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.

Chapter XXIX: Push-Pull

Kyoko felt the day's events seep into her soul.

It had taken a single day to annihilate Kyoko-of-the-summer.

Pathetic, said the voice in her head. That's what you are. You've learned nothing, nothing, nothing after coming back from Tokyo. The day had been a good dose of reality, an ice-cold bucket of water waking her up from a pipe dream.

She might have won the battle with Hana and her clique, but she felt, perhaps, that she was losing the war. Survival was a constant endeavor, and high school was a closed system. Status was won and lost in little daily skirmishes. One did not survive merely because one could assert one's self in front of bullies. One survived through strategy—through competent decision-making made with an eye to the future. A survivor did not do things like daydream in class, or blow off studying to do what could only be an amusing little detour in her life.

She was furious at herself.

On the way to the set, she'd examined herself, asking herself if she was truly fine with being a love-crazed teenager. Because that's what she'd been all summer, right? No. It was worse—she was worse than a love-crazed teenager. She was downright lewd.

What a joke.

As if a single stroke of luck would result in a stable future. She double-thought all of her actions, all of her feelings. Things that had looked so sure under blue skies now looked illusory. Acting wasn't stable, it wasn't even a real profession. She shuddered, imagining what Saena would've said. Even Lory, for all of his good intentions, didn't think the work she could contribute was worth paying for. His so-called offer told her everything she needed to know about the man—and about the industry. She could imagine it—all those young starlets on the stage, working for no pay and all for the chance of fame and fortune. How long would it take for the machine to chew them up and spit them out? If she'd stayed in Tokyo, would she have agreed to such an arrangement? What sort of poverty—of mind, of body—would she have had to endure? Did she even really enjoy acting? All of it…the goosebumps, that wild exhilaration—wasn't it just her desire to be with Kuon? Wasn't it all just lust anyway?

He said he loved her, but what did that even mean?

She ignored the memories of how he'd followed her like a shadow that summer, patiently lifting and carrying and working—working so hard—even though he was a guest at their ryokan and she'd refused to talk to him. She shut down thoughts of the night he'd run after her, the night he'd told her all of that nonsense about being with her, about coming down from Tokyo, about getting married. She heard him beg her not to shut him out, and she'd been enchanted enough to give in. But after this rude awakening into the real world, hadn't she been right in the first place?

It wasn't that Kuon wasn't wonderful. The problem was that they'd lived in some magic bubble. She was sure he believed the things he said to her—she knew by now that he wasn't lying about the feelings he thought he felt. But the real world would kill what they had, and she was certain she was right not to give into these delusions of a happily ever after. Once he got back to his normal life in Tokyo, all of those promises would fade into thin air. She was sure of it. She'd simply have to be strong until he left. And then he'd forget her on his own.

Kuon was a thoroughbred, a prince to the manner born. He had an entire family on three continents who could ensure his success. Even if he did nothing but bray like a donkey in front of a camera, he'd be a star. The man could give his voice to the sea witch and still book designers the world over. He was that pretty.

But her? She knew better. She was worse than an orphan—she was a reject. A girl whose own mother could not love her. A girl who'd only been adopted because Etsuro and Yayoi needed someone to run the ryokan after their passing—and they'd spent so long training her, it only made sense. She was the convenient choice. She was the conservative choice. They knew she'd work her fingers to the bone and thank them for it.

What the ryokan offered was stability. And, if she was honest, it offered her beauty, both in a physical home and in a way of life that had been passed down over the centuries. Whether or not she'd been the Fuwas' true choice, what they'd given her was someplace to call home. And now that she was the heir, no one would ever be able to take that away. Real estate was real.

She and Kuon weren't. This time, she wouldn't allow him to seduce her with pretty words.

By the time she arrived on-set, she thought she'd made a decision. She summoned up everything she had to turn away from him, forcing herself to look cold and distant.

"Shingai-san is waiting for me," she'd said.

But the look in his eyes hurt far more than she thought it would. He looked…bewildered. Betrayed, even. He looked as if he'd been kicked like a misbehaving puppy.

