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.
Trigger Warning: Non-graphic descriptions and discussion of domestic abuse.
Additional Author's Notes at bottom of the page.
Chapter XXII: Ichi-go Ichi-e
"Choko-chan!"
The words were out of his mouth before he could help it. It would have been more appropriate, perhaps, to introduce himself. Or to have Tsuruga introduce her. But she'd taken the set by storm and there had been no time for real-world pleasantries.
He hadn't known what he'd been expecting when Tsuruga had asked him to make room for one last audition, but it certainly hadn't been her. He'd been willing to settle for anyone who could parrot back the lines, arrive on time, wear a kimono properly. If she'd merely come on-set without causing a fuss and read the lines by rote, he'd have hired her. Instead, he'd been overcome by a flash of surprise—but also one of recognition. The girl in front of him had been one that he'd seen in his mind's eye, perhaps years ago, when he'd first read the book. Perhaps her eyes hadn't been the same color, perhaps her hair had been styled differently. Perhaps her face was a different shape. But there was no doubt in Shingai's mind—Choko was standing in front of him, and he had to greet her by name.
He'd heard of such things happening before. It was the kind of thing that formed the mythology of the industry—a legendary actress-or-other deemed unfit for the part showing up in costume and wowing the director, perhaps, or a child on the street being discovered by a casting agent just out to grab some coffee. He hadn't thought it would happen to him. He wasn't the oldest or even the most pre-eminent of directors, but he'd been in showbiz for the better part of two decades—and he'd never had a moment in which an actress inhabited a character's part so well he'd blurted out the character's name despite knowing what that actress's real name was.
"Choko-chan," Ren interjected smoothly. Shingai gave a start and looked up at him, and what he saw surprised him. He knew Tsuruga was capable of great acting. He'd seen it firsthand from the actor—just in other roles. Tsuruga came prepared in the true actor's sense, old-school. But Ren had slid into character in the time the girl had taken to cross the set. "May I introduce our director? This is Shingai-san."
"Yoroushku onegaishimasu," the girl said, and Shingai bowed in return. She turned to Kuon and said, "Thank you, onii-san."
"Of course, Choko," he responded, and Shingai had to do a double-take at Ren's tone. Truly, the person standing before him was totally different. Shingai could sense the shift not just on-set but in Tsuruga himself. The man's aura had changed. He was colder, more hostile, more suspicious. In other words, he was Ken to Kyoko's Choko, and there was no mistaking him for anyone else.
He looked over to Kyoko and saw that she had changed too—reacting to Tsuruga. This in itself wasn't unusual—Ren was usually the kind of actor whose acting was effective enough to make his co-stars truly react to him. He'd managed a way of inhabiting his characters that always managed to surprise his coworkers. Shingai had worked with method actors before. He didn't particularly prefer them over actors with a more pragmatic way of approaching their characters, but he often found the practice of method acting annoying. He'd heard stories, of course, of actors refusing to bathe for weeks, or intentionally coming to work drunk, or pulling out their own teeth—all in the name of verité. He knew Tsuruga Ren to be capable of it, had even worked with him when he was 'acting seriously.' He'd seen actresses truly fall in love with him, he'd seen actors run away in true terror. But what he'd never seen was the synergistic effect of having two actors resonate like this before.
He could see that Kyoko wasn't just reacting to Tsuruga. She was building on her reaction, forcing him to contend with her character. His stance was one that was meant to invoke fear—to intimidate the girl, perhaps, to force her to silence and complicity. Had someone like Ruriko or even Kimiko been on the receiving end of such acting, he would have achieved the fear he meant to elicit.
But Kyoko was definitively not Ruriko. Shingai saw Ren's gaze rest on her, saw a frisson of excitement pass through them both, and then saw her square her shoulders, maintaining a young girl's serene smile on her face while conveying a hardness and determination in her eyes that impressed him. It was acting without words. I am not afraid of you, Kyoko was saying to him. You should be, he was saying back. Shingai was feeling the tension between them build like a thundercloud heavy with rain and lightning, poisoning what had been a fairly innocuous golden afternoon with a pathos that made him want to run and get the cameras.
But all Ren's Ken said was, "Will you make tea?"
Kyoko's Choko nodded her assent. "Yes. Where shall I make tea for you?"
"Th-thi-this way, Tsuruga-san and…uh…Choko-chan," a blushing assistant interjected. Shingai felt sorry for Hiromoto-san. The young assistant was new to show-biz but had apprenticed to someone on the lighting crew, wanting to learn the craft. No name besides Choko had been given for the girl—he could see how flustered the young assistant was. "We've set up the tea room again."
Kyoko smiled quietly again. "Very well," she said, "Thank you for showing me the way. I would be honored to make tea for my Onii-san."
Hiromoto looked on in some confusion, and Shingai smiled to see it. Shingai could see that he was as yet unused to actors—particularly actors who stayed in-character even when not filming.
"After you, Hiromoto-san," he said, and the apprentice meekly led the group to the garden where the tea house had been prepped and readied.
Shingai noted how Kyoko entered into the tea ceremony preparation area known as the mizuya, viewing the tea things which had been prepared for her. Choko and Ken's tea ceremony scenes were pivotal for the original plot of Ring Doh. The characters used the ritualized politeness of the ceremony to confront each other about hidden motives, and each iteration of the ceremony heightened the tension between them. This scene had ended the last movie and would begin the next. It was absolutely pivotal.
Proficiency in hosting the tea ceremony could be taught after the audition, certainly, but he was looking for an actress with the ability to not just perform the actions but to grasp the spirit of it…all done while performing as Choko. He was keenly aware that Kyoko was at a disadvantage here, and had almost insisted on performing some other scene from the script instead of the tea ceremony scene. Unlike the other two actresses, she'd received a scant hour's notice that she would need to host a tea ceremony. And unlike her competition, she wouldn't have the benefit of a short lesson from the chado consultant he kept on-hand. He hadn't even called Zabosai-sensei, the tea master judging between Kimiko and Mimori, to this audition—he didn't think it would be fair to Kyoko.
He was mulling over canceling the tea scene, expecting Kyoko to protest having to do one sight-unseen. He'd all but decided to do so when, to his surprise, she drew out a sukiya bag from the purse she'd been carrying and withdrew a silk fukusa handkerchief, expertly folding it into a triangle and then tucking it into her obi—and looking almost absentminded as she did it, as if hosting tea was an every-day occurrence. That forced him to look over at Ren, who was no help as a stone-faced, steely-eyed Ken…and then to look over at Yashiro, who seemed utterly unsurprised. Who was this girl? he thought.
She moved on, inspecting the tea-things before her, looking at the tines of her chasen whisk, the cleanliness of her chashaku tea scoop, and then the matcha inside the natsume tea caddy. Shingai watched her purse her lips in apparent disapproval as she inspected the matcha and then began rummaging through the tea things within the storage box underneath the table. She hummed in satisfaction when she found the little stainless tea sifter—and Shingai was surprised at how she'd clearly expected one to be present. She re-sifted the matcha through the strainer, ensuring that it was inside the natsume properly in a little mountain, and then again as she re-folded the chakin linens that had been pre-moistened for her and placed inside the chawan. She looked up, noticing his stare. "I am sorry for intruding on your processes," she said, "but I just wanted to make sure the preparations were done properly."
