disclaimer: Nakamura Yoshiki is the creative mind behind this wonderful series. I am but her humble stan.

AN (important shit): Just to be clear, Kuon still goes by Ren Tsuruga to the public, and he isn't reverting back to blond hair anytime soon (mostly because that would have been too much for his fans to process, it would have made him look too much like Kuu and because I happen to like him with dark hair).

I settled on emerald green for his eye color, though with the decision to keep his hair dark, blue might have been just as striking.

Depending on the POV (and again, it will be third person omniscient), Kuon will either be called "Kuon" or "Ren", depending on who knows about his real name. So in Kyoko's POV, he is Kuon (though she would call him Ren in public for the sake of secrecy). Kanae, however, would still know him by his stage name. I hope that's clear, because there's a lot of bouncing between his names in the first part of this chapter.

This chapter is being split into two parts because it was a pain in the ass to edit (at 12,000+ words by its damn self). The next one will be along shortly as it's already written, I swear, it just needs some edits.

Be advised: The first part of this chapter skews heavily towards Angst, but it gradually turns back around, so don't worry, it'll be over before you know it. I do it because I love you. The truly M-rated stuff is in the next chapter, this ones mostly comedy and fluff due to me splitting the chapter.

Alright, that's enough chatter.

Let's bring this show to its (almost) finale.

Do You Swear? (Part 1)

They rode to the darumaya in a silence Kuon didn't try to break. He wasn't sure if he was able to form words or not, or if the miasma of hurt within would reduce him to incoherent sobs if he even dared open his mouth. He couldn't ever remember feeling this way, not even as a child lost in a strange capital, not even as an outcast among racist rivals.

Get a grip, Kuon. You're better than this. Even if she never wants to see you again -

His knuckles turned white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. It was all he could do to keep the car going straight. He couldn't even complete the thought, much less process the reality of it. She was done. It had been plain as day on her face. She was done with him. No more of her rambling tangents. No more runway strut tutorials. No more crossdressing misadventures. No more of her skin flushing hot against his.

It was all done.

One foot in front of the other. Do what you always do. Paint a smile on your face and bear it.

He tried to do just that, scraping through his mind for something smooth and wise to say that would tie a ribbon around all this. Nothing came forth, not even the hollow smile he had perfected over the years. The mask was not merely lost to him, but completely destroyed.

The darumya came into view. Once they were parked, he waited for her to get out, staring straight out of the windshield. When she didn't move, he started to get out himself, trying not to dwell on this being the last time he would ever hand her out of his car.

Her hand struck out and clutched his arm. He stayed where he was and finally looked over at her. That bleak, awful look was gone. There was only the concern, the compassion, that was so intrinsic to her nature.

"Your eyes are one thing," she said evenly. "If you choose to change them back, I won't hold you to the promise you made. And I won't say a word about your name, your past ... Anything. It stays between us, you have my word."

Kuon tried to think, but couldn't with her hand on him and her voice so sweet by his side. The wheels were definitely turning upstairs, but words weren't forthcoming. This was the same woman who had sworn holy vengeance against the last man to disappoint her. And yet she spoke to the likes of him with such gentleness. What of that look on her face before then? What was happening?

"That ... is what you want, isn't it?"

He said the first words his mind could grasp: "If you want to call me by my real name where others can hear, then I won't object."

"... Have you lost your mind?" she asked incredulously.

Probably. "I don't care, Kyoko. I really don't. If you told my secrets to the world from the moment you stepped out of this car, I wouldn't even blink. I may have wanted to wait until I was ready to go back to the States, but if you don't, I won't care. It's not important. Not anymore."

She was completely and utterly speechless. He seized this opportunity to do something he had meant to do under better circumstances. She blinked rapidly at his actions, coming out of her shock to watch him pull his key out of the ignition and then work another key off of the ring. He handed it to her, green eyes beseeching.

"Take this with you. Please. Even if you don't ever use it, I want you to have it with you."

She stared at the key in her palm, the metal of it glinting like gold in the morning light.

"Your house key?"

"It's my original. I have a spare. I always hoped I'd be able to give it to you." He didn't even try to mask the raw sadness in his voice.

Her head whipped up from the key as she seemed to realize something, her gaze squarely on him. She was silent for a moment. She pocketed the key, much to his relief. Then she placed her hand on his left cheek, guiding his head towards her so that she could gently kiss his right. He wanted to break down right then and there at the touch of those soft lips and the hopeless finality that washed over him like waves threatening to pull him under.

"So this is goodbye."

He said it with as much neutrality as he could muster. Which wasn't very much at all.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nodding, and his heart continued to plummet.

"For now," she whispered.

He froze. "For now?"

"Only for now. I couldn't leave you if I tried, Kuon -"

He inhaled sharply at the sound of his name rolling so easily, so gently, off her tongue. She didn't spit it at him like an insult. Coming from her, it was like a prayer, a thing of beauty. And yet there was so little emphasis, as though saying it were as natural as breathing. How she did that, he would probably never know, but he loved her for it.

