temples, or bamboo groves, or...whatever. There would be matcha-flavored dessert. There would be indirect kisses over tea. Perhaps he could convince her to do maiko henshin and take pictures of her standing on picturesque bridges and the like, and afterwards he'd send over a whole slew of pictures of her smiling face to Tina. She would let him buy her everything, and then she would allow him to call her his girlfriend, and then she'd be walking down the aisle in white towards him wearing a smile so bright it would shame the gilding off of Kinkakuji, and then there would be love in the morning and love at night and love during long, languorous afternoons with him entwined in her arms, and not just a mounting frustration between his legs. And then...and then...and then perhaps someday there would be a little girl that looked just like her mother and a little boy that looked like him. He would never have to tell her 'goodnight' and then leave ever, ever again...and of course, he'd have to ask his dad about the family grave, because their ashes were going to be interred together, dammit.
He shook his head. He wasn't thinking clearly. He was preempting the discussion. Jumping the gun. Putting the cart before the horse. Tina had said 'Talk to her,' and talk to her he would. But for fuck's sake, Kuon, get a hold of yourself. If you start talking about cemeteries at breakfast, she'll have ample reason to run the fuck away. His breath caught as he imagined a shy smile lighting up her face when he answered the door.
He stumbled out of bed and moved to the ensuite bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush and beginning his morning ablutions. He couldn't wait to see her.
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Yayoi stood outside the door of Kuon's suite, steeling herself for the confrontation she and Takarada-san had discussed. That man was a consummate matchmaker, though at this point, she could hardly condemn him for it without condemning herself. The plan was a classic one: first, forbid them from seeing each other, and then afterwards, make it impossible for them to avoid each other. "Forbid him from seeing her?" she'd asked Lory. Lory had laughed. "It worked for Romeo and Juliet, after all. Test his resolve," Takarada-san had replied. "Boys like to have to work for it. Nothing is more miserable than a doggy that can't eat even if the meal is meant for him, Fuwa-san. Let's not make it too easy for him."
And she wasn't going to. Knowing how set Kyoko was on avoiding him, she doubted she'd even need to do much. Someone like Hizuri-san was likely used to getting his way, no doubt. Even if he truly hadn't dated anyone since he came to Japan, she was sure he could have a harem at the snap of a finger. Even Kyoko was obviously attracted to him, and Yayoi knew she wasn't the type to fall so easily. Either way, questioning the boy wasn't meant to simply torture him. She herself wanted to see his face as he answered her questions. She put the breakfast tray on the ground, squared her shoulders, and knocked three times on the door. Stage One—the part that she and Takarada-san had determined would involve her 'forbidding' him from seeing Kyoko—would commence shortly.
It flew open so quickly she had no time to prepare herself for the full force of Kuon's dazzling smile.
It was so bright it made her blush. A playboy smile? she asked herself. No. Hopeful, loving, yearning, adoring, beautiful, yes, but it was not a playboy smile.
"Kyo—" he said, and then fell silent mid-syllable. The smile vanished, replaced by a look of slight embarrassment and concern as he saw the older woman dressed in a dark grey tsumugi kimono. "Okami-san," he said with a small bow. He continued on in Japanese. "I am sorry, I expected Kyoko to arrive. Is she alright?"
'Kyoko'? Yayoi thought. He's already calling her 'Kyoko,' without honorifics? The kid was bold. Has Kyoko allowed him to call her without honorifics, then? She narrowed her eyes. And he's speaking Japanese. She hadn't really heard them talking last night, but the fact that he'd pretended not to speak Japanese when he first arrived annoyed her. He's lucky I saw Kyoko looking at him the way she did, because he's a punk that needs a good spanking. She'd had enough of letting punks go without their just desserts.
Yayoi kept her face steely as she held his gaze. "Hizuri-san. We need to talk," she said. "May I come in?"
Kuon gulped. 'We need to talk' was a well-known danger-phrase. The sentence alone was enough to drive some men to drink. A small alarm went off at the back of his head. "Yes, of course, Okami-san," he replied, faintly embarrassed, "I am at your disposal."
Yayoi lifted the breakfast tray and marched in, setting it aside as she sat seiza-style across the low table. She settled on her ankles and motioned for Kuon to join her. "Sit," she said. Kuon sat, took a look at her, and then sat up straighter, pulling himself into seiza, as well.
"Hizuri-san," she began.
"Hai!" he answered, almost ashamed of how his voice squeaked.
Yayoi grinned inwardly. "You have been with us, what, for five days now, correct?"
"Yes, Okami-san."
"And yet it is only now that you've begun to speak Japanese."
"I am so very sorry, Okami-san. I had thought it would be a good way to keep my distance from you and the staff."
"And so you pretended to be an old American grandfather?"
"I...admit it wasn't my wisest moment."
"Of course, I surmised that you wished to have your solitude during your stay with us. That is why we accepted your...idiosyncrasies. You must know that it is highly unusual for our guests to stay with us for so long, and even more unusual for them to demand that no one enter for the entire period. And yet you manage to keep us all on our toes." She harrumphed. "Imagine my surprise when I saw you last night with our Kyoko."