She didn't want to hurt him, but she also knew there would be no way around it.

She would simply have to convince him that real life couldn't support their fairy tale.

=.=.=.=

Whatever had happened to her, it made him angry.

His heart had lurched when she turned away, but he was going to hold on. She'd promised him time that evening, hadn't she? And what kind of heart-to-heart could they have on a set with so many eyes? Something had happened—something at school. She'd been fine that morning. He watched her film her scenes from a distance—she was distracted tonight. Shingai had had to shoot two scenes twice, and that was unusual for her. She refused to meet his eyes, but he wasn't going to give up.

He hadn't noticed his hands had curled into fists, but Yashiro did. "What's wrong?" the manager said. His charge was staring at the girl intently, and Yashiro felt storm clouds building behind his darkening gaze. The last thing Yashiro wanted was an outburst similar to the one yesterday. There was already enough gossip ongoing about Kyoko-chan. Ren Tsuruga was a steady entity, but Kuon Hizuri was not. Yashiro was still getting to know this "new" version of Ren, but one thing was obvious: Kuon was a loose cannon. And no one had the power to bring out Kuon like Kyoko. Yashiro hadn't noticed anything amiss when she'd come on set—she'd looked as polite as ever. But Kuon apparently had, and it had upset him. It was Yashiro's job to make sure the actor behaved—something he'd never had to do in the past, but was something he'd found himself doing now that his charge was in love.

Kuon saw the concerned look on his manager's face and shook his head. "I don't know," he responded. "But something is...I think something must have happened at school—"

"You'll ask her later, I hope?" Yashiro asked. He'd raised an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. "Don't cause a scene."

"Of course," Kuon said absentmindedly. And then he jerked back and recollected himself. "I should, right?" he asked. He looked at Yashiro, worried. "Ask her. About what happened? I don't want to lose her."

Yashiro stared. For all of his smooth ways, he'd never seen a trace of insecurity in Ren. But Kuon's question—the uncertainty and hurt in his eyes—told him that the young man wasn't nearly as experienced in love as the world believed. "Yes. Of course," he said. "I'm worried too." Yashiro watched as a small smile broke through Kuon's anxiety, but only just. The actor's eyes swiveled back to Kyoko and Yashiro groaned inwardly. Any hopes of convincing the cast that yesterday had been a fluke fizzled out.

Kuon continued watching her from a distance as the evening's shoots continued. To anyone else, she looked as calm and as professional as always. But Kuon could see the strain in her. He could see how Shingai's retakes flustered her—she fumbled one or two lines—when she'd simply taken them in stride before.

Her discomfiture made him realize that the coldness she'd shown him was her way of protecting herself from something. He knew she thought of love as a threat. She had from the very beginning. She wasn't wrong, either. Kyoko could destroy him easily and with very little effort. All she would have to do was to stop loving him. Back when he'd run into her at LME, she might have flown into a rage or given some kind of amusing outburst. But this Kyoko had learned self-control, and her reactions were no longer loud or childish. She merely darkened, like an abyss under a placid lake.

Why was she distancing herself from him?

It made him want to shake her, ask her what was wrong, ask her who he could beat up just so she'd smile again. He wanted to tell her that she wasn't alone; he would always, always be there for her. But Kyoko was avoiding him, and though he knew she'd been hurt, he couldn't help but react. Did he mean so little to her? Did she think he wouldn't understand? That she wouldn't confide in him bothered him more than he could say. That she'd lump him in with them—whoever they were—stung. He wanted to be her rock, but he could see she wanted to be alone. His castle in the air had been a citadel—a safe place for both of them where absolute trust and absolute love reigned. But Kyoko was looking at him like he was an other. It was a rejection, and it hurt. He had thought he'd been successful in accepting his love, but he was afraid that perhaps she still didn't believe him.

No.