"- but we need to be apart. For a while. There are ... things I need to sort out. But know that I'm not abandoning you. I could never do such a thing, even if I wanted to. And I don't want to. I could never want to."

Relief exploded in his chest, very nearly shattering his heart anew even as it began to stitch itself back together. He exhaled shakily. "You scared me. I thought ... back there you were so -"

She pressed her fingers to his lips, seeming to fear whatever he was about to say. "It's my own fault, I know. I just -"

"No, it was mine," he insisted. "I shouldn't have sprung all of this on you the way I did. Especially not after ..."

"It's alright. Really. It'll be alright," she reassured him quietly, her cheek pressed into the curve of his neck as she held him.

"How you must have hurt ..." she murmured softly. She seemed to say it more to herself than to him, but he felt how much her heart broke for him in that moment. He didn't reach up to touch or hold her. He knew if he did, he wouldn't be able to pry himself loose. So he sat there and basked the warmth of her embrace, daring only to gently rub his cheek against her chestnut hair.

He felt her slide something into his hand. His fingers closed around it, knowing instinctively what it was and what it meant. The stone in his hand still held her body's warmth, and he clung to it like his very life depended on it. And in a way, in that moment, it did.

"I'm going now," she said, sliding away with a reluctance to rival his own.

The door slammed soundly in her wake. He watched her walk away, never once looking back at him. And she was gone.

How did she leave me without leaving me? he thought.

He slammed his forehead down onto the top of his steering wheel, emotionally exhausted.

... With her, even a simple goodbye is a Zen riddle. *

. . .

A month, a week and four days passed since that ride home, the most agonizing Kuon Hizuri could ever remember spending.

A month, a week and four days in which his green eyes were the subject of many discussions.

Several variations of the following conversation occurred between himself and the directors who had the misfortune of addressing the minor but noticeable continuity error that his new eye color created:

"Any chance of you changing, er ... ?" An awkward wave of the hand at his face.

"No."

"... Okay."

He was fortunate enough not to lose any of his roles with this flat, consistent refusal, and that his eye color was best addressed by simply ignoring it, since his eyes tended to be irrelevant to the plots of whatever drama or commercial he was in. In fact, his eyes had been the impetus behind his newest engagement: a cologne endorsement wherein his image was in sepia but the bottle in his coat pocket was blazing gold and his eyes were similarly in vibrant Technicolor, shining like cut emeralds.

He passed the billboard on his way home every day that third week of exile. He hoped Kyoko saw it. There was no reason she wouldn't or, indeed, couldn't. And he knew it was selfish to want his image near enough for her to dwell on him as he did on her.

Still, he hoped.

Tabloids concocted seemingly endless reasons for "Ren Tsuruga's" new eye color, citing everything from a congenital disease to a new film project to some sort of (premature) midlife crisis; screenshots and candid photos of his face (plenty of which were earlier photos shopped to match his current eye shade) began to flood Tumblr** and other forms of social media, often accompanied by the theories (and original artwork) of his fans; directors and co-stars looked on in varying degrees of apprehension, bewildered fascination and studied indifference.

He bore the tide of all this speculation with little more than the occasional shrug and sometimes a hollow laugh. All he could think about was Kyoko and his work; these two things became his driving forces to rival even food and sleep, the only two things allowed to take up space in his mind. Even as he threw himself into his work with a redoubled fury that awed his colleagues and kept him from utterly collapsing into depression, she was never far from his thoughts.

Thoughts of her kept him in line better than the mask of Ren Tsuruga ever had. He no longer differentiated between the man he had been and the man he had become. No longer carried on arguments between both sides in his head. For the first time in a long time, he felt ... whole. Raw, restless, and anxious to see Kyoko again. But whole nonetheless. It was a strange sensation, still playing the part, but knowing for a fact that there was no longer a dividing line straight down the center of him.

He never saw her for that month, week and four days, though he looked for her around every corner and watched (and re-watched) every bit of her television work that he could find that he didn't already have on DVD.

Box R was in its last season, and her Natsu was more wantonly villainous than ever. In the space of about four episodes, he watched her cross the line from bullying sadist to full-on murderess, never once losing that coldly affable heiress appeal even as she orchestrated and got away with the brutal assault of a hated rival (formerly a devoted member of her sinister crew) via cunning indirection and the skillful seduction of a police chief.***

"Is it really so difficult to comprehend, Migumi-chan? I've won. You've lost. Shouldn't you be used to that by now? I'm sure your onee-sama is."

She spoke these words to her victim's traumatized sister, whispering them in the parlor of the funeral home, so coldly beautiful and pitiless in the face of the girl's tears that Kuon couldn't help but hate her even as he silently praised Kyoko.