He could only gape at her as she continued. "The matcha, I'm afraid, is stale—it turns to sawdust so quickly," she said. "I've re-sifted it to remove some of the hardened lumps, but I'm afraid it will taste rather chalky. And the chakin should be folded in thirds, not fourths."
"Have you—have you taken lessons, Choko-chan?" he asked, bewildered. If he'd thought her approach had been an attack, this was an all-out siege.
"Since I was a child, Shingai-san," she responded. "My mother insisted on it. My sister Midori-san had no desire to learn, you see, and so I had to."
Still responding in character, Shingai thought. "Very well. I look forward to your scene with Ken."
=.=.=.=.=
"This morning," Ken said, "I went to the Suzunari Cape." She had prepared a bowl of matcha for him, and he was holding it casually in-hand, almost rudely swirling the green liquid inside after turning it twice to avoid the drinking from the front of the bowl. "The wind really sounds like the ringing of bells."
Shingai had thoroughly enjoyed watching Kyoko prepare the tea. Since I was a child, she'd said, and he believed her. She'd put the production crew to shame with her quiet assessment of the set-up, fixing the faults she identified quickly and silently. With little fuss, she'd walked into the room just as a proper hostess should, precisely avoiding the juncture between tatami mats while bringing in the container full of fresh, cold water first, and then the tea things after it. He was entirely certain that the tea things were spaced just right on the tatami. She'd then begun making Ren a bowl of usucha with the chawan and matcha provided. To Shingai, it wasn't just her knowledge of the procedures that set her apart—it was the comfort she had with them. To her, they were second nature. A newbie practicing tea was self-conscious, uncomfortable with movements that dictated even the angle used to pour hot water into a bowl. Even an extremely competent actress practicing for the first time would have exhibited some signs of uncertainty. But watching Kyoko's comfort with the form of the ceremony made room for its substance.
He watched as Choko waited for her guest to finish drinking the tea so she could commence cleaning the bowl. In the meantime, the little game between Choko and Ken continued.
"Yes," Choko replied to Ken, "I've heard that this is so." Shingai saw it, then—Ken's cold, calculating, accusing look as he finished the tea in a little more than three sips. Choko saw the look in his eyes and reacted as if properly stunned and horrified.
"You've…never been there?" he asked, letting the words trail into empty air. He set down the empty chawan in front of her, but before she could retrieve it, he asked, "Is there some reason why?"
She reached across the tatami. Choko took the bowl in her palm, turning it. She was about to set it down to begin cleaning the bowl, and responded "I've been told never to go near the cape—since I was a child," she said.
Ken looked off to the side, as if straining to hear something. "The sound of bells," he said musingly, "It invites you there." A silent, fierce glance at Choko, and Shingai saw it—her fingers clenched onto the bowl, a small suppressed gasp, and then her trembling arm setting the bowl down.
Brilliant, he thought. She could have dropped the bowl, but she mastered her fear.
"The way you just reacted," Ken said, "seems like you know the story of the cape."
Choko was pale—actually pale, Shingai noted, impressed. How many actresses had he ever seen who could control their physical reactions like that? He was sure she could probably blush on command, too. The actress continued to respond to Ken, saying "I know the story—that murderers hear the sound of bells as a mark of their guilt." She'd picked up the bowl again, inspected it, and set it down.
"Murderers?" Ken said. His eyes were fierce and penetrating, his smile predatory. "Such a vivid imagination you have, Choko-chan."
Choko continued on with the ceremony. The trembling arm rose up, her fingers extended just so to pick up the hishaku ladle, and moved to take a scoop full of hot water into the used chawan bowl. "Imagination?" she retorted, "Why would I need to imagine anything when real life needs no embellishment?"
"Your life must be more dramatic than I knew, Choko-chan. Last I checked you were my sheltered little sister." She'd been pouring the dirty water used to rinse the chawan into the waste water container, and was continuing with cleaning the implements without looking at him.
"Sheltered? How sheltered can I be? My father is dead, Ken-nii-san. And though you and my sister may not mourn him, I cannot be so heartless."
"Of course I'm not heartless, Choko," he said. "But what vehemence of feeling you have for him. Almost as if you'd been there when he died."
He was looking at her, challenging her to respond and reveal herself. Instead, she said "They say, sometimes, that a snake hides in a bird's nest and eats the baby birds as they hatch." She was cleaning the green tea off the whisk now.
"What an odd way to change the subject," he said. "A waste of time. You should just speak plainly, little sister."
"I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." She had assembled the tea-things for removal from the room, but now both she and Ken were frozen in place. Shingai could feel the tension crackling between them—Choko was a hair's breadth away from accusing him outright of murder, but she knew doing so would risk herself.
Ken smiled. "Wouldn't it be terrible to be a fledgling bird in that nest, Choko? Unable to run from the snake? Perhaps the little bird should keep quiet, keep itself hidden."
That did it. Choko finally looked terrified to Shingai's eyes—and he had to admit, it was a tour de force. She'd evolved so much within a single scene—initially exuding a disciplined bravado that first gave way to small signs of fear and then to the outright dissolution of her facade. It had been a gradual reveal, and one done with such elegance he wished he had gotten it on film.
Kyoko allowed herself to feel Choko's horror and fear, but the script ended at her terrified look. She knew that this was the end of the scene—at least, it had been in the older version of the script she and Kuon had rehearsed over the summer. Still, Shingai had not called 'cut,' so she continued. "You—would threaten me—"
Ren didn't miss a beat. Ken continued. "Hardly a threat. Just an observation on nature." The smile darkened into something quite threatening, and Shingai shuddered to see it. Unscripted, certainly, but fully in character. Who knew Ren had such depraved depths in him? But the actor continued with the farce of a tea ceremony, bowing to Choko and saying, "Now, haiken onegai itashi masu," he said, formally asking to view the tea implements.
Choko was pale—actually pale, and bowed in response, making ready to clear the tea things as Ken stayed in seiza. Shingai was watching, spellbound. He stirred as the actress began clearing things from the tea room to prepare for the ritual viewing of the tea implements, noting how the entire set had gathered around his monitor. Even Mimori and Kimiko were quiet, watching with wide eyes and, in Kimiko's case, a frown which she did not bother hiding. Shingai knew what they were all thinking: that the scene had ended, that the audition was over. And yet this girl—someone who apparently had no acting experience whatsoever—stayed in character, continuing to ad lib with Ren even past the close.
Shingai didn't feel particularly sorry for the other two girls who'd auditioned. All three women were young, and yet the two of them had acted like absolute children from the moment they'd set foot on the set. Even if Kyoko hadn't produced such an excellent embodiment of Choko, he likely would have hired her—just from the fact that she'd shown up prepared, mature, and capable. Kimiko, certainly, should have known better. Perhaps having been passed over by her uncle for a part in one of his movies had rankled her enough to let loose the bully he'd seen today. But having grown up in showbiz, she, of all people, should have known better. Shingai wasn't looking forward to informing them that neither one of them had gotten the part—
"Kyoko-chan!" he heard from the corner. "Mogami Kyoko!"
