***CONTENT WARNING: THIS CHAPTER FEATURES KUON BEING INTIMATE WITH WOMEN WHO ARE NOT KYOKO. IT'S PROBABLY THE WORST SEX HE'LL EVER HAVE IN HIS LIFE, BUT SKIP TO THE PAGE BREAK IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ IT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.***
Chapter XXXIII: When Doves Cry
How could you leave me standing
Alone in a world that's so cold?
He was drunk and some blonde was riding him; her friend was masturbating herself while making strange screechy noises on the pillow by his ear. They were taking turns, hopping on and off of him like he was some carnival ride; and it was fine, wasn't it? It was either the best joke ever or self-mutilation, he wasn't sure which. The world was a funhouse horror-show, and all of it was tilting 'round on an unstable axis.
First one to puke won the prize.
"Oooo daddy, daddy!" the blonde said, and that was fine too— it was better to be daddy than to hear her say his name. He wasn't sure he'd told either one of them what it was, anyway. She was holding his flagging cock upright in its condom, masturbating him when he softened and then riding him again when his body reacted to her touch. He hadn't wanted to believe he was actually capable of fucking anyone besides her. It was some shitty shit—he'd wanted to think his body was like his heart—unable to accept anyone else as a partner.
Anatomy was a bitch. Turned out he was just an animal after all.
"Mmm, yes," the woman moaned, and he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see her.
"Uhhnn, mmm…" She seemed to be having a good time, arching backwards. He couldn't be sure, and frankly, he didn't care. His half-hard cock certainly wasn't going to win any awards for performance.
He felt as if he was watching the scene from above, watching some other guy drunk in a room, watching someone else go through the motions. His hands were flat on the bed, unwilling to touch flesh that wasn't hers.
Everything felt wrong.
And none of it mattered, because nothing would ever matter again—and what was worse: he'd allowed this to happen.
Why had he done it? He knew why he'd done it.
It had been a choice, impulsive but no less his own. He'd been living off a cocktail of emotions—grief, despair, frustration…anger. If he was honest with himself, it was spite that had made him do it. Spite, and self-loathing. Kyoko said he was going to meet women. Kyoko had called him a playboy. Kyoko had said this was what he wanted—and maybe all of it was true. And if it wasn't true, maybe he could make it come true. He hadn't recognized the man she'd accused him of being, but it didn't take a whole lot of effort to become him, did it? He hadn't had to lift a finger. Maybe this was just the next step to moving on. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new, wasn't that how the saying went?
Debauchery could be his refuge.
It was like falling off of a building—he was going down, down, down and nothing short of growing wings would keep him from rock bottom.
"Ooh, I'm cumming," the blonde said, "oh god, you're so big, daddy…"
His alcohol-fuzzed brain wanted to ask Why are you calling me daddy? but he figured the polite thing to do was sit still as the woman moaned and crested. And when she was done he slid out of her, condom and all. She started making out with the brunette beside him. He watched them detachedly, like an observer at the zoo.
It should have been hot. It should have been every guy's fantasy. It was exactly what he should have been doing, precisely the thing to do to forget about his ex-girlfriend. Wasn't that just conventional wisdom?
Turned out conventional wisdom had its limits.
A hand ran down his chest—long nails, painted red. He recoiled.
"Mmm baby, you didn't cum," the blonde said. "Let's fix that for you—"
He pushed her away. "No. No!" he said. "I'm good. I gotta go—"
"Oh," the brunette said, frowning. "Is it the alcohol? It's ok, sometimes it happens. Let's just party for a little longer—don't worry, hun, we'll get you off…"
He had to get out of there. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I gotta be somewhere." She shrugged as he slid off of the bed to find his clothes. He could hear them moaning behind him, slithering against each other like vipers in a pit.
He didn't look back as he staggered towards the door, heading for his room.