He often made the mistake of watching her work just before he went to bed. Every night, like a ritual, like a strange kind of pennance. She would have been in his dreams regardless, but with his nightly ritual, Kyoko wasn't merely there: She was there in many guises.

He twisted and turned in his sheets, pursued by and pursuing the same woman in different faces. Natsu's perfectly polished talons caressed his face as she whispered sinister-sweet nothings in his ear, her velvety voice making his blood run hot one moment and cold the next. He ran from her embrace, the gleam of Setsu's lip ring and chain drawing him through the darkness. The leather-clad nymph was scant inches from his grasp when Kyoichi came hurtling at him from nowhere, knocking him off-balance. He stumbled and fell right on top of Kyoko herself, flushed and heated and barely concealed by his shirt as she had been that night in his bed.

He awoke, as always, hard and sweaty and shaken.

But most of all, alone and feeling as though he were committing the strangest kind of adultery.

. . .

#"Radio TCP is requesting another interview," Yashiro informed his charge over the phone one very cold evening late in this period of exile.

Bone-tired and looking forward to another night of uneasy sleep, Kuon unlocked his front door, his cell cradled between his head and his shoulder. He stepped inside. "The answer is still - "

The smell of something heavenly wafting from his kitchen stemmed his refusal dead in its tracks.

#"... Ren? Ren, are you there?"#

His heart pounded, adrenaline and hope chasing away his weariness as the delicous smell wove its spell around him. "I'll call you back."

He dropped his stuff unceremoniously by the door, clamoring out of his shoes, ran into the kitchen ... and found it empty and seemingly untouched, save for a steaming pot of tonjiru on his stove and a handwritten note on the countertop:

"I hope you like it. There's a bit of Sriracha in it, not a lot. I miss you so badly. Eat as much as you can, there's plenty for leftovers."

As there was still steam rising from the pot despite the oven being off, Kuon couldn't help but think she was still close by. He managed to grab the tail end of his common sense before he did something truly ridiculous like searching the apartment for her.

Heart still very much lodged in his throat, he got out a bowl and chopsticks. He ladled the hearty soup into the bowl, sat at the table in front of the television without turning it on and began to eat. It was delicious as only her food could ever be, cooked and spiced to perfection. He would have expected nothing less than perfection, but he was just happy it was there, that she had been there and had made it.

His phone rang in his coat pocket. He pulled it out, checked the caller ID on the screen and flipped it open.

"Kyoko-chan," he said with neither preamble nor pretense.

#"Did you eat?"#

"Yes," he said.

#"Did you like it?"#

"Very much so."

#"I love you,"# she blurted out.

"I love you, too. Now come back."

The anguish in her voice was plain: #"I can't."#

"Come back."

#"I-I want to."#

"Then come back."

#"Don't tempt me."# The words stopped him cold. From any other woman it might have just been a thing to say, a prelude to verbal foreplay, flirtatious and benevolently insincere.

From this woman ... No.

He wasn't the only one suffering here. He could hear it in her voice.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Kyoko-chan."

#"It's alright. I'm ... trying to hurry things along as much -"#

"Please don't."

#"Eh? Don't what?"#

"Don't rush. I'll be fine. I'll keep thinking of you, and I'll be fine."

#"Oh, Kuon ... I'll do the same ... About you, I mean! I wouldn't think about me! That would just be strange ..."#

He laughed, the first real, deep laugh he had had since that ride home. He wiped tears from his eyes that were as much from the laughter as they were from missing her so badly.

"I should probably let you go. Er ... Off the phone, that is ... Great, now I'm doing it, too," he said only half-jokingly. A shaky, but genuine laugh was her reply, one that shaded off into a sniffle. He realized she was probably crying as well and fought the urge to drive to wherever she was with the sole purpose of wiping her face and then leaving her in peace the way he promised.

#"Good night ..."#

"Good night."

#"... my faery prince."#

The line beeped, and she was gone again, taking his heart with her when she left.

. . .

About a week later, at approximately eight that morning, Yashiro noticed a definite shift and hadn't a clue what to make of it.

Ren had become, not really difficult, but uncharacteristically taciturn. He hadn't snapped at anyone, but his gentlemanly mask had definitely slipped and there was no discernible effort to put it back on again. He was civil, but quietly detached when not summoning emotion for the camera. He spoke only when spoken to and didn't try to keep a conversation going if it wasn't strictly related to work or something equally practical.

Kuon had told Yashiro everything that happened between him and Kyoko (minus the sex and his real identity, of course, there was only so much he was willing to share with his manager). He had been so bereft that Yashiro couldn't even find it in himself to celebrate that, at long last, they had declared themselves to each other.

... Not in front of Ren, anyway. He had gone into a proper spasm of delight in private, guiltily cutting it short out of respect for his charge's suffering.