The girl was in the mizuya again, having walked out of the tea room to prepare to show Ren the tea implements. She turned, and Shingai saw a flash of recognition at the voice that had called out.
"Zabosai-sensei," she replied—and Shingai saw her bow just as she had when she'd come onto the set. Is that how she is, then? A real-life Choko?
"I had no idea you were interested in showbiz, Kyoko-chan," Zabosai-sensei was saying. "Imagine my surprise. I was brought in to evaluate actresses auditioning—you did a lovely job, as always. Though I'm sure you've never hosted a murderer."
"Indeed not, Sensei," she replied. Shingai heard her reply elegantly and quietly, though the way she held her shoulders told him she was still tense.
"Hmm. You're different today," he heard Zabosai say. "You're not actually having tea with a murderer, you know. That's Tsuruga Ren—my granddaughters would be so excited, and yet you look so terrified of him!"
She's…still in character, Shingai thought. He looked over at Ren and noted that he was still in-character too, awaiting her arrival to resume the tea ceremony. Ah, he thought. He must still think we're continuing with ad libbing the scene—
"CUT!" Shingai said, and saw both actors visibly relax…and then saw Kyoko descend into a dogeza.
"I am so sorry, Zabosai-sensei!" she exclaimed. "I did not want to break character during the scene, and so I was unable to greet you properly—I am a terrible, terrible student—you must be so ashamed of me!"
"Kyoko—Kyoko-chan, no, it is alright—" the old man was saying. "Truly, I thought you were very elegant. The very picture of a young lady from a good family—and look at how well you acted! I've never seen anything like it—I'm so proud of you…you do me great credit as a student," he continued.
So she knows him? Shingai thought. Kyoko was taught by the head of the Urasenke school himself!? No wonder her tea is so elegant! The old man and the young girl were talking excitedly, now, and he was smiling at her as she exclaimed over the novelty of being on-set. Is this the real Kyoko, then? he asked himself. Her entire presence had changed. The elegant girl with the tortured secrets in her eyes had been replaced with a girl who was still elegant and self-contained, but who smiled and laughed in a way that drew him in. She had a certain frenetic energy to her, an enthusiasm, a charm that was in stark contrast to Choko. He hazarded a look at Ren, who was making his way to the girl, and Shingai saw the truth for himself. He began watching the young man carefully. Judge her by herself alone, the boy had said, and Shingai had. But Shingai saw how he was looking at her, and if Tsuruga Ren wasn't head over heels in love with the girl, then Shingai would have to have his eyes checked. Because the boy wasn't doing a terribly good job of hiding it at all. He saw Ren make a deep, respectful bow to Zabosai-sensei, and watched as Kyoko took him by his arm to introduce him as…a friend. Was there a flash of disappointment on that face, or did he just imagine it? Still, he saw Ren beam as Kyoko gushed over the experience.
It was time. There would be no other actress who could play Choko, and Kyoko would have to be told she'd gotten the part.
=.=.=.=.=.=
"Mogami Kyoko?!" Mimori gasped. She and Kimiko had been watching the tea ceremony scene off to the side, forgotten, when the old tea master had sidled up and exclaimed what apparently was the girl's real name.
Kimiko looked over at Mimori, observing the actress's shock. Kimiko had been told there would only be one other actress auditioning, and then found out there wouldn't be another actress at all. Mimori was an idol—she'd been popular after her debut, but the scandal around that whole thing with Sho Fuwa had tarnished her image. Kimiko had looked over the easily-accessible web search results on the girl and decided she was no threat. Given Mimori's profile, the urgent casting call, and the rumors surrounding Ruriko, Kimiko had assumed the audition was a fait accompli. She'd done more research on the girl, figured out that the little idiot was still dating Sho Fuwa, and then decided she'd season her acquisition of this part by torturing the hapless idol. She hadn't even bothered with putting on the nice-girl persona she often used around directors and casting.
This newcomer had been a surprise, coming out of nowhere. Kimiko had frozen in the middle of calling Mimori some other dog's name and gaped at the new girl walking onto the set. She hadn't liked it one bit. It was as if she'd been brought in just to mock them. Both Kimiko and Mimori had been uncomfortable in their formal furisode kimono—it was a warm day, and staying cool in five layers of silk was too much. But the girl who'd shown up looked at home in kimono. Even though it hadn't been a furisode, Kimiko still fumed. The girl looked elegant in it. It wasn't just the fact that she'd clearly taken lessons in deportment, it was also the fact that this didn't seem like an act for her. She looked like she wore a kimono every day. Immediately, she began looking for others to blame. Her manager, for one thing. That director, for another. The producers, for a third.
Who is she?! Kimiko thought. Kimiko had a good memory. She prided herself on remembering actress names, especially actresses who were around her age and 'type.' They were competition, after all. But this girl? A mystery. She heard Shingai exclaim "Choko!" upon meeting her, saw Tsuruga introduce her further—but she hadn't heard a name. Kimiko searched for a matching actress on her phone. She thought that perhaps the girl might be an LME talent, as she appeared to know Tsuruga. But no such profile existed. There wasn't one for Akatoki, either—none of the big three, and none of the mid-level agencies which kept profiles on their websites listed her. It was possible, of course, that she belonged to a smaller agency. Kimiko made the note to check later.
Kimiko turned to Mimori after the name dropped from her lips. She'd merely echoed that tea-sensei's words, but clearly the name meant something to her. The girl looked shocked. Interesting, Kimiko thought. "Pochi-chan," she said. The girl was staring after this new actress…it was almost as if she knew her. "Do you know her, Pochi-chan?" she asked.
"I…don't know her, exactly," Mimori responded. "She looks so different. But…"
"Don't worry so much about what she looks like, Mimori-chan," Kimiko said. "Do you know her?"
"She…she's the girl that Sho-chan hates," Mimori responded. "He called her his maid but Mimori thinks she was really more like an ex…she stole his parents…That's why he…that's why he lives with Mimori now…That's why Mimori pays…" The idol trailed off before she could choke on the emotion that had risen, unbidden. That was some of the story. Certainly not all of it. But there was no good that could come from talking to a bully, was there?
Kimiko's eyes narrowed. She didn't know Sho Fuwa personally, but Japan's entertainment circles were small. He had a reputation for being an immature, volatile, wanna-be playboy of sorts. Some said he had real talent, once, a good voice and a way of writing lyrics. But his downfall had been well publicized. There had been altercations with a rival band. Bouts with drugs and alcohol. A well-publicized assault on the girl standing right next to her. "So what are you staying? She 'stole' Sho Fuwa's parents?"
"Yes," Mimori nodded emphatically. "Sho-chan has never gotten over it. Says he'd be rich if it hadn't been for her."
"I don't believe it."
"It's true!" Mimori's eyes were large. "Sho says his parents disinherited him and adopted her instead!"
Kimiko looked at the idol, trembling in earnest. "And now she's coming to steal our part!"
Kimiko kept her own counsel. 'Our' part? she thought. There was no way that part would have ever been yours, Pochi-chan. But she filed away the information. This Kyoko girl was a threat, and if Shingai chose her, Kimiko would raze her career before it even started. Wasn't that what social media was really for?