Kuon had been staring at the stitches of the tatami flooring in front of him and counting them one-by-one. He was prepared for the Okami-san to question him about his odd eating habits, the ruse of being an old man, even for not speaking Japanese when Lory had been in contact with them and had surely told them he was, in fact, a Japanese speaker. But at the mention of Kyoko's name, he raised his head up and stared at the Okami-san, his mouth dropping open.
But Yayoi stared him down. "Yes. Quite. So social for someone who wanted to 'keep his distance' from the hotel staff, you know. You seemed so awfully close to her." Yayoi paused to give her words effect. She definitely had his attention now. "And then consider, again, my further surprise upon finding out that the Hizuri Kuon staying here was, in fact, none other than Tsuruga Ren." She paused, a sardonic grin twisting up one side of her mouth. "Tell me, Hizuri-san. Is it Hizuri-san that I'm speaking to? Or is it Tsuruga Ren? Who are you?"
Kuon was struck dumb for a moment. Yayoi hadn't recognized him when he'd first arrived, and so he'd taken it for granted that she never would. Clearly he'd been mistaken. Or...but he shook his head. Kyoko wouldn't tell her, would she? Surely not. "I was born Hizuri Kuon, Okami-san. Tsuruga Ren is a stage name. Ano...Okami-san, did Kyoko tell you? Who I was?"
"Such liberties you're taking with her name. I find it hard to believe she would have allowed you such familiarity with her." The older woman stared at him as impassively as a Sphinx. "But just for the record...no. Kyoko-chan did not tell me. Discretion is one of her many virtues, you know. But as they say, truth has a way of making itself known. Tell me, Hizuri-san….or would you prefer Tsuruga-san?...were you ever going to tell Kyoko that you had a girlfriend? Kusunoki Kana-san, wasn't it?"
And there it was. Yayoi had the satisfaction of seeing his face turn red and then drain of all color. Not quite a week ago he had felt so exposed without his disguise of black hair and brown eyes, but somehow in the space of a few days he'd forgotten what it was like to live in the oppressive fishbowl that was Tsuruga Ren's life. His thoughts raced as Yayoi stared him down in judgment. "I don't have a girlfriend, Okami-san," he said. "Kusunoki-san and I have never been in a relationship, and we never will be."
"Then why is it that every entertainment magazine in Japan saw fit to publish a picture of you kissing the woman?" Yayoi snorted. "Are you so hardened, then, that you would kiss a woman in public—a woman who was not even your girlfriend—and not be in a relationship with her?"
"Okami-san! I...It's all a misunderstanding. I give you my word—I am not in a relationship with Kusunoki-san. Does...has...Has Kyoko seen these?"
"Call her Mogami-san, Hizuri-kun, and perhaps I may let you profane her name with that liar's tongue of yours...And yes, she has." Kuon could see that Yayoi's stance was as protective as any parent protecting a teenage daughter. He'd seen his fair share of protective parents back in the States...usually when they were pretty pissed at him. Yayoi may not have been Kyoko's mother, but clearly she had taken it upon herself to protect her ward. "I want to be very clear with you," she said. "I do not approve of you. I do not approve of the way you have comported yourself here, and I do not approve of the way you've taken liberties with Kyoko-chan."
Kuon closed his eyes in mortification. If this is what Yayoi thought, what was Kyoko thinking? What does she think of me now? After finding her again, after an evening of telling her he wasn't a playboy, of slowly gaining ground, of building a sort of comfortableness between them, all of it was derailed by that cursed night when he had said "yes" to Kijima and allowed himself to be talked into drinks at the club. And Kana-san was a good sort, if a bit manipulative. He knew even then that she'd had a partner, and had implicitly understood the gesture on her part to be what it was meant to be—a smokescreen to lead the press off from their trail. He said again, "I swear to you. I am not in any kind of relationship, special or otherwise, with Kusunoki Kana. I swear to you that I am not in a relationship with anyone, though I had hoped Kyoko would entertain the idea of allowing me to date her."
"Why should I believe you over the evidence of my own eyes, then? I see multiple reports and articles about you and another woman. You deny it with the same mouth that's been telling everyone lies for the last week." Yayoi took the kanzashi from her kimono sleeve and placed it slowly on the table in front of Kuon, handling it like a chashaku during the tea ceremony. "She's asked me to return this to you."
A cold sliver of ice began crawling into Kuon's stomach. He could handle an angry Yayoi. He could handle an angry army, really, if he knew that Kyoko still believed in him. When Yayoi had come to his door during breakfast, he'd thought, perhaps, that it would be to ascertain his needs as a guest were being met, that the breakfasts and the dinners were satisfactory. And then when she'd sat down, he supposed that Kyoko had let slip a little of what had gone on between them last night and she was coming up to speak to him like a concerned parent. But what he couldn't stomach—what he most feared—was that Kyoko would not want to continue what had started last night. He knew that at best what they had that evening was gossamer-thin, no more substantial than a cobweb. His hope had been to strengthen it in the light of day, to show her that what they'd had wasn't just a trick of the festival lanterns. But if Kyoko had asked Yayoi to return the kanzashi, then he had to face the thought that she no longer wanted to continue. But surely she'd forgive him if she knew it was all a misunderstanding? I have to tell her, he thought, I have to talk to her! "She's...she doesn't want it?" he asked, dumbly.