Suffering which, given the peaceful glow that enveloped the actor like a holy aura as he leaned against his car, seemed to have resolved itself. He looked as though he were one with the morning sunlight pooled around him, basking in it despite the sharp chill in the air.

"You're in a good mood," Yashiro pointed out with a tentative smile as he climbed into the passenger seat.

"I am," the younger man replied warmly, shutting his own door, "and I have no idea why."

Yashiro blinked rapidly, confused. "Eh?"

"Nothing really special has happened. I just ... I feel really good today. I woke up this way. Strange. But good."

"That's wonderful, Ren. Um ... isn't it?"

Kuon started the engine and thought about it before answering. "I suppose it is."

The day as it unfolded was not at all deserving of this optimism.

He of The Ever Changing Blocking-san (a title which Kuon would have been very much tempted to use to said director's face) had him doing an average of thirty takes per scene and counting.

Yashiro lost his ever-present briefcase a grand total of twice in one day; doubling back to retrieve it each time had made them late to two seperate rehearsals.

Ren was spotted at a gas station near a college campus evidently crawling with Tsuruga fans and a small stampede of students both male and female tried to flag his car down as they peeled away from the pumps. It was later discovered that a DJ at Radio TCP had blabbed their location (revealed to him by an unknown source) as revenge for not doing the interview they kept begging for.

Kuon, somehow, gave less than a damn. In a way, he was almost having fun. His unaccountably good mood was like a cloud he could float on, carrying him above the fray. He didn't understand why, but he certainly wasn't complaining. It beat the hell out of being depressed, so he just sort of ... went with it.

This all made Yashiro more than a little suspicious. He knew this wasn't just Ren plastering on a fake smile and bearing it all. At various points throughout the day, he wondered if maybe there had been something other than caffeine in his charge's morning coffee.

These musings were interrupted around nine that evening, after a grueling rehearsal, by an unexpected phone call. Taking refuge in an unused dressing room at LME's adjacent theatre hall and planning their next move in the wake of an abruptly cancelled photo shoot, a shrill ring blared from the manager's pocket. He answered the phone, listened for a moment and then looked over at Ren.

"It's Takadara-san," Yashiro said, mystified as to why the President would call his phone to reach Ren and not just dial the actor directly. He handed the phone over to his equally flummoxed charge.

#"Ren! Sorry to hear about that gas station incident! I trust you're alright? Did you happen to lose your cell phone today? I've been ringing you for hours now."#

Kuon's hand flew to his jean pocket, feeling around for his cell. He felt through his discarded coat and realized there was a hole in one of the pockets. "Yes, it's definitely gone. I didn't even notice until you said that. What was it you were calling me for?"

#"Nothing, really, I just wanted to see how you were doing."#

" Oh ... ?"

#"... What? I can't call just to check in? Do I always have to be up to something?"#

He was just about to say "Well, yes" when he heard something from down the hall. A voice that had been haunting him for weeks on end.

"Moko-saaaan! Please? Can't we? Please?"

And he went to the door and saw her, breathtaking in a lavender hoodie dress, gray thermal tights and black ankle boots. Her hair was pinned up haphazardly, some of the strands jutting back spiky-straight and falling to frame her face. She was speaking to someone through a doorway down the hall. She leaned into the entrance, her hands braced on the door frame as she spoke. She was far enough down the hall that he couldn't hear what she was saying (now that she wasn't raising her voice), but he could see her, real and present and more beautiful than any dream his mind had conjured.

#"Are you still there, Ren?"#

"You planned this somehow," he accused flatly through the lump in his throat.

#"Really, now, am I to blame for everything that happens around here? Do you want to put orignal sin on me while you're at it?"# In a voice positively creaking with mischief, Lory said, #"Well, what is it I've planned, then? Did something happen ... ?"

"You did. You definitely did."

#"Good night, Kuon."# The line went dead, he tossed the palm pilot back to Yashiro (who fumbled it several times before catching it) and he leaned back against the dressing room's doorframe without taking his eyes off Kyoko, not even once.

He stared at her legs as though he'd never seen them before and never would again. He remembered her thighs crushing around his head and the exquisite taste of her in his mouth. She leaned a bit further into the entryway, the fabric of her dress skimming the perfect curve of her bottom as her leg muscles tensed slightly from her stance.

Yearning he could barely handle began to wring at his insides. He thought he knew wanting. After so many cold nights, he thought he had known. He didn't know anything. Not anything like this. It hurt to watch her in that moment, but he wasn't about to turn away for anything short of a gunshot being fired.

Kyoko, in the middle of negotiating a post-work dinner with Moko-san and Amamiya (though it was more begging a typically grumpy Moko-san to come along at this point), felt an odd but not unpleasant tingle run through her. The sense that she was being watched cut her off mid-sentence.

Moreover, the sense that whoever was watching her had no ill intent was especially odd. Whenever she picked up on someone's approach or regard, there was often an alarm to go with it. She was not alarmed. It felt ... rather nice, actually. A little like the sun beaming down on her, accompanied by the smooth caress of a spring wind. She turned to her left and saw nothing but the usual bustle of cast and crew as they drifted through the halls.