=.=.=.=.=.=
Yashiro was watching Kimiko Morizumi carefully during Kyoko's audition. The girl had been tormenting Mimori Nanokura for most of the day, but now she was watching Kyoko like a viper. Yashiro would have thought nothing of it—they were competing for the same part after all. Some tension was inevitable, though Kimiko was being unprofessional about her dismay. But there was a new development: Nanokura-san had exclaimed loudly when the tea master had called out Kyoko's real name—and then he'd watched as Kimiko's face changed further after a furtive conversation with Nanokura-san.
Yashiro hadn't known Kyoko for very long, but the girl was growing in his estimation. He liked Kyoko very much indeed, and not just because Ren Tsuruga was insanely in love with her. Kyoko had won him over. The girl was intensely hard-working, considerate, loving, skilled—and despite Ren's propensity to molest her, she showed a remarkable ability to get him to behave. And Yashiro had to commiserate with Ren, because she was also adorable. Perhaps she didn't even know it herself, but there would be times when you couldn't help but smile at her. She was so earnest and loveable, one couldn't help but be protective.
Watching Kimiko put Kyoko in her crosshairs made Yashiro intensely nervous.
He didn't know much about Kyoko's past, but he'd seen Mimori's reaction to her and he was worried. He'd had to do an awful lot of damage control in the past when Kimiko had tried to pass herself off as Ren's love interest, and she had a long and brutal history of bullying other actresses and ingenues as a Morizumi. Kyoko was a newbie on the scene, but knowing that she was Ren's girlfriend made her a target by default—and not just by Kimiko. What fresh horrors would the actress come up with?
He moved forward. He would nip this in the bud now.
=.=.=.=.=.=
Mimori considered herself a sweet girl. A cute girl, even. She was devoted, she was loyal, and she was hard-working. She tried to please Sho, even when—no, especially when—he hit her. Lately, it had been especially difficult. In the last year and a half, Sho had moved in and out of quite a few places. Shoko had thrown him out, and then he'd rented the disaster he called an apartment. Shortly after his parents had visited him, he vacated it and then begged her to take him back, vowing that he had changed and that he was sorry, and that this time, he would love her, and her alone.
He blamed the incidents on Kyoko, saying she had been responsible for his misfortunes—she was the reason why his parents weren't talking to him, the reason why they'd disinherited him. It became something of a litany—Kyoko Mogami, the source of all his problems. He told Mimori that he'd simply been heartbroken over his parents' betrayal and was just acting out. He vowed he'd never hit her again—"never ever ever," he'd said. In her heart, Mimori knew better—what had Kyoko to do with anything? But her heart also loved Sho. She forgave him, and then, before she knew it, they were moving into a new apartment together. He had a criminal record now, so she signed the lease. At first, it was bliss. He acted just like he used to, back when they'd first met. He'd written her little songs, he'd paid attention to her. He'd bring home flowers and gave her 'dirty kisses' and was nice. He'd even insisted on paying their rent. But as the months had passed, he'd grown more and more volatile as the royalty checks dwindled. Soon, she'd taken over paying their rent.
Sho could be so mean, and there were days when Mimori simply spent her commute home wondering what state of mind Sho would be in when she arrived. She lived in a constant state of dread. He was on the verge of being dropped from his label, his status at Akatoki was in question—and now his work on his third album was stalled. Mostly due to his illicit underage binge drinking, a traitorous voice inside her said. She shook her head and told herself not to listen. The traitorous voice had been getting louder and louder these past few months. Wasn't he doing his best? All she had to do was try and make him happy. He said he couldn't work when she was in the apartment, so she made herself more scarce. He said her new hair style made her look ugly, so she had it changed back. He said he hated her cooking, so she brought take-out home. She didn't want to make him hit her again—she wanted him to smile at her like he used to.
Mimori's parents had washed their hands of her, telling her that he was a waste of time and using her, but Mimori had faith in Sho, and Mimori worked to make sure Sho's dream had a chance to come true. "So now it's just the two of us, Pochi," he'd told her when he heard. "The two of us against the world. You know I'm the only person you can trust, right?" Mimori had nodded her head, embraced him, and agreed. One by one her former friends stopped calling, knowing he'd object to her seeing any of them.
If it had just been that, Mimori could have borne it. But the fact that Sho's royalty checks were so minimal now were an issue—Mimori had savings from her days as a more successful idol, but they were burning through funds quickly. Sho had insisted on a large apartment in a fashionable neighborhood—but it wasn't an apartment that Mimori could afford alone, especially not after her public disgrace. And Sho was expensive. He insisted on keeping his designer clothing, wearing those ridiculously expensive shoes whenever he could. He had more outfits than she did. Mimori had taken on more work as an idol and a model, but the scandal made her unattractive to the higher-paying concerns. Akatoki had suspended her as one of their talents, and designer brands weren't interested in signing an idol who wasn't in good standing with her agency. She'd been doing calendars and gravures, wearing less and less clothing with each job. She didn't like the trajectory she found herself on, but neither could she afford to not work. She had enough money left to pay for one more month's rent. If, after that, no more was forthcoming, then she would have no choice but to consider…other roles. The kind that required her to be naked.
She shook her head. Sho needed time and space to finish his album, and she was well and truly prepared to sacrifice to make sure he had it.
The offer for Ring Doh, when it came, had been a godsend. Her former agent had called, breathless, informing her that an unbelievable opportunity had just become available. "It's a lead role, Mimori-chan," Jin had said, "...with Shingai-san. And Tsuruga-san. You know it would be just the thing to resurrect your career—no, it wouldn't just resurrect it—you'd be an actress!"
Mimori bit back the impulse to say "That platform-wearing no-talent hack?" when she heard Tsuruga's name but stopped herself. In their apartment, Ren Tsuruga was second only to Kyoko on Sho's most undesirables list. Sho hated the actor—all because of a stupid magazine poll calling him Japan's Sexiest Man. The fact that Ren appeared so often on the TV was simply galling to him. But to call them 'rivals' was inaccurate. Ren Tsuruga was an actor; Sho was a musician. There was very little practical overlap between their worlds. It might have been bearable…except this year, Sho hadn't even been mentioned on the poll. That was predictable enough. There was so much bad publicity and he failed to produce what had been a highly anticipated new album. She knew Sho wouldn't be happy to hear she was working with Ren, but she was doing this for him, wasn't she? If she couldn't land a new job, who would pay for the apartment?
She'd heard that Kimiko Morizumi was auditioning for the same part that she'd been invited to read for and had been discouraged. Of course she was prettier and cuter than Kimiko—with bigger breasts, as Sho pointed out, and less of a sharp, narrow face. But Kimiko had experience, and more than that, connections. She hadn't had much confidence that the director would pick her, but she needed the part. It was her fault that the tabloids had run all those stories about her, after all—and like Sho said, she could only blame her own actions for the dip in her popularity. She should've kept quiet. Sho was just upset because of Kyoko, so he took it out on her.