"She doesn't want a present from a playboy and a philanderer who would toy with her."
"I wasn't toying with her! I...I truly…"
Yayoi was starting to feel sorry for him. He looked truly crestfallen. And now we shall see what he says to this, she thought, taking Corn out from her sleeve. She laid the dark-blue stone on the table next to the kanzashi. "She also asked me to give you this," Yayoi said.
Pain—real pain—crossed his face this time. "She...she wants to give this back to me?" he asked, quietly.
"She said she wanted nothing from you."
"I...swear. There is no other woman. There hasn't been anyone for six years. And even before then, there never was anyone like her."
"Hizuri-kun."
"Yes?"
"There is something you and Kyoko-chan haven't told me."
Well she was right about that, certainly, Kuon thought. "I don't know what you mean, Okami-san."
"Oh?" she asked. "Another lie. You really, really aren't making a terribly good case for yourself, Hizuri-san." She picked up the stone and held it to the light. "Children never think adults see what they do." Corn glowed, indigo-blue. Yayoi held it still and then tilted it, just-so, enough so Kuon could see Corn's tell-tale pleochroism as the stone flashed a pale yellow. "But I know Kyoko has had this stone since she was a tiny girl. She treated it like a friend. She used to talk to it. She used to crawl off into the corner when she thought we couldn't see her and she would tell Corn everything.
"Hizuri-kun," she said. "Why is Kyoko giving you back this stone?"
"I...uh…"
"And before you ask, no, I haven't asked her yet."
Kuon looked up and held her gaze with his own, now. No matter what Yayoi thought, he knew a few things to be true. One: he had done nothing wrong. Not to Kyoko. Not to anyone woman in Japan. Two: that he treasured the memory of Kyoko by the stream so closely that he had never shared it with anyone in the intervening years since their separation. The only other person he'd ever told was Tina, and that had only been a few hours ago in his hour of need. He didn't want to tell Fuwa-san their story. He wanted to keep it close in his heart because it was his personal fairy-tale, his talisman against woe—a special and warm magic that he hadn't known he'd missed until it came back to his life, a little tattered and worse for wear but perhaps all the stronger for it. But Yayoi was staring at him like a dragon protecting a maiden in a tower, and Kuon supposed that this was how she saw herself. How was she to know who was the knave and who was the knight? Kuon would simply have show her his intentions were good. "Okami-san…" he began, and then told her the rest of the story. "Please, I understand why she won't accept the kanzashi, but...I would be heartbroken if she rejected Corn after it's protected her for so long."
Ah, so there it is. Takarada-san and I were right all along, Yayoi thought, with no small measure of satisfaction. Inside her, that dizzy, dancing feeling of being in the midst of an epic came back. A long-lost childhood friend, with a claim on her as old as Sho's, she thought, come back like a prince in disguise to take her far away and live with her happily ever after. She knew that this was what the old Kyoko would've thought, the one who had not come back from Tokyo. She wasn't about to let him see it, but the fact that Hizuri-kun looked like a puppy who had just been kicked melted her heart. If Kyoko could see him, she thought, she would never give him back this stone. It almost looked as if Kuon needed Kyoko to keep it by her side. "It means that much to you, then? To have her keep it?"
"All these years...with us apart. The idea of her having this next to her...it makes me feel like part of me has always been next to her."
How can he say these ridiculous things? Yayoi thought. He must be American. Only an American would say these things. But I can't let him think he's convinced me. Out loud she said, "I do not think she will accept them back from me, Hizuri-kun, and I will certainly have no part of encouraging your dalliance with her." And I can't let him think I believe him. She and Lory had a plan, after all, and she would stick to it. If he reacted the way Takarada-san hypothesized he would, she would move on to Stage Two: stick them together so that they could not avoid seeing each other. But right now, the hero of the story was pale and clutching Kyoko's little magic stone.
"Because she thinks I have a girlfriend?"
"And because she thinks you're a heartless playboy. Frankly, I do, too."
"What? Why? How? I've never...I've never even so much as kissed a woman the entire time I've been in Japan!"
"For someone that's never kissed a woman, Hizuri-kun, you certainly have a very long filmography of nothing but kisses."
Kuon looked at her, utterly confused. What is she talking about? A filmography...does she mean...my movies..? "My movies, Okami-san? Do you mean my movies? But...but...that's work! Those are actresses! We were acting!" Surely she would understand this.
"Your fans are certainly...efficient at cataloguing your talents," Yayoi said laconically.