=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=
He managed to stumble in, shoving the door shut behind him. He was going to be sick, and it wasn't just the tequila. When his stomach finally heaved itself inside-out, he fell to the floor and clawed off his clothes, crawling into the shower.
The ice cold water was a welcome shock—it cut through the haze of his intoxication, cut through the roiling mess in his gut; soon, he was scrubbing at himself, scrubbing with soap and a towel and then frantically with his hands. Revulsion. He felt dirty—tainted—poisoned. He scrubbed as though he would never be clean again, wanting to wash away any trace of anyone who wasn't her.
She had sent him away, and she no longer had any claim on him—that's what she'd said, anyway. No one could say he'd cheated on her, or betrayed her in any way. There was nothing between them, nothing that bound them. All of her kisses, her sighs, and her moans—all of them were memories meant to be forgotten. This was what he'd told himself he'd do.
Except it wasn't true.
It couldn't be true, because he was still hers. He would always belong to her. It wasn't something anyone could change. It was a fact—as certain as death and taxes, Kuon belonged to Kyoko. And no matter what had happened between them, he felt as if he'd betrayed some tacit understanding.
He'd been trying to claw himself forward through brute force, attempting to accept what he'd thought was inevitable. Since coming to Guam, he'd pushed himself to accept never seeing her again. He was failing—the harder he tried, the more wrong things felt.
The water beat down in needle-like rivulets, stinging where it fell. His mouth was rancid with liquor, his head still spinning. He was sitting on the floor of his hotel bathtub with nothing but self-loathing for company. He was hollow. If she ever granted him another chance, could she forgive this? Would she forgive this?
He sat still as the water poured over him. What was the point in wondering? What would it matter to her, whether or not he slept with other people? All he'd wanted was a respite from the constant weight of her loss. It hadn't worked, but hey, at least he tried.
The hard edge of tequila softened the haze in his mind. His body's frustrated lust brought the memory of her eyes forward. He indulged in that vision, remembering the play of light in their amber depths. He remembered the way her eyes crinkled upwards when she smiled. The memory of her last kiss was burning him like a brand. It was the memory of her body that had him rock-hard; he clung to it like a ship-wrecked sailor.
He knew how pathetic it was to dream of her like this, but he closed his hand around his length anyway. In some other world, he never would have met those women. He wouldn't have been walking on the street alone. It would've been Kyoko, leading him to his hotel room from the bar. Kyoko, kissing him passionately as she stripped off his clothing. Kyoko taking his cock into her mouth, looking up at him all the while—Kyoko, riding him and then crying out in ecstasy.
He grunted and came at the thought, spending against his fist.
If only.
=.=.=
A loud pounding woke him from an uneasy sleep.
"Ren! Are you in there?!" He recognized the voice. It was Ten, pounding her fist against the hotel door. "Ren! REN!"
He looked at the clock on the nightstand and cursed. Eleven thirty. He'd slept the entire night away. No wonder she was mad—he was over two hours late. He hadn't meant to pass out after the shower. He'd just wanted to lie down and wait until the world stopped spinning.
"KUON HIZURI! Are you in there?" she yelled again. "If you don't answer, I'm opening the door."
Had the hotel given her a key!? "Hey," he called out. "Sorry—I'm here—" Hurriedly he threw on a robe, looking out over his hotel room with an embarrassed eye. It was a mess. Cain Heel was a messier man than Ren Tsuruga would ever be, but even this was beyond what Cain Heel was capable of. Cain was responsible for the piles of empty beer cans and cigarettes and laundry. Cain was responsible for the black-out curtains being closed and a 'do not disturb' sign on the door. But Cain wasn't responsible for the puke on and in the toilet. And Cain hadn't strewn yesterday's soiled clothing all over the bathroom floor. Kuon shook his head as he saw the mess. He must've forgotten to use the shower curtain, because the clothes were soaked with water.
Oh well. Too late to fix it now.
When he finally opened the door, he found Ten outside it, fuming.