She was lost in her musings when she noticed that the girl of the hour had been left alone momentarily by the little set-up table the crew had left, putting away tea things. The little table had been set up at the gate of the tea house's garden. Kyoko, apparently, had volunteered to help them put away the tea ceremony props. The rest of the production staff seemed to be elsewhere—tear down, mostly, from the look of things. Mimori was at a loss. She wanted to confront this Kyoko, yell at her for ruining Sho's life, demand that she give up the property that should've been his. She wanted to slap her and tell her she should never have hurt him. But though her feet carried her forward to where Kyoko was standing, she found that she couldn't say a word. This girl was the enemy, wasn't she? She was someone Sho hated and despised, so shouldn't Mimori hate her too?
No, that pesky voice said. Mimori, you know better.
An eternity was passing while she stood still, willing her frozen self to move. She was on the cusp of saying something…just about to open her mouth…she was going to give Kyoko a piece of her mind—but instead, Kyoko looked up and saw her.
"Nanokura-san," the not-so-plain-udon girl said.
She straightened with a jolt. Mimori half-expected Kyoko to be just as angry as she was—but the girl looked at her with a clear-eyed gaze. There was no hatred, no recrimination in her eyes. "Kyoko Mogami," Mimori responded.
"Ohisashiburi desu," Kyoko said politely. To Mimori's relief, Kyoko didn't say anything about it being a pleasure to see her again. Seeing her face brought back memories Mimori had tried to forget and replace with Sho's retelling, instead. For the most part, she'd almost succeeded in convincing herself it had been different. The last—and first—time they'd seen each other was hardly pleasurable. She'd been caught at the apartment Kyoko kept with Sho, in flagrante delicto. She remembered how utterly unrepentant Sho had been, choosing to rain insults on the girl who'd just stepped into the apartment. Mimori had been shameless. She'd twined herself around him, trying to get him back into bed, even as Sho continued to tell the girl what a worthless, plain woman she was.
She told herself that she'd wanted to claim Sho as hers and hers alone. She'd wanted to hurt the girl who'd intruded on their room, to revel in the fact that it was her in the bed while she reeked of fries. But she made the mistake of looking at that girl's face, and what she saw was heartbreak-in-real-time, the kind of thing you heard about in sad pop songs. It shamed her enough to make her turn away, suddenly feeling ashamed that she had flaunted her nakedness in the face of such hurt. That look would haunt her, and she would remember that look after she'd found out Sho was sleeping with not just her, but also his manager and perhaps a few other girls.
But Sho hadn't given it a single thought. "Stay and watch if you want," he'd told the horrified Kyoko. "Then maybe you'd understand why I would never want you. I like sexy women. You're just a maid." Later he explained that Kyoko had never been the kind of girl who would put out, even for a boy who she supposedly was in love with—even for a boy she lived with. Mimori had been aghast. Who would resist Sho, after all? But Sho had reassured her that Kyoko was delusional—though apparently, she'd been a wonderful housekeeper.
His words provoked an unexpected reaction in Kyoko, and Mimori had a front seat. Sho's words had truly incensed her. Kyoko had flown into a rage, surprising them both. How different she'd been from Mimori herself—because when Sho had hurt her in the same way, Mimori had cried and fallen to the floor. But Kyoko had thrown the food she'd brought for him at him—even now, Mimori could still remember the cold shock and splatter of the iced soda hitting the wall and exploding over them. Sho had been dumbstruck for a second as the cheerful girl he'd known since childhood turned into a vengeful harpy. Nothing came of it right then—Kyoko had vowed revenge, Sho told her the only way she could get it was to surpass him in showbiz. He seemed to think it was impossible, but Kyoko had turned and walked out of the apartment, vowing she'd do it. Mimori didn't know where she'd gone that night. Their apartment was given up; Sho had taken his things out and moved in with his then-manager Shoko. Kyoko had disappeared from his life.
Mimori had always wondered whether he'd cared more than he admitted. For a girl he claimed to not care about, he spent an inordinate amount of time ranting and raving about her, blaming her for failings that ran the gamut from the slump in his album sales to the theft of his songs by Vie Ghoul. Shoko had eventually thrown him out, and he'd come back to her, claiming to have given up the other girls and living alone in his own apartment. It was a lie—and one that taught her how very bitter it was to walk in on your boyfriend having sex with another girl. Mimori had tried to call him out on it, and that was when he'd hit her for the first time. Everything after that had played out in the tabloids. She'd vowed to herself it was over, and over for good—but then he'd come back again and swore he'd changed. Enough of Mimori's heart believed him to take him back.
And now here she was. At the end of her rope, frantically grasping at a chance that she knew was unlikely to begin with. Kyoko's performance had shamed her and Kimiko both. After watching her, it felt as if anything Mimori herself could've done would simply be a painfully incomplete imitation. And it wasn't just the acting. Kyoko was professional, refined, and most of all, disciplined. When she'd bowed to Shingai, Mimori realized that she'd been acting like a child. She'd allowed Kimiko to needle her into fighting—she hadn't even thought twice about it. This was what mortified Mimori most of all. She knew how much getting this role would mean to her, and yet she'd allowed a spiteful demoness like Kimiko to ruin her chances.
She sighed. Not that she'd really had a chance. She knew she'd lost the part as soon as Kyoko had stepped onto the set.
Something about her is truly different, Mimori thought to herself. The girl in Tokyo had the same long hair, but that was where the similarity ended. Whether or not the Choko had any resemblance to her real self, this Kyoko was lovely. She didn't seem mousy, or haggard, or dowdy in the least—though admittedly, the fast-food restaurant uniform she'd been wearing last time they'd been in the room together hadn't helped. There was a magic to her, as if she'd been transformed by some fairy.
Had she gone into showbiz after all? Had she been working on things Mimori simply hadn't seen? Perhaps she'd gone into the theater, or had been working on indie films. She certainly hadn't come on set like a newbie actress. Mimori was confused. She hated Kyoko, right? Hated the girl who'd known Sho before any of his other paramours? But looking at her, she also couldn't help but cheer her on.
All of a sudden she was aware that Kyoko was staring at her.
"Nanokura-san…no, Mimori-chan," she said. "Will you have some tea with me?"
Thoughtful eyes bored into Mimori's own. "Tea?" she squeaked. Meeting Kyoko again was truly affecting her ability to speak. But why? she thought. What earthly reason could she have to ask me to tea? Is it to rub in my failure?
The eyes looked away, peering down at the tea things, and Mimori saw that she was taking out the things she'd begun to put into their storage containers. "Zabosai-sensei gifted me some matcha," Kyoko said. Her hands were busy folding the tea linens now. "It will taste better than the stuff they had for the auditions. I thought it might be nice to share some, and I'm sure they won't mind if I use the tea house for one more bowl."
That didn't make any sense, either. "But Mi-Mimori doesn't know how…"
"I will help you," Kyoko said. "If you need to know how to do something. And then perhaps we can talk."
"Talk?"
"Isn't that why you came over?" Kyoko was calm, but direct.
"No—Mimori wanted…"
"Or was it to tell me that I am a plain, boring woman?"
Kyoko had gotten Sho's voice just right, and on hearing it, Mimori found herself opening her mouth and impulsively speaking. "You stole his inheritance!" she said, almost by rote. "You stole his inheritance, and his parents, and their ryokan, and then everyone abandoned him except me…and…and…you're a plain, boring woman!" She repeated the words, and then regretted them as soon as she said them. She expected Kyoko to turn on her in a rage just as she had at Sho that day.