He would have faith in the two of them. He would have faith in a bond that had put her in his path, again and again and again. She was destiny, and this? This was just a distraction. A momentary speed bump, something to be talked through and learned from and ultimately buried under a blanket of kisses. He tamped down his own fears. Deep down he knew that this wasn't some shallow teenage love affair—surely she wouldn't break up with him the way all his prior girlfriends had, right? Vaguely he was aware that they were at a crossroads. He could infer from her reaction that something had happened, something that triggered her deeply. He couldn't help his own feelings—his own fears of inadequacy, of unworthiness—but he could control his actions.

In many ways, Lory was right about him, all those months ago. Not knowing what love was like, he'd acted like a gentleman when he should've fought harder. The fact that he hadn't wanted to fight for those girls told him everything he needed to know. They'd been pastimes. He was sorry if he'd hurt any of them, but in the end, he was glad he could say that he'd never loved anyone besides Kyoko. And he would fight God himself to stay with her.

He resolved to talk to her tonight, whether she met his eyes or not.

=.=.=

There was to be no end to change, Kyoko thought. Her campaign of avoiding Kuon had succeeded, thanks to Yayoi. The woman had whisked her into the office and informed her of Lory's new contract. Kuon had been left with his mouth open as the older woman had grabbed her. He hadn't been able to touch her or speak to her or even walk with her since she'd returned from school.

Yayoi motioned for her to sit before pulling out Lory's contract. "Takarada-san came back to me this morning," she said. "With far better terms for your consideration." Yayoi pushed the small pile of paper towards her.

"No," Kyoko said. She barely spared the document in front of her with a glance. "I'm not an actress, Yayoi-san." How much better could the terms possibly be? If he'd gone from offering her nothing, then anything would be 'better,' wouldn't it?

"But—" But don't you want to be? Yayoi almost said.

"This movie—I think this movie was an accident," Kyoko said. "Some strange detour. But I know where I belong, and it isn't in front of a camera."

Yayoi felt a chill move down her back. Kyoko had that look on her face again—the frozen, empty one she'd worn when she'd first arrived. Had she and Kuon fought? The boy did look somewhat mopey when he'd arrived back at the ryokan. Kyoko hadn't been with him—the girl had arrived separately on her bike, the same way she'd departed for school. She'd whisked Kyoko away as soon as she crossed the ryokan's threshold, sweeping her away from Kuon, who'd also been waiting for her arrival. She hadn't wanted to wait until later—she knew they had a habit of being entirely wrapped up in each other in the evenings. If she'd waited too long she'd never get a hold of Kyoko, and there were quite a few things beyond the contract she'd wanted to show her.

"I don't think it was an accident," Yayoi said. "Anyone who's seen you knows it wasn't an accident."

Kyoko fixed her gaze on the older woman. "Yayoi-san," she said solemnly, "Is it truly your wish for me to renege on the promise I made to you and Etsuro-san?"

"Not my wish, no," Yayoi said, flustered. "But just because you leave doesn't mean you wouldn't keep your promise to safeguard this ryokan for generations to come, Kyoko." She paused. She was embarrassed, wondering if she was going too far. "We offered you a home. It was not our intent to have you enter into indentured servitude."

"Nevertheless," Kyoko said, "there is no future for me in showbusiness."

How could she be so sure? Yayoi could've sworn she heard the echo of Saena's voice in the girl's pronouncement. It was exactly the kind of thing her mother would've said, and that kind of poison had a way of seeping deep into one's soul. Before she'd abandoned her daughter, Saena had certainly taught her some lessons, and chief among them had been the worthlessness of fantasy and imagination in a person. But surely that couldn't be it. Kyoko hadn't seen Saena in years—the woman hadn't even bothered to see her daughter after drafting the paperwork formalizing her adoption.

Whatever the reason, Yayoi recognized the determined set of her chin. The girl was not going to budge. Though she knew it would be better for the ryokan, the decision saddened Yayoi. What had Takarada-san been thinking? If only he'd come with this proposal from the start. The girl was talented, anyone could see it. And if anyone knew the price of holding talent down, it was her. The way she and Etsuro had attempted to wean Sho off of music—but she turned her thoughts back to the present. "Very well," she said. "But Takarada-san made it clear to me—this contract will not expire. Read it and sign it a year from now," Yayoi said, "and Lory would still give you the run of his business."