"I know you're broken-hearted," she said, "but I'm here to remind you that you are an adult, Ren. You have obligations."
She pushed past him and into the room, wheeling her stylist's luggage behind her. "I had to pack up and leave the salon I was going to use," she told him. "Because you were a no-call-no-show."
"I'm…sorry…" he choked, following her into the room.
"Are you? Really?" she muttered. She whirled around. She stood on her tip-toes, sniffed him, and wrinkled her nose. "Have you been drinking?"
He didn't want to answer her right away, but her glare compelled him. "Yeah. I…I've been…I went out," he admitted. He couldn't meet her eyes.
"No," she said. "You haven't just been drinking. You're still fucking DRUNK, Ren."
"I'm not—"
"Sit," she said, motioning to the foot of his unmade bed.
He sat, looked at her, and then put his head in his hands.
"And how am I supposed to work with this?" she asked him.
"Maybe you shouldn't."
This time, it was Ten who paused. She was silent for so long that Kuon forced himself to look up at her.
She was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, looking at him with a look that was somewhere between fury and pity.
"What are you doing to yourself, Kuon Hizuri?" she asked softly. "Because you're sure as hell not Ren Tsuruga right now."
"I'm moving on," he said, but for all of his acting experience, he couldn't make it sound believable. "I'm doing what she told me to do. She said I was a playboy, I'm being a playboy."
Dead silence greeted him again. Ten was holding herself back. She'd been worried and then furious when Ren hadn't arrived on time. And when he didn't answer her calls…she panicked. A frantic call had been made to Lory, who'd given her his room number and then called the hotel to give her access to his room. Finding him like this—it was like finding a wounded animal in the middle of the road, and yet not.
She watched as he squared his shoulders and hesitated.
"I fucked up, Ten," he said. "I fucked up—"
And then he was crying. The sob came up from his chest and escaped in a single gulp of breath. He couldn't even blame it on the alcohol.
Ten watched awkwardly as his tall frame curled in on itself. She let him cry. It was a jarring sight. She knew more about Ren Tsuruga than nearly anyone else at LME, with Lory and Yashiro excepted. She'd been so used to his professionalism, his discipline, and his reserve that this sobbing mess hardly seemed like the same person. She kept forgetting how young Ren actually was—how this had been his first and only brush with love. Lory always said 'love makes you lose your composure,' but it had done more than that for him. The first time she'd seen him with Kyoko, she'd been stunned at how different he was when he was truly happy. She was equally stunned at his childishness, his impulsivity in wanting to introduce her to the world. She'd seen him again, briefly, when he'd transformed into Cain, but he'd been near-catatonic then, a silent, brooding lump who'd let her do her work without protest.
Now? Lory had warned her, but she hadn't been prepared. "He's spiraling," Lory had said. "And he doesn't have anyone there to support him." She felt sorry for him—how could she not? But given what Lory had told her about his time on the Tragic Marker set, she knew being sorry for him would do no good.
She watched him crying and knew she had two choices: she could coddle him like a child or treat him like an adult.
He sniffled into his shirt and whimpered drunkenly.
She made a decision.
"Are you done?" she asked.
The question made him swallow the sob that had been rising in his throat. Lory had asked him the same thing, that night in his apartment. Everyone was always asking if he was done, like this was some tantrum—
"This tantrum is beneath you," she said. "You do realize I flew in from Japan last night just so I could do your hair, don't you?"
He recoiled as if he'd been slapped. A semblance of Ren returned as he finally faced her. "I'm..I'm sorry, Ten," he said. "Really."
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you are," she said drily. "Are you sorry about beating up Murasame, too?" she asked.
He flinched.
"I heard all about it," she said. "The fact that your co-star needed to get his ribs x-rayed after the two of you started going at it—and that was after you'd managed to punch a hole into the wall." She shook her head in disapproval. "Lory wanted me to know what I was walking into. He said you weren't the same adorable young man I'd come to know over the years."