Kuon looked at her helplessly. "So this is why she wants to return Corn? Because of my movies? Everyone always says my romance scenes look fake. I mean, they are fake, but…"
It was time for Yayoi to deal the finishing blow. "It's not just that I do not approve of you, Hizuri-kun. I think you are handsome, and practiced, and too used to having your way. Kyoko-chan is a treasure. You could search a million years for another girl who is as good, as loving, as generous, or as gifted as she is and you would never find one."
Kuon snorted. This much, he knew. "But—"
"I know you think I am being cruel, but I cannot countenance your further contact with Kyoko. First of all, I simply don't trust you. You've lied about everything—or nearly everything, since you came under our roof. If your party hadn't pre-paid for your stay, I would seriously be in doubt of your ability to pay for this room. What assurance can you give me that you're not here to seduce Kyoko and break her heart? Second, it is against our ryokan's policies for a staff member to fraternize with a guest. If you were her friend, her co-worker, or even her schoolmate I would feel more comfortable with you spending time with her, but you are a guest...and we are a ryokan, not a whorehouse." Yayoi stopped as she saw Kuon flinch at the word, "And third—she herself has told me she wants nothing more to do with you. She's prepared the breakfast according to your usual specifications, but she will no longer be bringing meals to you. Nor will she be your concierge any longer. Kyoko will no longer interact with you as a guest, and she has many duties to attend to. If you continue distracting her from those duties, I will have no choice but to terminate the remainder of your stay."
She rose in one smooth motion, borne of years of moving in and out of seiza in kimono. "Ring down to the front desk when you are done with breakfast. We will collect the plates, as usual.
"I wish you good day, Hizuri-san."
Kuon stared, dumbfounded, as Yayoi turned on her back and walked away, shutting the room's door behind her. In front of him was a tray with a Japanese breakfast on it, complete with Kyoko's expertly grilled fish and a clear soup. Was this to be his last taste of her cooking, then?
No.
Kuon was damned if he was going to give up now.
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Kyoko had not left the kitchen since her unfortunate encounter with a Tsuruga Ren lip-locked with Kusunoki Kana. After her unfortunate encounter with multiple Tsuruga Rens lip-locked with multiple Kanas, really. Did it even matter how many? He can have his pick of them, she muttered to herself, so long as it isn't me. Having cooked Kuon's damned breakfast and sent it with Yayoi-san, she continued helping out in the kitchen. Now she was hand washing the pottery they used for breakfast service, with plates coming down from other guests and from the dining rooms. The ryokan often used hand-made kyoyaki pottery made by local artists—and such items could not be run through industrial washing machines. Therefore the task of washing them usually fell to some unfortunate person from the kitchen staff. Today, that person was her. Her grudges were forming a miasma so dense that the rest of the staff—front and back of house alike—avoided that corner of the kitchen. It was understood that Kyoko was not to be interrupted at the moment, even though the task she was performing could have easily been done by the most junior person in the ryokan. Kyoko herself was laser-focused on the list of chores she would execute following the breakfast dishes. She was trying not to think of the absence of Corn from her pocket. She was trying not to think that she'd never see him again. Has Yayoi-san already had her conversation with Takarada-sama? she wondered. But she shook her head and put the thought out of her mind. Really, it was probably best that she was trying not to think at all.
She was so absorbed in the task of scrubbing, rinsing, and then placing the dish off the rack to the side that she didn't notice someone beginning to take the plates from her directly and then rubbing them dry with a dish towel. Scrub, rinse...scrub, rinse...scrub, rinse, and then her fingers accidentally brushed a hand. A very large hand, holding one of the kitchen towels in it. She looked up and into green eyes that looked into hers sadly and the bowl she was holding slipped out of her hands as she gasped in surprise.
Kuon caught it, a handspan away from the floor, and then proceeded to calmly and quietly dry it and lay it on top of the other bowls he had dried.
The faucet on the large industrial sink kept running as she stared at him, dumbfounded. The dirty dishes steeped in the hot water, briefly forgotten. She became vaguely aware that the rest of the kitchen staff were keeping assiduously away from them, decidedly not looking, sensing the volatility of the situation and pretending not to notice that a 193 cm man with blonde hair had wandered into the kitchen and started drying dishes for the ryokan's third-in-command without so much as a greeting. His eyes held hers as he reached out for her hands, which were damp and reddened from her exertions in the kitchen.
She slapped his hands away and he flinched.
She broke their gaze and plunged her hands into the sink again, thinking Not for me not for me not for me.
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"Kyoko—"
"I was hoping Yayoi-san made it clear to you that I want nothing to do with you, Hizuri-san." She stopped washing the bowl she had started scrubbing, abruptly leaving it and then turning off the flow of water with a vengeance. She turned away sharply, ripping off the water-stained work apron she was wearing, and then made to leave the kitchen at full speed. Whatever scene he hoped to start, she certainly did not want it in full view of the staff.
He followed her closely as she stormed out into the hallway and then down towards the dumpster outside the kitchen's rear door. "Kyoko—listen, please, let me exp—"
Whirling around to face him, she said "I have a million things to do, Hizuri-san. None of them involve you." She turned away again, grabbing a plastic garbage bin. "I don't care where you go, but unless you're interested in emptying out the garbage from the kitchen and sorting through the recyclables, please, leave me be."