Yayoi took the contract away but filed it in the stack at the top of the filing cabinet, where it was fully visible. She wanted it easily accessible in the event that Kyoko changed her mind. "And one more thing…" she said.

Kyoko looked up, her eyes wide. "I've decided to move your quarters," Yayoi said. She was using the no-nonsense voice, the one that she used on drunkards and difficult customers. "I hope you don't mind," she added.

Yayoi unceremoniously informed her that her room was no longer hers and that she'd been moved—she'd been puzzled at first, and then surprised as she was led to Sho's old room. She'd slept in that back room for years, ever since she was a little girl. And Sho's room—well, that was a prince's room, wasn't it? His ghost had never truly been purged from it, even though it had slowly filled with junk over the years. All his old things were underneath that junk, reminding her of what a fool she'd been.

But when she walked in, she found the room clear of that junk and cleaned. Even the corners were free of dust. It seemed so…empty. Free of the presence that had haunted it for so long. She looked at the space as if it were entirely new, noting how empty it was even after all her stuff had been moved into it. She didn't have terribly many possessions—certainly not enough to feel as if her privacy had been breached by Yayoi, who'd brought all her possessions out of her old room and into her new one. Kyoko had no way of knowing that Yayoi had shaken her head at her threadbare clothes, only to smile the next moment as she saw the clothes Kuon had bought her.

Yayoi had been as careful as she could. She wanted to surprise the girl, and knew that some invasion of her privacy would be necessary. But Kyoko had so little—it had been the work of a few moments to move her into Sho's old room. Yayoi had made sure they'd arranged Kyoko's things just as they'd been in her old room.

"Do you like it, Kyoko-chan?" she asked nervously. She had been so sure earlier that day when she'd ordered everyone on the staff to band together to empty out the room.

"It's lovely, Yayoi-san," Kyoko responded. "Too much for me—"

"No, not at all," Yayoi said. "There's no reason for you to stay in that back room. It's dingy. It's cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. No one should be sleeping in it—it's much better to use it for storage."

"But we could—"

"No, dear. I know that there may be some…memories…for you here. But I think if you look at it with new eyes…"

Kyoko nodded, and then moved to admire the space that Sho had taken for granted. Like the rest of the ryokan, the room had been constructed in the traditional style, though the floor was made of polished hardwood. A rug in a deep blue had been placed on it. She admired the wonderful grain on the wood that formed the ceiling, the view outside the window, and the effect of the shoji screens. And then she looked at the furnishings which Yayoi had acquired for her. There was a bed for her now, of the same make and model as the beds used by guests throughout the ryokan. There was a wooden desk, wonderfully crafted out of zelkova wood. There were nightstands and a little armchair-and-ottoman that would be the perfect place to read.

Yayoi put a comforting hand on her arm. She was sure the girl was tired—and still had homework to finish. "You should get settled in," she told Kyoko.

Kyoko thanked her and then moved slowly around the room, opening things. Sho's old closet looked nearly empty, though all her clothes were in it. When Sho lived at the ryokan, it was filled to the brim with outfits and shoes. He'd doused everything with that godawful cologne which she'd secretly hated but praised to the skies whenever he put it on. But she was pleased to note that the closet no longer smelled like Sho. Instead, she smelled fresh cedar to protect clothes from moths. And she saw that the clothes Kuon bought had been arranged just as they'd been in her old room. The closet seemed comically huge, even with those additions. All the makeup and the treasured Royal Snow bottle were arranged in the ensuite bathroom.

Kyoko sighed as she looked over all of it.

Being in this new room only emphasized the fact that the only beautiful things she owned were things Kuon had given her. Before, she'd had no luxuries—just whatever she'd needed for work or for school. She felt exposed here, as if the larger space made room for the bad things she tried to keep from thinking about.