She walked over to the curtained windows and whipped the black-out curtains open. Bright light flooded the room. He shielded his eyes against it. The wide windows revealed a blue sky and an even bluer sea, and Kuon was ashamed of himself all over again. In the light of day, everything seemed dirtier. Dirtier, smaller, and more petty. His room. His actions. "He said you were coming to the set late, picking fights with everyone. Hitting on the women."
"I wasn't hitting on the women," he sputtered. "Manaka came on to me. I…just indulged her a little bit." Manaka had approached him the first days of the shoot, and he'd been…conflicted. But the impression quickly soured. She was handsy and pushy—she'd thought she was being subtle but was as obvious as a billboard.
Ten shook her head. "What you do with your co-stars is your own business, Ren, but remember—they are planning on telling everyone who you are at some point. Do you have any idea at all of what Lory's done to keep you on that project?"
He gulped and thought back to Konoe's visit. It had only been a week ago. The director hadn't been happy about the so-called 'extreme lengths' he'd taken Cain Heel's character. He had apparently expected a mysterious, dangerous man who kept himself aloof from his cast. He hadn't expected a violent, snarling disruptor who arrived two hours after he was expected. He'd come to see him in this very room, asking to speak to Ren Tsuruga when he'd answered the door as Cain.
Ren Tsuruga hadn't arrived. He'd taken a perverse pleasure in remaining in-character while talking to Director Konoe. The man had shivered when he walked in, had stuttered as he mentioned Cain's constant tardiness. But he found his voice eventually. "You were the one that wanted the distance from the cast, Tsuruga-san," he'd said, insisting on calling him Tsuruga even after Kuon had kept up the act. "And I supported it, because I saw no way to keep them from finding out who you were otherwise." His soft hands had formed fists. Kuon could see the frustration in the way he held himself rigid. "But this is too much. Too extreme. No one in their right mind would suspect you of being Ren Tsuruga now," he said. "Even if you said it outright. I know I wouldn't."
He stood up then, finding enough courage to stand toe-to-toe with a looming Cain. "I need you to come to the set, on-time," he'd said. "I need you to stop fighting with Murasame. I need you to stop baiting Manaka. And most of all…you need to stop destroying shit when you're frustrated." He put one finger on Cain's chest for emphasis. "We are making a movie here, Tsuruga," he'd said. "Cain Heel is fun and games, but he's not the role you're here for. Make no mistake—fix yourself, or I'm finding a new BJ. Doesn't matter how much footage we've already shot of you."
Kuon blinked and brought himself back to face Ten. "I…hadn't realized," he said.
"Konoe was ready to fire you," Ten said. "And Lory asked him to give you one more chance."
Kuon nodded. After Konoe's visit, he'd made an effort to get to the set on time. He'd avoided the other cast members—just as Konoe had expected him to do when they'd first cooked up the character of Cain Heel. "I—spoke to him," he told her. "To Konoe. Or he spoke to me. I've been trying. I didn't know Lory had spoken to him too."
"We know you're trying," Ten said. She knew that Lory had done more than just speak to Konoe. He'd promised marketing dollars for the film's debut—money that would have otherwise come from Konoe's studio. It had been a gamble. "I wouldn't be here if you weren't. Konoe would've sent you packing." She sighed and walked towards him on his bed, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulders. She could see that he knew his behavior had been unacceptable; she did, however, acknowledge that it was coming from a place of great pain. She leaned down and looked into his eyes. "You have a lot of people that care for you, Kuon Hizuri. The real you, not just the pretty boy you put out into the world."
She'd been hard on him, but the compassion in her eyes made his eyes well up all over again. "Thanks," he said. His tongue was thick in his mouth.
She patted his shoulder. "Now," she said, "are we going to do this thing?"
He nodded again.
"Good." Ten moved to the kitchenette where she found a clean-looking glass. She filled it with water and brought it to him. She wouldn't coddle him, but he did look like he needed a friend. "Drink," she said. "And then go brush your teeth. Your breath smells atrocious."