She turned to her right and felt her knees nearly buckle at the sight of Kuon Hizuri staring right at her.

His dark hair was swept fully back from his face, sparing her none of his gaze's intensity. He was leaning back against the door frame of the other dressing room just as she stood in the doorway of the one her two friends shared. His white Henley shirt (Did he bring a warm enough coat?) clung to his torso, showing off his chiseled arms to perfection as they folded over his washboard of a stomach. His black jeans were just as tight against those powerful limbs and slim hips, notched with a black belt that had a round silver buckle.

She really shouldn't have looked there, but it was easier than looking back into those intent green eyes as they roved up her body, trailing fire in their wake, to her face. He lifted his chin in silent acknowledgement of having been caught ogling her and continued to stare. She was struck by the longing she could see in his eyes, even from that distance. So much so that she couldn't fathom taking her eyes away from his again even as her face began to turn watermelon-pink and her palms clammy with sweat.

Kanae and Amamiya glanced at one another, then back at Kyoko, perturbed by her abrupt quiescence. They got up from their seats and went to the doorway when it became clear she wasn't going to start moving or talking any time soon.

"K-Kyoko-san? Are you alright?"

"What's gotten into y - ?" Kanae leaned just outside the doorframe and saw Ren further down the hall. "Ah. Good. Finally, we can get this over and done with ... Well, what are you waiting for? Go over there."

The spell broke at those words, and a tidal wave of nerves roared up within, playing through her like a storm of static electricity. Having been in many an awkward stare down with "Ren Tsuruga" over the past few years, Kyoko began to duck into her friends' dressing room out of sheer force of habit, despite the urge to run straight towards Kuon Hizuri.

Kanae was having none of it.

"Oh, no, you don't!" she growled, grabbing the other girl with both hands as she attempted to slip past her. "This has gone far enough, and it ends now!"

She proceeded to frog-march Kyoko out into the hallway and face her forcefully in Kuon's direction as he looked on, first with confusion, then sympathy and guilty amusement. This got the attention of Yashiro, who stuck his own head out of the doorway and took note of the scene playing out across from them. He began his own, far less militant version of the pep talk Kyoko was getting at the same moment:

"You are not a coward, Kyoko Mogami. Now quit acting like one," Kanae hissed in the girl's ear.

"I never meant for it to be this way," Kyoko muttered pitifully to Kanae, never taking her eyes off of Kuon. His gaze never wavered from hers either, though he kept up a steady stream of conversation with his manager.

Kanae sighed with so much exasperation it sounded more like a growl. She had wiped away enough furtive tears to drown a kitten these past weeks. The only remedy in sight was the man across the way, and she wasn't about to let Kyoko lose out on the happiness the idiot so richly deserved, damn it.

"You can't always wait for the perfect moment, alright? That's just how life works. Deal with it, quit being a wimp and get over there." Kanae punctuated these last three words with a stomp of her foot.

"You're ready for this," Amamiya said gently, now standing on Kyoko's other side. She laid her hand on the girl's shoulder, placating. "We know it. You know it. Now he needs to know it."

Kyoko's heart pounded. "B-but - what if he's mad at me? For making him wait?"

"He doesn't look mad, Kyoko-san. He looks like he misses you. Just like you miss him."

Kanae nodded firmly in agreement. "Exactly. Now march."

Kyoko didn't move.

Fire blazed in Kanae's steel-gray gaze, her eyes showing a dangerous rim of white above the iris. "March."

Kyoko flinched at her friend's tone of command, but still didn't move. Her feet felt rooted to the ground, and there wasn't nearly enough air in her lungs. Kanae smacked her in the small of her back, and she jumped, sufficiently galvanized. "Alright!"

Yashiro noticed the slap with alarm and tilted his head down, muttering, "Did she just smack her in the tush?"

Ren snorted, finally sparing his manager a glance. "Did you just say the word 'tush'?"

His manager cut his eyes at him as the three girls slowly began to approach them. "They're coming over. Start walking, Ren."

Ren lifted his brow askance. "Or what, you'll smack me, too?"

Yashiro swiveled his head and fixed him with his notoriously blood-chilling glare, the one he reserved for overzealous fans that tried to mob his charge.

"Start. Walking."

"Fine, fine ..." the actor conceded, moving to meet the three young women halfway with his manager by his side.

They made their way towards one another, the hallway gradually narrowing until they were a respectable distance apart. The air between Kyoko and Kuon seemed to dance with waves of tension, as though a mirage might spring up between them at any moment.

Yashiro greeted Chiori and Kanae when it became clear that Ren wasn't going to say anything. They greeted him in turn when they realized the same about Kyoko. These greetings, once completed, shaded off into a painfully awkward silence as the two principal players to this encounter were still staring wordlessly at one another.