Instead, Kyoko smiled at her, but her eyes were sad. Gently, she asked, "Would you like to go into the tea room first? Generally, the host comes in after the guests do."
"You—you're not going to say anything?" Mimori said, aghast. She'd just insulted this girl with the epithets Sho would use when he was at his drunkest, and yet she hadn't even blinked.
"I will say that you look lovely in your kimono today, Mimori-chan," Kyoko said.
"Are you mocking me?!" It was too cruel. Mimori hadn't even realized she'd stopped referring to herself in the third person.
"No. Not at all." Kyoko motioned forward with a single gesture of her arm. Mimori looked beyond her, at the garden path leading to the tea house. It was the blue hour, and the twilight tinted the garden in deep violet. She saw the green spark of fireflies in the dark beyond. The path itself was lit with lamps along the way. "I'll follow right after you with the tea things again," Kyoko said. "The water in the brazier should still be hot, so it won't take long to boil, and the cold water container is still inside."
Mimori entered the tea room. She knew there were conventions to be followed, but she'd long forgotten them. She didn't have any of the little niceties she was supposed to have as a guest for a tea ceremony—she didn't have her kaishi paper napkins for dessert, nor did she have a fan. The little tea lesson they'd been given that morning seemed a million lifetimes ago, and besides, they were taught to be the hosts then, not the guests. So she entered the tea room feeling hopelessly uncultured and sat in what she supposed was the correct fashion.
Kyoko, following soon after her, saw her confusion. "It's alright," she said. "It's just the two of us. We can be informal." She placed a single piece of konpeito candy in front of Mimori and bowed. "Okashi o dozo," she said, "Please have the candy. I'm sorry it's not anything special. But please feel free to eat it, if you like."
"Why are you doing this?" Mimori asked. "Is it to humiliate me? I already know I can't host a tea ceremony."
Kyoko kept moving the tea things into the tea room, making the movements with practiced ease. But she stopped on her haunches to look at Mimori just as she'd placed the tea bowl just so on the tatami.
It felt as if she waited a long while before responding.
"Ichi-go ichi-e," Kyoko responded. "Our paths may never cross again." She paused, thinking. Hesitantly, she said,"You…remind me a little bit of how I used to be, back in Tokyo. I thought that we might share a moment. And I thought perhaps you could use a friend."
Mimori looked at her. The konpeito was in her mouth, leaving sweetness in the wake of her bitterness. Kyoko hadn't said much beyond that speech, but her eyes spoke volumes. I know, they seemed to say. I know, and you're not alone. Mimori gulped.
Kyoko continued, "Sometimes I make tea for foreigners that don't understand why there are so many rules. I tell them that the rules make us pay attention to the moment. I think, sometimes, we need the quiet." She opened the kettle's lid. "But…this isn't a real tea ceremony. It's just two people having tea," she said. "Maybe, in my case, today…" Kyoko's mouth turned upwards into a small smile. "I needed the motions to keep me calm. So I could talk to you." The lid settled on its rest with a small ding.
Mimori said nothing, letting the silence drag on. Outside the cicadas were in full force, filling the silence inside the tea room. "Did he ever—?" she asked.
"Mm," Kyoko said simply. "Even when we were children."
Mimori breathed in, and then out again. "You must think I'm an idiot for going back."
"You love him." Kyoko stated it like a fact. The words hit Mimori like leaded weights.
"Like you did."
"No. I think he was simply all I knew," Kyoko said. Mimori watched as she finished the ritual cleaning of the tea whisk and set it back down on the tatami. "What I felt for Sho wasn't love. I think I thought it was, back then. I just didn't know any better."
"He said…the reason why…that first time…" Mimori stopped.
"He probably blamed it on something else," Kyoko interjected. "Was it some producer he couldn't work with? Was it a drummer that couldn't stay in tempo? Or was it the weather?"
Mimori shook her head emphatically. "No. It was you. He said it was because you stole what was his," Mimori responded.
"Ah," Kyoko said simply. "Did you believe him?"
"No," Mimori responded. She was surprised at herself. She'd never spoken—or even thought it—aloud. "I didn't. I wanted to. I told myself that he wouldn't lie to me—"
"He lies to himself as often as he lies to you," Kyoko said.
"Because why would it be your fault?" Mimori felt tears prick the edge of her vision. "The papers all said I was the aggressive one—but all I asked was why he hadn't told me he was sleeping with so many other people. I thought…I thought he loved me too." She shut her eyes. She was not going to cry. "So I thought…if it wasn't your fault, it must be mine."
Kyoko watched her quietly. Mimori was grateful she didn't try to give her false comfort. Mimori watched as she poured the hot water onto the bright green tea inside the bowl and whisked it briskly. "Do you know…when we were children, he would always tear up my test results whenever I scored higher than he did? I let him—they were never good enough for my mother, so I didn't care very much. He just couldn't stand to have me do better than him, even when he was copying all my homework."
Kyoko paused midway in removing the tea whisk from the completed bowl of tea. "In Tokyo, I paid for the apartment we lived in," she said. "Every bit of it. I worked four jobs. I decided not to go to high school, just so I could help him with his dreams. He said he needed the luxurious apartment because otherwise other musicians would look down on him…but in the end, he was almost never there."
She turned the tea bowl and set it down on the tatami, motioning for Mimori to take it. "And yet, that entire time, Akatoki was giving him a living allowance," she said. "He never even told me."
"They aren't anymore," Mimori responded. "Not after the incident with his parents. He damaged that apartment quite badly. And now…" She paused with the bowl of tea in her hands.
"Raise it like this," Kyoko said, demonstrating, "and then turn it twice…don't drink from the front of the bowl…"
Mimori complied. But before she took her first sip, she said, "He lives with me now."
"Does he—does he still—-?" hit you, Kyoko wanted to say.
"Yes," Mimori said. She was holding the bowl of tea in her hand, feeling the heat of the liquid through the thick earthenware walls of the bowl. Inside, the tea was a bright, uniform green, a thin layer of fine foam on top. "And I pay for rent…because his music payments aren't large enough. He blames you for the fact that he doesn't get any money from his parents anymore."
"Did he tell you how he threw his own parents out on the street for the paparazzi to find?" Kyoko asked.
"He said they deserved it—that they were trying to make him give up his dream."
Kyoko replaced her fukusa on her obi so that she could get ready to clean the bowl Mimori had used.
"Do you know, Mimori-chan…" Kyoko paused, letting the sound of water bubbling in the kettle fill the air between them. Kyoko knew Yayoi would be mortified, but she said, "Do you know that when I first came back, I would hear his mother cry when she thought no one could hear her?"
Mimori blanched, then recovered. "Even if she did…they still disinherited him and adopted you."
"How many times has he told you that he'd never come back to live a boring life in Kyoto?" Kyoko held out her hands, palms up, beckoning for Mimori to come see. "I did not ask his parents to adopt me," she said. "I truly didn't. But they needed someone who could take over the running of the inn, and Sho always refused to do that." She proffered her hands to Mimori. "Take a look at them," she said. "This is the true legacy of the ryokan. Every day, from before dawn until after dark, I work. Even before he left for Tokyo, that's something Sho never did."