She was holding Kuon's silver hairpin when she heard a knock at the door.

"Kyoko?" a muffled voice called from the hallway.

It was him. She sighed and braced herself, walking towards the door. She could feel his presence outside—it seemed as if she was always aware of where he was, now. She opened her door, and he was standing there with his artfully disheveled hair. She spared a glance at his eyes, which were green—they always were when he was in a safe place.

"Kyoko," he said again.

He took a step forward towards her, she took a step back.

Undisguised hurt radiated from his eyes and the curve of his mouth, and from the way his body slumped as if she'd physically kicked him. "Why?" he asked simply.

Kyoko shook her head. He was only a few feet from her, and yet he looked utterly alone in her new room. He looked as alone as she felt. "I need to focus on my schoolwork," she said. "And I can't do that when you're around." The words cut her as they left her mouth.

He shook his head. The way she'd refused his touch was like a slap in the face. It would've been easy to take her at her word and leave her be, but his heart knew better, and he trusted his heart. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"No—something did—" He could see her building an impenetrable wall between them, and he couldn't stand it. But she'd built walls before, and he'd overcome them. He would do it again and again until she realized he wasn't going to go anywhere.

"Nothing. Nothing that would've been your business." A flash of memory—the way he'd made her breakfast that morning, the little bento box. Things no one had ever done for her.

"Something hurt you. That makes it my business." Another memory flashed through her mind's eye—their first kiss, in his room, on the balcony—the way he'd comforted her just yesterday about her mother…

"I can take care of myself, Kuon. You needn't be concerned." She stared him down, but she was unprepared for the look on his face. She hadn't known she was capable of making anyone look like that.

"I know you can take care of yourself," he said. "But maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you let me care for you?" They were both inherently broken people. He'd been trying—god knew he'd been trying—to have faith in a future with her. It was something worth fighting for, even if both of them tried to self-sabotage on a constant basis. With Tina's help and with his parents back in his life, he'd be able to find some grounding, now and in the future. But Kyoko? Kyoko didn't have a loving family. Kyoko didn't even have other friends as far as he knew. Kuon had been neglected; he'd been abused. He'd rebelled and he'd been rotten; he'd blamed himself for murder. But he'd grown up in a loving home—all his truly dark monsters had come from outside it. But Kyoko had never been safe. Not until now. How could he blame her for treating him like a threat?

Kyoko turned away and refused to look at him. "I have homework," she said. "And I don't have time for this right now." She walked away from him and sat down at the desk. It was much larger than the old one that had been in her room before, but a desk was a desk, wasn't it? She could feel him looking at her, but she focused on her books and her pencil case. Never mind that she wanted to say she was sorry. Never mind that she wanted to curl up into him and let him soothe away everything that had happened today.

He stood there for a minute, watching her ignore him. He considered, for a moment, whether or not to pick her up and kiss her thoroughly despite her protests. He knew her. Weren't they a partnership? A little voice in his head told him that he was losing her—he shoved it away. He wasn't going to lose her. He was proceeding in good faith, moving down the path blindly. He knew she wanted him to leave her alone—just like she'd been earlier that summer, when he'd made himself the ryokan's errand-boy. He'd made himself a part of her life then, and he could do that now. He watched as she hunched over her desk, closing herself off.

What would Kyoko need while she studied?

With a jolt he realized she hadn't even had dinner—he'd had something that evening, but she'd been shooting when the dinner catering arrived. He looked closer at her—still in shirtsleeves, though the room had taken on the chill of a coming autumn.

He took off his hoodie, walked over to her bent form, and placed it gently around her shoulders. She looked up in surprise. "You looked cold," he said.

A faint flush dusted her cheek. She had been cold. She'd been waiting for him to leave before grabbing something warm to put over her shirt, but now that the hoodie had settled around her, she found she wanted to keep it. It was still warm from his body. It still smelled like him. She knew she should have taken it off and unceremoniously asked him to take it back, but she didn't. "Tha-thank you," she said.