And then finally:

"Hello." It was all Kyoko could think to say.

"Hello." Kuon could do little better, it seemed.

The two then continued to stare wordlessly at one another, at a loss for what to say next.

Kanae bristled at the melodrama of it all. For goodness sake, its like a stand-off in a Western ... Hey, there's an idea ...

"I saw your billboard," Kyoko managed to choke out.

"I saw your ... everything," he said feebily.

More silence descended.

It was at this point that Kanae began to whistle the theme to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Chiori, adaptive as ever, was so kind as to offer a very convincing harmonica sound effect alongside her. Kuon, still staring at Kyoko, very slowly cracked a grin as he realized what they were doing. Yashiro bit down on his lower lip to stifle his chuckles.

Kyoko did them one better and hunched forward with an unladylike guffaw. The tension fled.

She turned a bemused glare from one girl to the other as they continued their very unnecessary soundtrack. "Really, you two? Is this how we conduct ourselves now? Is it?"

Yashiro glanced around, feigning annoyance. "Where's that tumbleweed when you need it?"

Mid-whistle, Kanae threw her head back and laughed suddenly, startling everyone. Then she pointed at Yashiro with a grin and said, "Good one."

Yashiro nodded back, smugly gracious.

"Oh, for the love of ..." Kyoko griped, gripping the bridge of her nose with two of her fingers.

"What?" Kanae said defensively. "Come on, that was hilarious."

Ren stared down at his manager. "You do realize your position just became replaceable, don't you?" he lied.

Yashiro's eyes widened, and he paled visibly. He spun towards his charge. "Don't even joke like that!"

The actor's brow arched, his smile wide and indulgent. "Who said I was joking?"

"Ren," Kyoko said suddenly, still clutching the bridge of her nose.

He looked back at her, his irate manager forgotten.

"Yes?"

"Take me away from these awful people."

His brain must have stalled out at Take me away, because he found himself advancing on her without the slightest hesitation. "Done and done."

The next thing she knew she was being hoisted like a bride into his arms and carried away, bag and all. She felt unimaginably light in his arms, as though she weighed no more than a pixie.

"I didn't mean that literally!" she shrieked, clutching her bag to her chest as he briskly made for the exit.

"Then you shouldn't have phrased it so literally," he shot back, far too happy to have her talking to him and in his arms again to even pretend to put any heat into his argument.

"Y-you better not drop me!" she said, dizzied by the close contact after so long and fighting down the corners of her mouth as they threatened to break into a giddy smile. She was failing miserably, and so was he.

"Are you calling me clumsy?"

"Wouldn't it have been enough to take my hand?" she snapped, ignoring his question.

No, it wouldn't have. "I could have just hauled you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes."

"I'll have none of those caveman antics!"

His eyes simmered with heat. "None of them, eh ... ?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Their friends watched the bickering pair as they neared the backstage exit, fully oblivious to the odd looks they were getting from the people they passed. All three of them breathed a relieved sigh.

"Aren't you all coming? Dinner is on me," Kuon asked over his shoulder.

"Oh, but I thought we were 'awful' people? 'Replaceable', even. Surely, you wouldn't want to eat with the likes of us?" Yashiro called back archly, none too quick to forgive Ren for casually threatening his job.

"You might be awful people, but you're our awful people. Now come along, or none of you are eating."

"That would certainly be awful," Kanae muttered. "I'm starving."

Yashiro snickered and fell into step with the other two LoveMe members as they all moved to catch up with the reunited couple.

. . .

The room was removed enough from the rest of the lounge to be private, but just near enough for them to hear the music, laughter and chatter of the other patrons through the half-open screen door. Tea lights strung along the room's ceiling gave it a cozy amber glow. Kyoko was staring up at them, marveling silently at how they looked like tiny fey folk suspended in the air, when she was blinded out of the corner of her eye by a flashbulb.

The stray paparazo was quickly subdued and escorted out by the staff within a matter of moments. Kyoko shook her head.

"I guess this will be on the celebrity news beat by morning, right?" she said, toying with the straw in her drink and trying to work up enough anxiety to even care. She knew it would be a problem, but right at this moment, there didn't seem to be a problem in the world.

Kuon, the very picture of blissful indifference, smiled warmly. "Probably."

"Don't you care?" she asked.

"Of course. How else will everyone hear about my good fortune?"

She rolled her eyes, despite the somersaulting in her stomach. "Good for us, maybe," she said, her tone firm, "but I seriously doubt your fans will feel the same way."

"They'll see it however they're going to see it," he said, running his hand up and down her back. "All I want to see is you."

She blushed furiously and ducked her head. He kissed her cheek and told her not to worry so much. They turned their attention back to the other guests across the table.

Yashiro, sandwiched between Kanae and Amamiya, was in hysterics as they regaled him with tales of various on-set hijinks. Two bottles of sake sat before them. One was already empty; the other didn't have far to go.