So it was going to be like that, then.
"Show me," he said, simply, and grabbed the garbage can from her hands, taking the bag from inside it and tying it neatly before lifting the dumpster lid and placing it inside with little fanfare.
"Wha—?"
"You said you had to sort through the recyclables. And probably the burnables, too. Show me? I'll help."
She huffed and turned away. He followed, spotting a few bins of bottles and cans. "These are the recyclables that need sorted? Where should I put them?"
She watched as he sorted the trash, placed them in bags, put them into the dumpsters neatly. The asshole, she thought, manages to look ridiculously handsome even when he sorts trash. And he did. Even his hair was cooperating, stray locks falling 'just so' over his eyes but never in a way that seemed to hinder him. Stupid girl, she said to herself, stop looking. He'd rolled up the sleeves of the simple, white button-down linen shirt he was wearing and was moving efficiently through the task. They were going to be done in no time at all, especially given how quickly he moved large bins of glass around. All too soon he was looking at her expectantly for the next task and she was again avoiding his gaze.
"Hizuri-san—"
"Kuon. It's Kuon, Kyoko. Like it was last night."
"Hizuri-san," she said firmly. "Thank you for helping me with the trash. But really, I do have a number of other things to do and I am certain you don't want to spend the day cleaning."
"It's alright. I don't have anything else to do. What's next?"
"I have no time for this. If this is some kind of gesture, it's not working."
"It's not. I just want to be here. And help." Kuon had assessed the situation as he ate breakfast. The Okami-san had told him to stay away from Kyoko—as a guest. But what if he wasn't? What if he were working? Helping her with the duties that Fuwa-san said she couldn't be distracted from? He admitted it was a stretch. But as he saw it, he had two choices: stay locked in his room pining for Kyoko and then eventually have to leave Kyoto behind having gained nothing...or seek her out and explain. Either way, if Fuwa-san threw him out of the ryokan for it, at least he'd have a chance to talk to Kyoko in the latter scenario. His resolve had hardened once he arrived in the kitchen and spotted her red-rimmed eyes and the accompanying miasma of rage and pain. Seeing her like that—so furiously and desperately scouring barely-soiled bowls—told him that a confrontational approach would be disastrous. Given Kyoko's reaction to his presence in the kitchen, he sensed that she would shut down any attempt to ask her what she had truly seen—or to tell her the truth about Kana. But he wasn't willing to quit her presence entirely. He had the feeling that if he did so, whatever small pathway he might still have into her heart would close and he truly never would see her again. And so he was determined to follow her around like a shadow until she would be willing to listen to him, and if the Okami-san found him first, then he'd do a dogeza at her feet until she relented enough to let him do menial chores for the ryokan.
"Ugh," Kyoko said, "Don't expect me to entertain you." She was too busy avoiding Kuon's eyes to really think about what he was doing. Some new ploy, perhaps, some new version of playing with her emotions—as if that little scene under the fireworks weren't bad enough. Had he no shame? Didn't he even feel a tiny bit bad for having someone while playing with someone else? But she also sensed that he wasn't simply going to go away. Fine, she thought. So he won't leave. I'll simply have to work around him. Mentally, she ran through the list of chores she'd constructed in her head. In truth, none of them were particularly pressing, and all of them could have been delegated to a number of other people. But the last thing she wanted was to stop moving, because then he would stop moving too, and she had a feeling he wouldn't leave without some kind of painful, dragged-out confrontation.
They had to re-paper shoji screens. Kyoko generally preferred having some help to do these, and usually Fujiwara-san or someone else helped her with the tedious task. But she found that Kuon was a quick study. All she had to do was begin the process of removing the panels from their railings before he caught on, lifting them up three at a time and placing them outside as easily as if he'd been handling feathers instead of doors. She found that he was observant, careful, and considerate, often anticipating her next ask or movement before she had to say a word. And so the rest of the morning passed between them, the placid tasks of removing the old paper, cleaning the wood, and then applying the glue filling the space where words should have been instead. What conversation there was between them was perfunctory. She would give him quiet directions and he would nod or give a soft acknowledgement before he simply...did what she asked him to. She was constantly conscious of the way his eyes followed her around, how they traced the path of her fingers as she pressed the paper down with an even pressure. More than once, she found his hand where her own was reaching—perhaps in anticipation of a gust of wind lifting up a corner of the paper before it was adequately fixed to the wood. The day was warm and sunny, and the glue dried quickly. There was an odd synchronicity in their movements as they coordinated the placement of the large sheets over every panel. The work gave her the sense of moving with him through time and space, constantly aware of his body, as if this were a dance instead of a chore. The magnetic pull from the evening before hadn't diminished, though its acuity had acquired a painful point. There is neither hope nor reason in wanting a man who belongs to someone else, Kyoko, she told herself. There were moments when she would remember this in high definition, and she would feel her anger renewed. It was all too easy to lose herself in the way he seemed to fit into her rhythm. But Kuon was a playboy, wasn't he? Wasn't making women feel like this a specialty of his? Co-star killer, right? An invisible mass of Things Left Unsaid floated over their heads, but she stubbornly held firm. There is nothing he could say that can change things, she thought. Still, the quiet way in which he moved almost spoke to her: this is who I am, he seemed to say, I just want to be with you. Re-papering the shoji took a fraction of the time that she had expected given his capable and intuitive movements. He stacked up the doors after the glue had dried and took them back into the building as if they weighed nothing. She never even had a chance to offer him a hand.