A reassuring hand pressed itself gently onto her arm. "I'll be back in a bit," he said. She didn't have the heart to tell him not to come back.

=.=.=.=

He'd reminded her all over again of how tenacious he could be. That summer, he'd been an extra set of hands, helping her around the ryokan. He'd simply been there for her, anticipating her needs before she even knew she'd needed something. He'd done that again tonight. He'd left her with his hoodie and told her he'd be "back in a bit," though he was gone long enough for her to finish all of her calculus homework and start on her chemistry. When he came back, he was holding a tray with some soup, a bowl of rice, and some grilled fish left over from that night's dinner service. He'd poured her some sencha, too.

"You haven't had dinner," he said. It wasn't a question.

She hadn't realized she hadn't eaten. She hadn't eaten since the breakfast he'd made her this morning—she remembered, with a pang, how his bento box had been ruined. Her stomach growled at the smell of food and she made the mistake of finally looking him in the eye.

Love.

So much love was in his gaze—love and sadness, though his mouth quirked upwards at the sound of her stomach's rumbling. She felt something in her drop, as if she were on the downward side of a roller coaster's highest hill. When had anyone gone so far as to prepare a day's worth of meals for her? Not since she was a child, and then, for the most part, Saena had merely bought her bentos from the Fuwas. Kyoko had learned how to make her bentos very early on—Saena wouldn't have cared if she starved.

She looked at the carefully plated dishes he'd brought. He hadn't cooked this time, the dishes had all been assembled from things she knew were in the kitchen. His plating wasn't as refined as a professional's, either. But the care he'd put into putting this together was evident. This was precisely why she needed to end this. There was no reason for him to go out of his way for her. She imagined how ridiculous it would be to have Ren Tsuruga make her bento boxes as he went about his career in Tokyo. Or maybe even in America someday. He was meant for places far beyond her.

She broke their gaze. "Th-thank you," she said, and made room for the tray on her desk. He put the tray down without saying a word, taking care not to disturb the book and the papers she'd been using. "Did you eat?" Kyoko asked.

"I did," he said. "They had catering tonight, but you were busy shooting." He gave her a small smile and then backed off a few feet. "I won't bother you," he said. "I know you have a lot of work to do, so I won't bother you." He backed off from her desk and then sat down on her bed. "I'll read. I have some scripts Yashiro gave me today."

"Kuon—I—" She wanted to tell him to leave, and yet she didn't want him to leave at all.

He preempted her. The summer hadn't been long, but it had been instructive. Kyoko pushed, she turned away, she cut you off—and perhaps that would work on most people, but it wouldn't work on him. If she pushed, he would pull. "You promised," he said quietly. Pulling her back. "To spend some time with me." He scooted further down onto her bed until he was leaning against her headboard.

"But I have—" There was the push away.

"Homework. I know." He looked at her with the same tiny smile on his lips. "And I have scripts to read." He patted a little pile of books that he'd brought. "I figured maybe we could just…study in the same room?" He wasn't going to allow her to just throw him out of her life. He was always happier when she was near him. Even if she was clearly trying to distance herself, just the fact that they were in the same room would calm his own fears and keep him next to her. So long as he could be with her, he was sure they would be OK. It was too bad he couldn't help with her chemistry work in the same way he could with her English, but he'd left his own education behind too early.

This is a trick, she thought. Just like the Shakespeare had been—that had been a ploy to seduce her, and she'd been seduced. She wanted to sink into the floor, but she nodded her head mutely.

"Good luck," he said. He wanted to give her a small kiss just to send her off, but she was so far away already and he didn't want to push the situation further. He wasn't going to leave her alone, not like this. Everything in him told him to stay. He watched as she bent her head down towards the book, reading as she took a sip of her soup and a bite of her dinner. His eyes followed the way she pursed her lips and sighed as the flipped another textbook page. He wondered if any part of her at all craved his touch the way he craved hers.

"I can feel you watching me," she said. She didn't bother looking up.