Mimori looked. Kyoko's fingers were long and slim, but her hands were scratched and callused. From watching her tea ceremony, Mimori would never have known how rough Kyoko's hands were. They were the hands of someone who was no stranger to hard work. This was someone who worked in the kitchens, someone who scrubbed floors. Cinderella's hands, Mimori realized. Those were Kyoko's hands. Hands of the girl before she'd come to the palace.
They were in contrast to the elegance Kyoko had displayed all day in her kimono. "Sho never did his chores," Kyoko said, contemplating her calluses. "I did them for him, never even complained. And he was a prince, so he took it for granted that someone would do the dirty work for him forever."
Mimori was silent. She heard Kyoko's message loud and clear—You, Mimori, are the one doing that work for him now. She wasn't wrong—Mimori did take care of Sho. She made sure he ate, she made sure she did the housework and picked up all the beer bottles he'd leave lying around. But even though he'd stay holed up in his room all day, 'writing,' he did nothing to help her with the household chores.
And Kyoko was right about his hands…Sho's hands were baby-smooth. He didn't even bother playing his guitar anymore, so even the calluses on his fingertips were gone.
"His parents made me the heir because there's no one else in their family that could stand to inherit the property and bring it forward into the next generation. But they didn't leave him entirely broke. He's not destitute," Kyoko added. "He may have told you that he had no money source, but he has a trust fund—"
"A trust fund!?"
"—which won't be released until his thirtieth birthday."
"So he does have something from his parents."
"He does. Not the ryokan, but he has funds from his mother's side." Kyoko sighed at the look on Mimori's face.
"And…he can't use it now…"
Kyoko shook her head. "His parents want to make sure he doesn't use it on…" Her hands motioned forward.
Mimori nodded in comprehension. "So…even if he has money now…Mimori still has to pay…"
The girl was looking dazed and dismayed. "I can't, Mogami-san," she said. "I wanted to get this part so badly, but even I have to acknowledge that you were the ideal person for it. But…but…now how will I pay for rent?"
Kyoko merely looked on in sympathy as tears began to fall from Mimori's face. "I'll have to accept that other offer, then," she said. "And…and…Mimori doesn't want to do that…it looks like it hurts…"
"Don't," Kyoko said. She didn't need an explanation to know what offer it was that Mimori had received. "Don't—you don't owe him anything, Mimori-chan. Just like I didn't owe him anything." A tissue appeared out of nowhere, and Mimori reached for it, wiping away her tears while balancing the tea bowl in the other hand.
"Oh!" she said, noticing it.
"Yes. You should drink it before it gets too cold."
She took her first sip, surprised at the taste. Matcha was commonplace enough, but this matcha was different. It spoke of a swift wind, a morning spent in misty green fields glowing bright green under a gray sky. It was a far cry from the matcha she herself had served that morning, which was bitter and chalky. She felt almost as if she should take smaller sips, prolonging the experience. Ichi-go ichi-e, Kyoko had told her, 'one time, one meeting,' but perhaps now she understood a little better why Kyoko had offered to make her tea. The bowl in her hand, the taste in her mouth, the fragrance of it, the quiet, calm, precise way it had been made—it was an overture of friendship. It was an expression of care and grace, and it had been offered to her even though her first intent had been hostile. Mimori realized with a sudden clarity how easily Kyoko could have destroyed her…but instead, the girl had taken her in-hand and shown her friendship and hospitality.
"Otemae chodai itashimasu," Mimori said, 'thank you for making tea,' realizing she'd said it too late. She should have said it when she received the bowl of tea. It was the ritual response, but she meant it from the bottom of her soul.
Kyoko punctuated the statement by pouring another scoop of the hot water to clean the tea from the bowl and nodded in acknowledgment. They sat in companionable silence for a while, just the two of them. They listened to the sound of the cicadas and the windchime tolling on some far off corner of the mansion beyond the garden. Kyoko allowed herself to fall into the lull of cleaning the tea things—the washing of the bowl and cleaning of the tools necessary before she could finish putting them away.
"Will you be returning to Tokyo tonight?" she asked Mimori.
She repressed a shudder. The last train would leave in a few hours. "Yes," she responded.
"To him?"
"To him."
Kyoko nodded, turned to exit, took a step. And then she turned around. As if on impulse, she asked, "What if you don't?"
Don't? Mimori thought. Out loud, she said, "Where would I go?"
"Stay here in Kyoto for the night. We have extra rooms at the ryokan."
"I—I can't. He'll already be so mad that the audition didn't go well—"
"And if it had, can you sincerely say he would have been happy for you?"
Mimori looked away again. We truly are sisters, she thought. Bound by the same tragedy. "No."
"No," Kyoko agreed. "He would've pouted because the attention wasn't all on him anymore."
"It will be worse if I don't go home."
"Why go back at all?" Kyoko asked. "He doesn't pay for your apartment. You don't owe him anything."
At first the thought was unconscionable. How could she leave Sho? Wasn't he the love of her life? Wasn't he the only person that would ever love her? Wasn't he her only friend…her only family? Being with him was painful—but if she didn't go home tonight, she knew it would be tantamount to breaking up with him. But she couldn't lie to herself. He had done this before, and he'd do it again after she was gone. "But after tonight, where would I go?"
"Do you have family?" Kyoko knew this would be a complicated question. When the Takatsuki-san at the Darumaya had asked her the same question, she could only shake her head no.
Mimori did the same. "They stopped speaking to me after I moved in with Sho. They told me I was making a mistake…I don't know how I can even speak to my mother…"
"My mother has never loved me," Kyoko said, and Mimori looked at her in surprise. "But after I came back from Tokyo, she forgave me. Yayoi-san and Etsuro-san, too." She had finished putting away the tea things, and took Mimori's hand. She set her own over it, protectively. "Come to the ryokan tonight. Call your parents in the morning."
Mimori nodded her head, dumbly. Oddly enough, having the path laid out for her like this was comforting.
It was then that she saw the first and only spark of anger in Kyoko. "And don't call him. Whatever you do, don't call him. You can let Sho rot in—"
Whoosh. They were interrupted by the tea room's door being flung open. "Nanokura-san!" It was Hiromoto, and he had been looking for Mimori for the last half-hour. "There you are!"
"Mimori was just…having tea…" she said, confused.
"Yes, I see," the assistant said. "We would like to get you out of costume, however. And the van will take you back to the station—I understood you were taking the 9:30 Shinkansen back to Tokyo?"
"No, not tonight," Mimori said. "Kyoko-chan has offered to host me in Kyoto for an evening."
"Yes, yes," Hiromoto said. Now that he'd found the girl, he just wanted to get her out of costume and off the set. Dealing with her and Kimiko all day had been draining. He looked around and noticed that the tea room had been tidied and the tea-things put away, and he looked at Kyoko appreciatively.
"Uh…Mogami-san?" he asked, unsure. He'd learned the actress's name only after watching her audition.
"Yes?" she answered brightly.
"Th-thank you for putting away the tea—"
"KYOKO!" Hiromoto was all but shoved out of the way by a frantic Ren, with Yashiro following at his heels.