"You can't be serious!" he was saying.

Kanae lifted the hand that wasn't occupied with her drink up to about shoulder-level, her expression deliberately solemn but her eyes sparking with mischief. "My hand to God."

"No!"

"Yes." She jabbed a finger at Amamiya, who was covering her face with both hands as she tried to reign in her laughter. "I look up mid-speech and see this lunatic, right behind the director's back, doing that ridiculous dance, just to trip me up! And if I'm not mistaken, a couple of extras got in on it, too!"

"Did it work?" Yashiro asked, brows lifted high.

Kanae grimaced. "Unfortunately, yes. I glance up from the podium, and there she is ... Gangnam Style-ing like there's no tomorrow, looking me dead in the eye as I'm trying to get through the damn scene. I lost it. Mo, I hope you're pleased with yourself!" she fired at Amamiya as the other girl wiped tears of laughter out of her eyes. "You're the reason I can't hear that song without gnashing my teeth!"

"You got me back though," the other girl pointed out with a grin, eyes glittering wickedly.

Now it was Kanae's turn to cover her face, one hand coming up to shield her embarrassed eyes. "Oh, God ... I did, didn't I?"

Yashiro glanced between the two of them. "What, isn't that a good thing?"

"Not the way she went about it," Kyoko interjected, face alight with a huge grin and an ever huger blush as she recollected Moko-san's method of retaliation.

Yashiro's eyes bulged in anticipation. "What on earth did you do?" he asked Kanae, who abruptly busied herself with pouring another drink from the bottle on the table.

"She waited until I had my close-ups - " Amamiya began.

The second LoveMe member replaced the bottle on the table with a slight thud. "Ah, God," Kanae griped.

"- for an interview scene -"

"Come on, it wasn't like -"

" - and started miming cunnilingus behind the director."

Yashiro snorted sake out of his nose, then frantically went about gathering up napkins for his face while everyone roared with laughter, even Kanae, despite her blush. Kuon lifted his eyebrow at Kyoko; Kyoko lifted hers right back, but flushed pink all the same.

"I think what really sold it was just how into it you got -" Amamiya continued with a slight sneer.

"Watch it, Chiori."

"I'm just saying, there seemed to be quite a bit of skill there -"

"Seriously. Shut up. I'm this close to punching you right now."

"Try it, and see what happens."

"You guuuuys, no!" Kyoko wailed plaintively, clutching at Kuon's waist in a way he found wonderfully distracting. "No fighting! This is a happy occasion!"

Kanae looked at the two of them together and cracked a small, not-quite-begrudging smile. "True."

"Don't they look so adorable?" Yashiro said dreamily.

Amamiya nodded, beaming from ear to ear. "They do indeed."

Kanae rolled her eyes over the rim of her glass, but didn't disagree.

Kyoko looked up at Kuon, and he looked down at her. "We're adorable?" she asked.

Kuon shrugged. "Evidently."

"Well, as this is a happy occasion," Kanae drawled, "would you like another drink?"

"No," Kyoko said, "I think I'll just stick to the one I've got."

"Are you sure? I've seen you put away far more than that."

Kyoko lifted her glass in a mock toast. "Likewise!"

Kanae leaned across the table, clinking her sake with Kyoko's mojito amidst more laughter. "Touche."

"I still can't believe you guys didn't bring me along for that adventure," Amamiya said with a pout.

"It was enough of a mess without dragging another person into it," Kyoko pointed out.

"Besides, I doubt you would have thanked us for the hangover the next day," Kanae added.

"True," the third LoveMe member conceded. "Did you at least get the experience you thought you would?"

"I did, it was really good practice, all things considered. But honestly, I can't wait until the play's last run. Binding my breasts is such a pain. Literally."

Yashiro choked quietly on his drink before quickly setting it down on the table.

Kanae rolled her shoulders as if to demonstrate her discomfort, grimacing slightly. "No, really, they're so sore, all the time - "

Amamiya interrupted gleefully: "Oh my god, Kanae! Kanae, look at his glasses, they're fogging up!"

"N-no, they're not!" Yashiro protested, yanking them off his face with both hands as Kanae leaned forward to get a better look.

"So that's what you look like without them," Kanae said in blatant wonder. Yashiro ducked his head shyly, only to have her tilt it back up with her fingers.

"What lovely eyes," Amamiya gushed, her own eyes widening in fascination. "Those lashes go for miles!"

"Um, I don't think - " Yashiro protested weakly.

"And those cheekbones are simply amazing," Kanae interrupted, guiding his chin to and fro so she could appraise his features from several angles."Where have they been hiding this whole time?"

"Have you considered modeling?" Amamiya asked, leaning around to gawk. "Ooh, maybe for a line of designer glasses? Wouldn't that be something, Kanae?"