"Sorry," he replied, not sorry at all. Still, he bent down to concentrate on the script. Midnight Strikes, the same one she'd picked out that day by the river. That afternoon, he'd asked Yashiro to call the drama's producers to inform them that he was taking the part. Yashiro had been pleased. He'd thought that Ren needed a bit of sparkle. A bit of a pick-me-up, because along with this strange year's odd summer disappearance, Ren had had a string of darker, anti-hero parts that would not be helped by his next stint as an undead killer in the upcoming Tragic Marker shoot.

Kuon knew Yashiro had wanted him to take this part all along, but it hadn't been for him or for his reasons that he'd accepted. He'd been hoping that Kyoko would audition—he was sure that she'd succeed. She was a real-life Cinderella, wasn't she? The auditions themselves wouldn't be until early next year—after she graduated. It was entirely possible for her to come to the audition and blow the competition away. And though he knew he wasn't exactly playing fair, he'd called the director shortly after Yashiro had called the producers—simply to ask if he could send over a clip of one of Kyoko's screen tests he'd talked Shingai into releasing. If Kyoko had had an agency, they would have done exactly the same thing, he reasoned. At least he could vouch for their on-screen chemistry, which was something no other actress could replicate.

He found it impossible to concentrate on the script, though. He held up the book and tried to read it, but he found himself daydreaming instead, picturing Kyoko with her eyes shining as she twirled in a princess gown.

Kyoko, meanwhile, kept going.

=.=.=.=

By the time she finished her homework, he was dozing on her bed. She padded over to him, intending to wake him, but he seemed so deeply asleep, she couldn't find it in herself to disturb him. The resolve she'd come to this afternoon was still weighing on her, but it was so very late, and she didn't have the heart—or the energy—to extricate herself from this new situation. Vaguely she considered leaving the room and going to her old one to the rear of the building, but she had no idea whether or not Yayoi had disposed of her futon. And perhaps the things that had been stored in this room had been moved to her old one. It was nearing 2am; she knew she'd have to get up in less than four hours. Would it be so bad if she simply slept?

Quickly, she brushed her teeth and prepared to sleep. Hesitantly, she sat down on 'her' bed for the very first time. How different, after years of sleeping on a plain futon, to have a bed to call her own. She sank down onto it, exhausted from the day's exertions, and then looked over at Kuon. His long lashes were a dark fringe on his cheek. His hair—so wonderful when it was gold—was still wonderful dyed brown. She fought back the urge to run her fingers through it. She fought back the urge to kiss him on his forehead, to wind herself around him and his warmth in the chilly room. She fought everything in herself back—her traitorous heart and her traitorous body all wanted him like a drug. She could hear his breathing, quiet and steady. Quiet and steady the way he'd been all evening, though she'd tried her very best to be mean.

He still had his script in his hand, open to where he'd left off. "Midnight Strikes," she read. She recognized it as the one she'd picked out for him, that one day by the river when she'd found out exactly how lewd she could be. The one where he'd have to kiss his co-star, who would no doubt be an actress—someone beautiful, glamorous, and lovely. Someone whose hair was styled, who wore makeup all the time. Someone who'd never been bullied. Kuon had worked very hard indeed to make her feel loved and desired, but when push came to shove, she wasn't part of his world. She'd been spared seeing him act the lover with someone else in Ring Doh, but he would always have another co-star. She lifted the little booklet off her bed, curiously flipping through it before marking his page and setting it on the nightstand.

"Whether you will it or no, I go to reclaim what's mine," she read. A princess's line. "Those who remain loyal to me will gather under my banner!" Kyoko closed her eyes as she imagined the scene—the princess, hands still calloused from the kitchen, calling her army forward to do battle with her evil stepmother. She had no doubt that the camera would find the princess on a high hill, with hosts of warriors clamoring for battle beneath her. The scene sang in her imagination. She could almost feel the wind in her hair and the armor on her back; she could almost taste the bitterness of exile from her home. She continued reading, feeling the character grow inside her until she felt as if tomorrow, she could wield her fated sword and behead the woman who'd usurped her throne.