"Yes?" she answered, again—but confusedly, this time.
"I was looking for you…no one saw you…I thought Morizumi had.."
"Morizumi-san?" Kyoko looked from Ren to Yashiro, who was pushing up the glasses on his nose with a solemn air.
But Ren just looked at her with quiet relief. Kyoko saw how his hands moved towards her and then stopped as he remembered where they were. Inwardly she sighed. She would've loved to nestle into him. "Nevermind all that," he said. "I was just thinking I hadn't seen you for a bit and was wondering where you were."
"Will you mind taking a fourth person in your car?" she asked.
"A…fourth?"
"Mimori-chan will be coming with us today," she said.
"Mi...mo…ri…?" He scratched at his head. He'd ask her about it later, when they were alone. "It will be quite crowded back there, but if you don't mind sharing the space, it will be fine," he said.
=.=.=.=.=
Kuon curled around Kyoko in the bath. He'd spent most of the day frustrated over not being able to touch her, despite her proximity to him. It was an exquisite kind of torture, but also one he'd gladly undertake indefinitely—if only for the pleasure of seeing her act. When they'd gotten home, he'd wanted to lift her up and whirl her around in celebration while she protested—his Kyoko had gotten the part!—but they had a stranger in their company, and he knew he had to refrain. He was a little disappointed at it—he'd had to share his time over dinner with the girl, too, and he'd had to behave even when he was 'back home,' as he thought of it now. I guess I know how she feels, he thought, thinking back on her reproach about telling Ten and Yashiro so quickly.
When they were finally alone, he felt how tired she was when she fell into his waiting arms and just held him. His exuberance melted away and instead was replaced by the instinct to hold her close and protect her. Against the world, against fatigue, against whatever it was that threatened her—he cradled her head and kissed her forehead, and then readied their bath after helping her undress slowly.
"I'm so proud of you," he said. She was resting on his chest, eyes closed and enjoying the heat of the water as his limbs entwined with her own.
"Mmm," she responded.
"I thought Shingai was going to faint! It was like a coup d'etat," he said.
Silence.
"Kyoko?" he asked. She'd been preoccupied all night, ever since he'd found her in the teahouse with Nanokura-san. Vaguely he wondered what impulse drove her to invite the girl back to the ryokan to stay for the night.
"Yes?"
"You've been somewhere else all night. Talk to me?"
It took her a few moments to respond. "He hits her," she said. Underneath the scented water, her hand tightened on his. "And yells at her. And he's cheated on her. And she pays for their apartment. It's just like when—" She stopped, feeling him tense underneath her.
Sho Fuwa, he thought. He'd never asked for details. He knew what she'd told him on the day they met at LME…and he knew what she'd told him when they'd first met back here. 'I had been living just to work meaningless jobs for someone who couldn't care less about me,' she'd said back then. He knew that Sho used her abominably, but he hadn't realized how bad it truly was. "I'm going to kill him." His hands tightened around her middle and he hugged her close.
"Shhh. Don't," she said. She took his hand and raised it to her mouth, kissing his knuckles slowly.
Her touch calmed the sudden rage that blinded him. The thought of anyone hitting her, taking advantage of her like that sickened him. "If he ever comes anywhere near you, I swear…" He nuzzled the spot between her neck and ear, giving her a tiny kiss.
"I asked her to stay. Just for tonight. So that she'd be safe."
He was angry, angry at Sho Fuwa. The man had tainted Kyoko's joy and robbed her of the sweetness of winning her first audition, and he'd done it by ruining yet another person's life. "You're a good person, Kyoko Mogami."
"Kuon?" she said. Her voice was small and timid, and he nuzzled into her as closely as he could.
"Yes, love?" he responded.
"Kiss me."
She flipped her body around and he accommodated her, his hands resting on her hips as her own entwined themselves around his neck. "Kiss me," she said again, urgently.
The need in her woke the need in him. "I love you," he said, simply. He stopped hesitating and his lips met hers. The heat was rising between them, and for the rest of the night, he took his time showing her how safe she was, how beautiful she was, and how loved she was.
=.=.=.=
On the other side of the ryokan, Mimori stretched out onto luxurious white cotton sheets. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, and yet she felt like a fugitive. She felt like a small animal about to be hunted down. She'd turned off her phone after Sho began calling her every five minutes, knowing that if she talked to him, he'd lose it. And if he finds out where I actually am, she thought…and shuddered.
Exhaustion was pulling her under. Tomorrow, she knew, she'd call her parents and perhaps go see them in Osaka, instead of returning to Tokyo. At least she had a friend now—someone who wouldn't judge her, who knew and understood everything. All she had to do was stay strong.
=.=.=.=.=.=
Author's Notes:
If you are in an abusive situation and need help, please call the National Domestic Abuse Hotline.
Soooo…this chapter didn't quite go where I expected it to go. I know I said I was hoping to get it out a week ago, but things got very busy and got away from me. I think I could re-work a lot of it to satisfy myself, and…I'm afraid it is a bit of a dumpster fire, so please, let me know what you think. It would certainly put my mind at ease.
1. Ichi-go Ichi-e (一期一会): Literally translated as 'one time, one meeting' and closely associated with Japanese tea ceremonies. From the wiki: The term reminds people to cherish any gathering that they may take part in, citing the fact that any moment in life cannot be repeated; even when the same group of people get together in the same place again, a particular gathering will never be replicated, and thus each moment is always a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
2. Tea ceremonies: There are a lot of tea-terms here, but I've tried to explain them in context throughout the chapter. I know I put a number of those definitions in the author's note section in Chapter 1. There's a lot of resources online, though there are very few in English that will explain the precise movements you'll need to do. There are also videos on youtube. Basically, the tea ceremonies Kyoko performs here are for the production of thin tea (usucha) in summertime. Summer and winter tea ceremonies differ in important ways—the most important being the fact that summer tea ceremonies feature the kettle raised on a brazier on top of the tatami, unlike in winter, when the kettle is settled in a cut out in the center of the room. There are a Lot of Rules—even the number of steps you use to walk into the tea room is defined. If you're interested in learning, though, there may be a school or a certified tea instructor in your area.
3. Iemoto Zabosai Soshitsu is the 16th generation tea master of the Urasenke school of tea. He's a real dude, and I beg his indulgence for the cameo in this chapter. I, uh, kinda doubt he reads Skip Beat fanfiction, though, and I doubt he'd do consulting for a movie.
4. The Ring Doh sequel: guys, I know the dialogue is painful and clunky. I'm sorry. I played with a number of scenarios, but in the end, I was trapped with what I'd written in Chapter 2 and also by the dialogue in-canon.
5. Making matcha: So…yeah, I thought I'd separate out this bit from the tea ceremony bit. Ideally you'd have really fresh matcha, because it goes stale SUPER FAST. My tea sensei likes Ippodo Tea, which ships EMS from Japan. Bonus: They have a matcha named Kuon. For real. Seriously. Look it up.
6. Tea house: the teahouse here is a separate structure from the house, and, unlike the anime/manga, the tea ceremonies are indoors.
7. Coup d'Etat: One of my favorite manga arc titles — from 'Princess Coup d'Etat,' Skip Beat chapters 9 to 14.