=.=.=
It was too late to pretend at dignity now, he supposed. He grimaced in the bathroom mirror—he looked haggard under the white fluorescent lighting. Ten might've accused him of being drunk, but he was sober enough to appreciate her presence. It was nice to have her here. She gave clear directions, had finite tasks for him to do. Yes, he could certainly drink his water. Yes, he could certainly brush his teeth. Small steps. Simple steps, things that he didn't have to think about. Somehow, knowing she knew everything made…everything more bearable. Ten had been there. Ten had met her. Ten had known how wonderful everything had been—
Well, she'd managed to get him out of bed, at least. Her presence only amplified his shame, though.
He picked up the clothes from the bathroom floor and gathered them up into a pile in the corner. The floor was still wet from last night's shower; he took a dirty towel and tried to mop it up. He groaned at the state of the toilet. He was going to have to ask the hotel for cleaning supplies—he was going to clean it himself—
She was right. He hadn't been Ren Tsuruga, not at all. That man would have had a fit over the state of his living quarters. He was grateful Ten had arrived—it, at least, forced him to clean up a little. She'd acknowledged the absolute wreck he'd been, but had reminded him that his self-destruction didn't need to burden those around him. Consideration. That was something Ren Tsuruga had in spades. Kuon Hizuri, apparently, was just a self-indulgent, self-destructive animal whose selfish tantrums were infringing on others' valuable time—oh god, was he better off dead—?
"Ren?" he heard. "I'm ready out here."
He gave himself another grimace in the mirror. "Coming," he said. Leave it behind, he told himself. He wasn't sure he could, but he needed to respect Ten's time, at the very least. He counted to ten, and with each number downwards, he breathed in. When he was some semblance of himself again, he stepped out.
She had set up her tools on the little table and motioned him into a chair. He sat down, finding the ritual oddly soothing. Ten always worked quickly—it was one of the reasons why Lory relied on her so much. The nylon hairdressing cape fluttered around him before she secured it around his neck with a reassuring snap. The dye first, applied to his roots. He kept his head down as she worked, only making the occasional grunt as she moved his head this way and then that. He took comfort in the quiet, grateful that he wasn't alone right then.
When he was ready for the haircut, she hazarded a smile. "OK," she said. "Now that you've calmed down some—" She took a dry towel and dried his wet hair with it. "—and you don't smell like a sewer, we can talk."
He felt her run a comb through his hair before he heard the snip snip of her scissors. Little pieces of hair fell onto the apron. He held himself upright and forced himself to say it. "I…hooked up. With someone." Ten's scissors stopped abruptly. He felt her freeze above him and take in a sharp breath. "Two someones. Yesterday."
He felt her move her hands away. "Your co-star?" she asked.
"No. God no," he said. He'd flirted with the girl once—all he'd done was pet her hair—and now she was obsessed with him. He knew better than to actually date a co-star.
"Who?"
"Two women from off the street. Tourists," he responded. "I can't even remember their names."
The comb returned to his head, and then the scissors. "That's…unusual for you," she said. She couldn't think of anything else to say. She knew that Ren had never 'hooked up' with anyone—since he'd been in Japan, at least. He'd been living like a monk before he met Kyoko.
Kuon was tensing up under hands. "She'll never take me back now." She could see his eyes water but he mastered himself. "Not that she would've before. But now?" He motioned upwards to the blue sky beyond the hotel window. "I'm…I'm just trying to keep my shit together," he said. "For you. For Lory. For this…fucking movie…"
"Shhhh," she said. "So you're…regretting this."
"You think?" A juddering breath. "I kept thinking 'oh, she's accusing me of this, I might as well do it anyway.' Except I couldn't, Ten, not really. And it…was just…awful."
"Yes." She didn't want to judge him, one way or another. "I imagine it would've been. You weren't ready."