"What next?" he asked her. The morning had passed and it was well into the midday. She led him through her other chores—sweeping, weeding, and harvesting the garden, washing the glass window-panes, feeding the koi. He took it all in with quiet acceptance, letting her lead. Unlike the night before, he hadn't made any overt efforts to hold her hands since she'd slapped him down in the kitchen. Still, she could feel the tension in the spaces between, could almost feel the effort he was making in not touching her. It was almost as if he knew she wanted to punish him, and he was letting her do so. More than once she repeated the litany in her head, telling herself not for me not for me not for me like a prayer to keep a hold of sanity, particularly when he did things like reach the very top of a pane of glass that was just out of her reach with a soft cloth, removing the need for her to grab a ladder. He never quite pinned her down—she could always maneuver around him. But feeling him come up behind her, his arms outstretched, made her all too conscious again of his smell, his warmth, and the feel of his body from the night before. It was all too easy to think of him doing this with her every day: quietly living, side-by-side, nothing unusual or glamorous or dramatic. One step back and she'd be back in his arms, and that was something she wasn't willing to do to another woman.
By four o'clock, the afternoon shadows were growing longer and they had worked straight through the day without pausing. Uncharacteristically, Kyoko had forgotten lunch and was moving on to the last task on her list. That she had gotten through everything was unexpected: even she had thought that the tasks she had assigned herself would take at least two or three days to complete. Having Kuon follow her like an extremely capable shadow had certainly made speedy work of more than one of these tasks. Kuon, feeling Kyoko's gaze on him soften, began to relax into the rhythm of their work. The last thing left to do was to wash the western veranda, an expanse of wooden beams that overlooked a riverbank shaded over with momiji trees. It was a spot where the ryokan's guests often sat with a cup of tea while enjoying the river view. Kyoko wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow, observing ruefully that Kuon looked none the worse for wear despite having stayed toe-to-toe with her on the performance of the chores. Still, when she went to the supply closet for a bucket, mop, and zoukin cloths, he was there again, quickly divesting her of the supplies so that her hands would be free.
Kyoko did a perfunctory pass with the mop before moving closer to the floor. Taking a zoukin, she plunged it into the bucket, only to find him there, again, taking the cloth from her. "Let me," he said, softly.
Twisting the cloth to wring the excess water from it, he began moving up and down the floor beams, beginning the cleaning. She moved to join him, but he motioned for her to stop. "Your hands," he said, "they're red." And they were. After an entire night and day of working without a thought for them, Kyoko's hands were chapped and raw. She'd always had callouses—she was the kind of girl who worked hard, after all, but today they were the worse for wear. Gently, he moved them away from the bucket, which he lifted to take with him. The heat and the sound of cicadas lulled Kyoko into a sort of complaisance—by now, she was feeling the effects of not having slept at night and working all day. She held onto the mop, leaning into the wall, and looked on in a somewhat daze as the afternoon sun illuminated Kuon's long, leonine form as he washed the floors.
She sighed, conscious that she was probably playing into whatever he'd wanted in the first place. But she found that she couldn't stay angry at someone who had worked so hard and so meekly all day.
"Kuon…" she called. "Why?"
It was the first time Kuon had heard her say his name since the festival, and he looked up, his eyes ablaze. Kuon again, he thought, not Hizuri-san. He sensed a receptiveness in her, a detente, a small opening of a gate in the blank wall she'd put up since that morning. He put the cloth down and looked at her. "Because I want you to listen to me," he said, simply.
"I'm listening," she said.
Quietly, he abandoned the cloth and bucket and moved closer to her, his tall form crouched next to hers. She balled her hands into fists. Kuon, seeing the tension in her stance, stopped short of touching her. But with his hand against the wall, he loomed over her standing form. "I don't have a girlfriend, Mogami Kyoko," he said. "Not Kusunoki-san, not anyone else. I've never even so much as kissed a woman in real life since coming to Japan."
Kyoko was standing her ground, kabedon or no. She wasn't going to flinch. "I saw the fan videos, Kuon. You can hardly say you've never kissed anyone."
"Fuwa-san indicated that might have been the case."
"How can you say you haven't kissed anyone? You were kissing everyone!"
"I'm an actor, Kyoko. Actors act. Sometimes we kill people, sometimes we kiss them. It doesn't mean anything."
"You...you are a playboy. How can kissing anyone not mean anything?"