"Now, there's an idea," Kanae agreed, leaning dangerously close to the man's face. "And since he looks so young -"

Kyoko gawked at the spectacle her friends were making of themselves and Kuon's poor manager. "Must you manhandle him?" she hissed.

Still gripping Yashiro's blushing face by the chin, Kanae looked over at Kyoko and answered slyly, "You might, too, if your hands weren't already full."

"My hands are not full!" she shot back, completely overlooking the fact that she had yet to relinquish her hold on a quietly chuckling Kuon.

"Not yet anyway," Kanae and Kuon deadpanned in perfect unison.

Kyoko gasped as everyone else, even the still-flustered Yashiro, broke out into laughter. Kuon pulled her the last remaining inch that separated them and whispered "Sorry, I couldn't resist" in her ear. She pinched his side with a pout, making him laugh even harder. She scooted back to a semi-respectable distance, trying not to notice how much she craved his warmth.

The two hours continued in much the same vein: stories traded back and forth amidst long jags of laughter, cold drinks and the lounge's eclectic music. Kanae and Amamiya seemed hellbent on making poor Yashiro as uncomfortable as possible with their teasing, but he was a good sport about it. Kuon and Kyoko each stopped at one drink each. The same could not be said for the manager and the other two LoveMe members. Around eleven, Kanae wandered off to the ladies' room to place a call for a taxi.

"Come along then, Clark Kent, our ride is here," she said once she had stumbled back into the room for her bag.

Yashiro blinked in drunken confusion. "Clark Kent?"

She pushed his glasses up to his forehead and pretended to seriously assess his face again. "True, you're not quite Superman, but you'll do."

"I'll do what exactly?" he asked as he struggled to his feet.

"That remains to be seen, Yukihito," Kanae replied, taking him by his necktie and leading him towards the exit with Amamiya giggling maniacally right behind them.

Something planted firmly against the side of Kuon's arm. He looked down to see that it was Kyoko's tomato-red face. "Oh, my God, those lunatics ...!"

Kuon nodded sagely. "Pretty much."

"That can't possibly end well."

"I think they're safe with him," he said vaguely, far more fascinated with the way her lips pursed with worry than with his manager being carried off like an imperiled damsel.

"Yes," Kyoko agreed, still watching their friends as they left, "but is he safe with them?"

"Good question," he conceded, still hopelessly drawn to the sweet bow of her lips. "However ... "

"Yes?" she said, not looking at him. She had sensed his gaze, but couldn't turn to face it. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to sit so close to him. Or had he sat this close to her of his own accord? Perhaps they had started a reasonable distance apart and then gradually drifted together? She couldn't remember.

"I'm a terrible friend for saying this, I know," he admitted, his voice as soft as his eyes lingering over her, "but I'm not too concerned about Yukihito right now."

She finally looked up, fully intending to either ask what he meant or to scold him for not caring. The full, smoldering force of those jewel toned eyes engulfed her, and the words - whatever they had been - died in her throat. Time slowed down, the sound of the music just beyond the door became muted and strangely echo-y. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she was flooded with dizzy warmth. He leaned close, breath grazing her cheek. The tip of his nose was barely an inch from hers; a lock of his hair hung down to tickle her forehead.

Kyoko swayed. "... Oh."

"We're alone," he noted quietly, staring at her lips. She felt his hand splayed wide on her back, not pulling her closer, but steadying her. Such a kind gesture, really, as she doubtless would have fallen over from this lustful vertigo he was giving her.

"No, we're not," she disagreed just as quietly. "We're together."

That smile only he could produce, the one so unabashedly beautiful that it was heartbreaking by default, came to his lips, lighting up those remarkable eyes.

"That's true," he whispered, daring to lower his head just a bit more. His lips brushed hers and he watched her eyes flutter shut at the contact. She shifted against him, extending the momentary brush to something that was almost but not quite a kiss.

She did something then that he would never, not in a million lifetimes, forget.

She reached down into the neck of her hooded dress, startling him. Queen Rosa still glittered against her collarbone as she tugged at the fabric, but that wasn't what she reached for. There was another chain around her neck, a longer chain that she pulled and pulled until it was fully out of her dress.

At the end of this chain was his house key.

"Will you take me home, Kuon?"

We're almost there, you guys! Let me know what you think and sit tight, the next chapter's on its way sooner than you think (given my awful track record, I'm so so so sorry, I've missed you all so much, brb)

* Jarring, I know, but that scene was so sad to write, I just had to inject some levity. Also, it struck me as a way to differentiate between the ways in which Kuon (as a grown man) would phrase his thoughts as opposed to the way Ren would put it, even if the thought was technically the same.

** Gotta give a shout-out to my fellow Tumblrites!

** I always felt like this would be the direction Box R would take if it was a longer running series that put just a bit more focus on Naa-chan. Seriously, Natsu has future crime boss/black widow/femme fatale bitch written all over her.