But Kuon sighed in his sleep, and the sound of it brought her back. What was she doing? She was Kyoko Mogami of this ryokan. This script wasn't hers, and neither was the part. She would enjoy watching the series upon its release, no doubt, it had everything her younger, fairy-tale-addled self would have loved. Even if Kuon kissed another actress. Because by the time it was released, she had no doubt that Kuon would have forgotten about her.

He would be Ren Tsuruga. And it was past 2am in the morning.

She climbed further onto the bed, crawling underneath the blanket. She kept to the edge of the bed, laying on her side. Her actions nearly woke him, but he stayed asleep. "Mmm…Kyoko," he said softly. He began to move restlessly, flailing about, searching for her. There was another small twinge in her heart as she realized how she, too, was more used to sleeping with him than she was sleeping alone. She wanted to curl into his warmth, to have him draped over her. She wanted to wake up with his smell all over her. Over the space of a scant few months, he'd integrated himself into her life. She'd allowed herself the luxury of taking this for granted.

Inwardly she despised herself—if she'd had true strength of conviction, she would leave this bed and sleep on the floor.

The arm found her and she closed her eyes as their bodies came together. The comfort of him was like a salve to her—she didn't want to feel safe, but she did. He was so warm, so solid. So right. She brought her arms inwards as he nuzzled into her neck and she closed her eyes at the pleasure of it. Their legs intertwined—he was so much taller than she was that it was inevitable when they laid like this.

She sat awake for a while, enjoying his warmth. He'd stopped his restless searching and was laying on her, content. She was an idiot, truly. Perhaps she should let this relationship end in a natural death, with him in Tokyo slowly forgetting her, rather than ending it now. She could buy more of these nights in his arms—she had until the end of Ring Doh's shooting.

She was fading now, falling asleep herself. Her mind knew this was temporary, but her heart—her heart and her body wanted this for keeps.

Her hands had found his and their fingers had entwined.

Tomorrow, she thought hazily. Tomorrow, I'll end this properly.

And then Kyoko, too, was asleep.

=.=.=.=.=.=

Author's Note: **Thank you for reading!** I want to thank each and every one of you for leaving me your reviews. I APPRECIATE THEM SO MUCH. I AM NOT KIDDING. Especially over the last few months, when I felt more shitty than a bag of anuses—I'd get one of your reviews and it would give me like…this golden moment of happy. I dunno about other fic authors, but I'm like a rat who keeps pushing down the lever to get a sweet, sweet drug. I'm so thankful that you guys would read this fic that looks like it'll be ten times longer than what I originally thought it would be.

This is a bit of a transitional chapter. It's shorter than normal—there's a lot in this arc I need to cover and it would have been too long otherwise. This felt like a good place to stop. I am not sure Kyoko's motivations are as clear as I wanted them to be, so let me know what you think.

I'm also sorry that these updates are taking longer than they used to, but it truly has been a crazy few months. Just a recap from August: the Parker broke up with her bf of 9 years, kicked him out of house, got screwed over by her boss (which essentially ruined the trip that I wrote that omake for), got COVID, frantically looked for a new job because old job was intolerable, got new job, have been integrating into new job (much harder than the last one, but also pays much better!), and also her grandmother died a few days ago on November 1 (but I'm missing the funeral because…new job. Grandmother is on the other side of the planet, and I feel like asking for time off right now would be career suicide. Sigh.). It's been really stressful and I've been putting out a number of one-shots just to kinda cope.

In other news, I'm happy to report that I found the pee in the hallway and successfully cleaned it with a generous application of the pet-cleaner stuff and a carpet steamer. But TODAY I spilled salad dressing on my bed (yes, I eat in bed because I only play an adult during work hours) and some of it seeped past my sheets and onto my mattress. So even though I scrubbed the mattress and changed out the sheets, it still smells like Italian dressing. All day, I've been writing this chapter and I keep thinking "damn, that oregano and garlic smell is so delicious." Except it's on my bed. And I can't get away from it. Alas!