"Sometimes, a kiss is just a kiss," he said, shrugging. "I could kiss Fuwa-sama right now and she wouldn't feel anything. And neither would I. But you…if I kissed you..."
Kyoko startled back, her face blushing red. "You...you playboy!" She pushed away from him, twisting so that he had his back against the wall.
"I'm not, though. That's the thing. I'm really, really not. What did you see? Besides Kusunoki-san?"
"That was enough, don't you think?"
How many times was he going to have to tell this story? To Yayoi, to Kyoko? At least Lory had simply taken it in stride, and Yashiro knew the truth about Kana. Was it ever going to just...disappear? He and Kana hadn't made any official statements, and no further pictures of them had surfaced. But somehow that one kiss had managed to potentially ruin his life. "Do you think the press always tells the truth, then? Do you think they ever just...gossip? Make things up?"
"You were kissing her!"
"No. She was kissing me."
"Liar."
"Kusunoki-san isn't even interested in me, Kyoko. I swear."
"How can a woman not be interested in you?"
"Thank you for the compliment, but there's at least one woman in the world that's been impervious to my charms today. As for Kusunoki-san, she's with someone else."
"It doesn't mean she's not interested in you."
Kuon sighed. He'd told Kyoko so much, but this was one secret that wasn't his to share. But he also couldn't see a way around telling her. "Kusunoki-san has a partner. A woman named Katsuragi Sakura-san."
Kyoko's mouth dropped. The ryokan hosted couples of all kinds, but the revelation Kuon had just given her was surprising in the extreme. "Then why did she kiss you?"
"Who knows? But I think it was a few things. I think she wanted to distract the press from her relationship. Something like that can ruin an actress's career. In Japan, it's absolutely fatal. Even in the States, it's a difficult matter."
"But you kissed her back!"
"I didn't, Kyoko. Look…" He pulled out his phone, did a search for the image and showed it to Kyoko. "Look at me. Look at how I'm standing."
Kyoko did. There was the same picture she saw last night, a glamorous woman pulling Tsuruga Ren in for a kiss. Kuon spoke softly into her ear, his breath tickling it. "Do I look like I'm kissing her back?" he asked.
And now that she was looking at it again, she saw. Ren's eyes were wide open. His body was turned towards Kana, but his left arm was flung back in surprise. At first, she'd interpreted his body's pose as reckless flair, but now that she looked at it carefully….well, he simply looked surprised. Surprised and caught off-guard. She looked up at him. "There's still others, you know. Momose-san?"
"Dating Kijima-kun. Didn't you see those articles?"
"What? No! I saw that she called you a co-star killer."
"She didn't call me a co-star killer. The magazine did. She was very polite, but she and Kijima-kun have been dating on-and-off since."
"Morizumi Kimiko-san?"
"Huh? Who?"
"Wait, don't tell me...you don't even remember? You dated her!"
Kuon's face was blank. "Mori-what? I don't know a Kimiko."
"From Purple Down II? A high school student, like me. She has a blog. There's a picture of the two of you together in it."
"Wait...you can't mean…not HER."
"Ah, so you do know."
"Again...did you actually read the article? I never dated her. She's a psychopath. Truly insane. Wait, let me see." Knowing she didn't have a phone herself, he googled Morizumi Kimiko and his name, quickly pulling up the search result. "There. Read it."
"'My date with Tsuruga-san…'" Kyoko read, "'haha, that's what I wish it was. We were just on the way to the Purple Down cast party!'"
"That girl is insane. And she's vindictive. And that cast party was two years ago!"
"Even then."
"Even then?"
Kuon looked at her. Her anger had faded. He wasn't quite sure if it was the tiredness from such a long day of chores, but she was slumped against the wall, looking defeated. "You...practiced on me what you learned with other people last night. I saw that movie. The festival? I could've been just anyone, and you would've done the same thing."
Kuon sighed. How was he going to get through to her? "Everything between us last night was real. I swear. There's been a few festival scenes. You know that they're common in movies and dramas. And you know...everyone's always told me how terrible my love-acting is. People in the industry, anyway. Takarada-san wanted to fire me from Dark Moon. He didn't, but only because we were already so far along with shooting they didn't want to hire a different actor. But last night...last night I think I finally understood what that festival scene is supposed to feel like. I never knew before. It had to be with you. Before you everything just felt like...choreography. It never felt real."
"You...didn't look like you needed any help."
"In any case, it's an actor's job to be convincing on the screen, doing whatever the role requires. It doesn't mean you're in a relationship with your co-star. Lots of my co-stars never even talk to me off the set." Because I wouldn't want to talk to them, he thought, but she didn't need to know that.
"That makes it sound like you could look like you're in love with anyone!"
"A good actor should be able to do that. Sometimes, we even have to pretend to kiss something imaginary and they put it in afterwards with computer graphics. Here, look, let me show you."