"You know…all these weeks, part of me thought that if I could just see her again, I could show her I was trustworthy and constant and we would work it out. But then the other part of me—"
"Is grieving. Is angry," Ten said. "Lashing out."
"I want to burn the world down," he said. "So that nothing survives. Not even me." He looked at her in the mirror. "So what do I do!?"
"What can you do?" she asked. "What's done is done. The issue, though, is not that you betrayed Kyoko. You betrayed yourself."
"Do you think so?" he asked. "It wasn't anything I hadn't done before." He paused. "At least, back then. Before Japan."
"You know who you are and who you aren't, Ren-chan," she said. Snip-snip went the scissors. "And you aren't a playboy. I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish, doing these things."
"I guess I wanted to have it make sense—"
"Kyoko-chan is a lovely young woman," Ten said, "just as you're a wonderful young man. But there's a reason why Darling wanted her in a special section at LME." She turned away to grab another set of shears. "He has unconventional methods, but he's usually right. And from what he said…well, from what he said, your Kyoko's problem is that she doesn't know how to receive love. Or to give it."
"It's not her fault," Kuon said defensively. "If I'd only been better at convincing her—"
"She has to want to change, dear one," Ten said. "She has to stop being afraid. And you could've been there for her helping her through it, but I think that's a journey she needs to do on her own." She tsked. "It hurts," she said. "I know. Have you heard from her at all?"
"No. The first few weeks…I kept calling and texting. But she never answered," he said. "It was like texting an imaginary friend—you know, sometimes I wonder if I dreamed it all up. But then there are the photos."
"...and you've been in Guam," she mused.
"If I weren't, Fuwa-san would probably have to call the police," he said. "Because I'm not sure I would've been able to stay away from her."
"I'm not sure about that," Ten said. "Fuwa-san seemed to support the two of you being together."
He was quiet as she blow-dried his hair. When she finished, he asked, "Do you think I should? See her, that is."
She didn't answer him, not at first. She combed his hair out, and finished styling it, thinking long and hard on her response. He was vulnerable right now, and she knew he would take her response to heart. But…she was undecided on the matter. On one hand, she couldn't forget the first time she'd seen them together: Kyoko had just entered the room and introduced herself. And when she got up from her bow, she'd looked up and her eyes had met his—there had been no mistaking how much she loved him. She knew what Lory's answer would have been—the man she called Darling would have told Kuon to stop at nothing to secure his True Love. But she also knew that this wasn't a fairy tale. And Ten knew what the right answer was. The girl had ended the relationship, clearly and unequivocally. Kuon's continuing preoccupation with her had put him in a self-destructive spiral—one that threatened his entire future. For him, continuing onwards would be obsession. It would be toxic, fruitless, and ultimately more damaging than if he simply tried to move on in a healthy way.
Ten finished styling his hair and then moved so she could look him in the face.
"No," she said.
=.=.=.=
Crawling out of a pit was hard; it was harder still to reach upwards when all he wanted was to sink deeper into the depths.
"Can you live like this?" Ten had asked him. "Can you seriously look at yourself in the mirror and say you're OK living like this?" For the past few weeks, he had been. But then Ten had come. Ten—who he normally saw in his luxury penthouse—had seen the dried puke on his bathroom floor. She'd seen him cry. And then she'd called him out on it.
In the end, it was self-disgust that did it. Self-disgust forced him to clean up, to do his laundry, to hide away the wild excesses of his emotions behind a cold, grey wall. Self-disgust forced him to keep the memory of the two women like a goad, a reminder of who he didn't want to be. He reminded himself that Ren Tsuruga was sober, responsible, and disciplined, and even if Ren Tsuruga was Cain Heel right now, there was no reason to be destructive. Or disgusting. He wanted to be worthy of the faith Lory, Ten, Yashiro, and his parents had put in him. The least he could do was offer them a good return on their investment. And if he never saw Kyoko again, at least he would live like someone she could respect.