He bounded upwards, startling her, and grabbed the mop from the far wall. Flipping it upside down, he caressed the mop's 'hair,' even though the bits of yarn were wet and dripping with dirty water. He cradled the mop as if it had shoulders, whispering to it "Moppu-san...please...I love you. Please...I can't live without you, Moppu-san." His green eyes focused on the mop's metal brace with an intensity that took Kyoko's breath away. She found herself in the absurd position of being jealous of a mop. "Allow me to call myself your boyfriend…" She stared and blushed as his left hand descended lower, to where Moppu-san's hips would be if mops had hips, and then blushed even redder as the hand moved upwards to where Moppu-san's skirt would be if mops had skirts. But his head was moving ever, ever closer to the metal clasp holding the mop's yarn...moving closer and closer in for a kiss. "Stay with me forever, Moppu-san," he breathed into the mop's ear and as his mouth closed into the metal.
Kyoko was watching Kuon's mouth move closer and closer to the mop's wet yarn. She was wondering whether she ought to call his bluff but when his lips were close enough to brush the wet yarn she couldn't help the "Eeeeeeeeeeeep…!" that rose from her mouth.
Kuon stopped with his lips half-opened a mere breath away from the dirty yarn, the mop ensconced in his arms. He relaxed from his stance and grinned at her. "See? Acting."
"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse," she said.
"I honestly think it was probably one of the best love scenes I've ever had," Kuon replied. With a smirk, he turned to her. "Because I was pretending you were Moppu-san. I've never had anyone to picture during a love scene before."
"Ugh," Kyoko said, but the heat had gone. "Playboy."
"Hardly." He flipped the mop over, relieved he hadn't had to make out with it after all. He finished scrubbing down the floors before sitting down next to her. Beyond them, the river was reflecting the afternoon sun and the world had gone gold. "Kyoko," he said. It was a statement, not a question, not a prelude.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?"
"For assuming the worst of you."
"Do you believe me?"
She was silent. He stood by in suspense. "I don't know. Do I have to?"
"You never have to actually do anything, Kyoko. But…" He tilted her head so that her eyes met his, and moved forward to face her. Reaching into his pocket, he said "Please…" and put Corn back into her palm. "I understand if you don't want the kanzashi, but this belongs to you." He closed her fingers over the stone tenderly, looking into her eyes. "I don't think I could bear it if you never spoke to me again."
The blush in her cheeks hadn't failed to dissipate. "Are—" she said, looking abashed.
"Are?"
"Are we friends?" If Kuon was not a playboy, if Kuon did not have a girlfriend, if Kuon wasn't playing with her, then the only conclusion left to be made was that Kuon wanted her.
"I am whatever you'd like me to be," he responded. "But I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be your boyfriend."
"I—"
"I'll understand if you're not ready. I can wait."
"I'm NOT ready. I'm not sure I want this...you don't understand. I have obligations...and you're an actor, Kuon. You say one thing, but deception is how you make your living."
"Ouch."
"It's just…all of this. I don't know who you are."
"We have time."
"Do we?"
"We can make the time."
"Easier said than done. What happens when you leave?"
"Kyoto is not Mars, Kyoko. I can come back."
"You're presuming an awful lot."
He grinned. "Exactly what am I presuming?"
"I…" Kyoko was silent. She knew exactly what he was presuming, and she wasn't willing to say it out loud.
She sighed and sat down on the porch, watching the sun glinting on the river. He joined her. "Have dinner with me?" he asked.
Kyoko gasped, realizing they had missed lunch. "Oh no! Kuon—I'm so sorry. You haven't eaten since breakfast!"
"It's alright. Truly. I've gone much longer without eating lunch…"
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Yayoi, watching from the shadows, said nothing. The tension that had been between the children had dissipated somehow, and now they were talking and laughing normally. She supposed Hizuri never would have normal eating habits. Takarada-san had been right to warn them about that from the start. In any case, Hizuri had reacted exactly as Lory said he would, moving to spend time with Kyoko despite her disapprobation. Yayoi had considered intervening from time-to-time throughout the day, but kept herself from doing so. The boy had worked hard. She had to give him credit: Kyoko had been a brutal taskmistress, and he had done the work without a hint of complaint. She wondered what he would've done if she'd confronted him about finding Kyoko despite her warnings—but she couldn't very well complain that he'd distracted her from her duties. If anything, he and Kyoko had powered through several maintenance tasks with the efficiency of machines. Did she and Takarada-san even need to meddle? It seemed as if they were moving swimmingly on their own.
Yayoi grinned and silently slipped away, leaving Kuon and Kyoko to watch the late sun on the river.
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Author's Notes:
1. 'A very excellent piece of work' - Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew, Act 1, Scene 1.
2. Yes, this is the Backstreet Boys. You know, I've always really liked "Shape of My Heart," but also always thought that the lyrics made ZERO sense. I mean, lots of pop lyrics don't make sense. But then this came on a few days into drafting this chapter and I was like...These lyrics don't make sense...for anyone except Ren. And then they TOTALLY make sense. I mean, is it kinda ridiculous? Yes. Totally. But...LOL.
3. Kyoyaki is a term referring to pottery made in Kyoto.
4. Zoukin - a cleaning cloth, used to clean floors.