No one needed to know how he bled for her. She was a wound that wouldn't heal. And when he got back to Japan, he'd have to learn how to miss her quietly all over again.
By late November he'd come to a cautious state of equilibrium, both with himself and with the rest of Tragic Marker's cast. He was thankful for the new normal. He started coming to the set on time, looking appropriately resentful of having been made to do so. Everyone congratulated Director Konoe on having brought the recalcitrant Cain Heel to heel. His scenes, too, were often done in a single take—it turned out the extras looked particularly terrified the first time they shot the scene. He'd even managed a working relationship with Murasame, who grudgingly acknowledged his skill as an actor.
It was Manaka who disturbed the peace.
Kuon had been drinking a bottle of water; she'd followed him back to the lounge. The day was hot. He was dressed in BJ's trademark black trench coat; it was just the final layer over a costume comprised of far too much fabric for a tropical jungle.
"OOO Cain-san!" she said. She bounced over to him like a rodent. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?" he'd growled.
"You never sweat," she responded. "Look at the rest of us! We're all so hot and our clothes are a mess. But not you. How do you do it?"
He didn't want to respond. He did sweat, just…not visibly, somehow. He'd always been like that—but Manaka didn't need to know that. "Self-discipline," he said, and walked away.
But she wouldn't be deterred. "Wait!" she said. She had one hand on his sleeve and he wanted nothing more than to rip it off. He'd learned his lesson about letting strange women touch him. "So…I know we're wrapping soon," she said. She sidled closer to him in what he took for a move at seduction. The hand on the sleeve started walking up his arms—and then her other hand found its way to his chest. "Would you like to…maybe have a drink later? With me?" She smirked. "No strings," she whispered. "No one has to know."
Perhaps it was the way her fingers were on his bare skin, but suddenly all he could recall was the brunette from before doing the same. He recoiled back in revulsion, shoving her away from him. The force from it caused her to lose her balance—she fell backwards with a surprised cry. "I told you, do not touch me without my permission, Manaka-san," he said. "And no, I don't have time to have a drink with you. Not tonight. Not ever."
She was getting up from the floor. The gentleman in him would've offered a hand, but Cain was no gentleman. This time, though, she was mad. "You think you're some hot shot actor," she said. "But no one's ever heard of you. And you're acting like a goody two-shoes—I saw you with those women, Heel-san. I saw you get drunk at the bar with them—"
Inwardly, he flinched that there had been witnesses to that day. But he scowled at her, nonetheless. "So what?" he asked.
"—I know you have a girlfriend," she said. "I know you cheated on her with those women—so it's OK to have fun with them? But now you're too good to have fun with me?"
He froze. "What are you talking about?" he asked. How would Manaka know about Kyoko?
"Hard not to figure it out when you've got her name in your contacts surrounded with hearts. Kyoko, right? She kept calling you that one day. We were on location at the waterfall—the ringing was disruptive so I told her you were busy."
The waterfall shoot had been weeks ago—the end of October.
"You—did what?" The implications were clear. It was possible that Yayoi had called using Kyoko's phone, but highly unlikely.
"I told her you were busy," Manaka said. She was batting her lashes at him. "Because you were."
All of his control—all of his careful, well-thought-out defenses, his walls—all of them crumbled, leaving nothing but his fury. All of a sudden, the past few weeks were recast in a new light. Ten had told him to give it up and grow up, to leave Kyoko to her own path to maturity. But what if she had changed? What if there was hope? What if she'd changed her mind? And what if he'd missed it, all because of a manipulative starlet wanting to cause trouble?
"Get out of my sight," he growled. He was afraid of what he'd do to her if she didn't.
His phone was in his pocket. Frantically he drew it out—there hadn't been too many calls on it. He scrolled. Yashiro. Ten's frantic calls on the day he'd been drunk. One or two from Lory.
Buried underneath all of them were two calls from the only person in the world he'd ever wanted to hear from.
Kyoko.
=.=.=
His heart was pounding. He vacillated between agony and hope—had she wanted to talk to him? Just talking to him, even as a courtesy, would have been something to cherish. He walked away from the lounge trailer and into the woods, grateful that this location still had a decent network connection.
He trembled as he called her—only to hear the default voicemail message. The phone was off. Her inbox remained full.
Disappointment rolled over him and then he put it away. It was possible the phone was simply out of battery. Or perhaps she was in class. Yes, it was entirely possible she was in class—it was a weekday afternoon, after all. He thought briefly and then called Yayoi's office instead.
"Hello," a voice answered. He breathed out. It was Yayoi.
"Okami-san," he said.
"Kuon-kun! We've missed you here."
"I've missed you too," he said. "All of you—Okami-san? I'm sorry to be so rude but I was hoping—"
He heard a sharp intake of breath. "She…she can't come to the phone right now, Kuon-kun," Yayoi said.
"Oh. Yes, of course—she must be at school right?" he asked.
"No…no, Kuon-kun, I'm afraid she's at home today."
Not at school, but not taking his call. It was as if she'd slapped him. His heart broke into a million pieces, all over again. "Oh—of course," he said. "I just saw that she called—weeks ago—but I missed it because I was on-set—I thought she might want to speak to me but…I guess not…"
"Wait."
"I'm sorry to have bothered you, Okami-san," he said. "Please tell her—"
"Kuon," he heard. "She can't talk to you because she's sick."
He stopped breathing. Again. "What?! How—"
"Karoshi," she said. "And probably compounded with some virus going around. She hasn't been eating, she hasn't been sleeping, and she's been working so hard. Too hard. Studying for her university exams. She collapsed yesterday—we had no idea she was doing so much."
Collapsed. Collapsed, and he hadn't been there to catch her.
"Come back," Yayoi said. To him, her voice sounded as if it came from a far away place. "Won't you come back to her?"
Of course he would.
=.=.=
He told Konoe he had a family emergency. He'd come to the director as Ren Tsuruga, had bowed profusely. He'd apologized for the inconvenience of his departure, so close to the end. Konoe had let him go with good grace—all of his major scenes were done. A body double could be used for the remaining ones. He'd stopped at the hotel room just long enough to grab his passport and throw off his grey contact lenses. He didn't stop to worry about his hair being the wrong color—he knew the face recognition software at passport control wouldn't care.
Four hours from Guam to Osaka, a shinkansen to Kyoto—and then the boat to her.
The river flowed past him, the waters dark. Summer was long gone, and winter was on the wind. But when he arrived—oh, when he arrived—it was twilight again. Twilight and the ryokan was lit like a lantern rising out of the darkness. And this time, he knew where the princess was.
This time, he was coming home.
=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note: OK, come at me. I readily acknowledge that I can dish out dead doves, but I can't take them. I can't and won't read non-RenKyo pairings because they trigger me deeply, and frankly, if this fic had been written by someone else, chances are I wouldn't have read it. So I get it. I understand if you're upset.
If you're here and read to the end, I want to give you my sincerest thanks for reading. I'll ask for a review, too, simply because it's REALLY HARD to spend hours writing and not hear anything from anyone. Is that selfish? Shameless? Yeah, probably. But also, true.
That said…we're in the home stretch now, guys. This is Daughter of Kyoto's TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY. Yes. This fic…this fic that I thought would be 35k words long-that I thought I'd take a few months to write…is now almost as long as a George R.R. Martin book. Verily, I say unto you, what the fuck!? I didn't set out to make it a long fic, but given where the characters were and where I wanted them, perhaps the longfic was inevitable.
But they'll be back together. Soon. I promise you fluff.
Please don't kill me.
Love,
Parkerbear
August 18, 2023
PS: Epigraph (if not entirely obvious): "When Doves Cry," by Prince.