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.

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Additional Author's Notes at bottom of the page.

Chapter XXIV: Fire Meets Gasoline

Were they in love?

Did they hate each other?

Were they…simply friendly?

No one knew, exactly.

The cast and crew were rife with speculation.

Tsuruga-and-Mogami watching had become a spectator sport, and people couldn't get enough of them.

"They are IN LOVE, I'm telling you, Aoi-chan—the way he LOOKS at her when he doesn't think anyone else is looking—" Maeda took a bite of his bento, resting in the shade during a break in filming. "And look over there," he said, gesturing to a corner of the garden. Aoi obliged, observing the subjects of their conversation quietly eating, too.

"So?"

Maeda huffed. "You don't see that, then? Matching bentos. Lovey-dovey bentos. She makes him those little character onigiri and everything."

"She makes them for Yashiro-san, too!" Aoi responded. "They're probably something her ryokan makes. How would a girl like that even have enough time to make those elaborate bentos daily?" Aoi shook her head. The actors were on the set at 6:30am, sharp, and had worked late into the night these past few days. Shingai had imposed an accelerated schedule because Kyoko was expected to be off-set during the daylight hours once she started attending school again. The crew would have complained, except…well, hours had been just as long with Ruriko Matsunai, and nowhere near as productive.

Aoi continued. "And besides, did you see them this morning? The way they came out of that scene I thought I was going to have to run from him. I thought he was going to kill her for real."

Maeda huffed. "They're actors, of course it's going to be tense on set. They ARE trying to kill each other. Maybe you just don't see it because you're further away than I am.

"I'm just saying it's not just during the scenes, Maeda-san." Aoi shuddered. "Remember yesterday?"

"When she was drinking tea and he came in?"

"Yes. The room dropped to sub-zero temperatures, and they didn't even talk to each other!"

"HA!" Maeda laughed. "I'm telling you—it's method acting. Method. Acting. ACTING." He paused and then chuckled. "And you can't take your eyes off of them, can you, Aoi-chan?"

"No—I do have to admit that—they've got—"

"Great chemistry. Like Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers." Maeda took a sip of water and then looked at Aoi over the rim of his glass. "You're watching a legendary couple being born."

A third voice interjected. "Oh, are we talking about—"

"YES." Maeda and Aoi said together.

"Come join us, Mari," Aoi said. Aoi was glad to have Mari join—the two of them were members of the RENion, after all, and Mari could be counted on to debunk Maeda-san's observations.

"Maeda-san thinks Tsuruga-san is in love with Kyoko-chan," Aoi said. She gave Maeda a sideways glance. "But I think they hate each other—or maybe he hates her? The way he goes after her during their scenes is terrifying."

Mari pursed her lips. "I can't imagine Tsuruga-san hating anyone," she said. "Everyone always said he's as gentle as a warm sunrise. But I don't know if he'd fall in love with someone like Kyoko-chan. She's…a wonderful actress, but…when she's not in-character…" Mari could always tell whether she was talking to Kyoko or to Choko when she was on-set, because Kyoko was unfailingly polite and rather…bland. A blank wall. Choko, on the other hand, always gave off a nervous energy, though her manners were always somewhat more formal. "...I don't know, she seems…very quiet? As if she wouldn't react to much of anything? I guess they do have great screen chemistry, but how would she be so emotionless if they were dating?"

"But they look so good together," Maeda said. "The other day when she tripped, he princess-carried her all the way to the medic even though she insisted he put her down. Would a man like Tsuruga carry a girl he wasn't in love with like that?"

Aoi sighed and blushed. "Being carried by Tsuruga-san must be so nice."

"I saw him carry her, but I was watching her face—she didn't even blush, Maeda-kun. I've never seen anyone look so uncomfortable while being princess-carried," Mari said.

"Ha!" Aoi said.

"But did you see his face!?" Maeda responded.

"His face was as beautiful as ever," Mari said. "But I didn't see anything that would indicate he was in love with her."

"You RENion girls are usually so quick to be suspicious," Maeda said. "So what's different now?"

"It's just that—"

"Well—I think he must secretly hate her…" Aoi said.

Mari shook her head. "She's…very nice," she said, "but I don't sense that she's in love with him. I just don't. I don't think she's scared of him, either, but…maybe she's the type that just doesn't fall in love with anyone…even though Tsuruga-san is so handsome."

"Speaking of—did you see Kana-san's interview?" Mari asked.

"I did," Aoi said, "So Tsuruga-san was never hers to begin with!"

"And you don't think the timing is a little suspicious?" Maeda-san asked. "Now that Tsuruga-san is here filming in Kyoto with his mysterious new co-star?"

"How could I think anything?" Aoi asked. "Every time I see them together, I feel terrified!"

"She's arrived with him on-set every morning for the past three days. Since she started." Maeda was not having any of it.

"He's staying at her family's ryokan. Why wouldn't she hitch a ride with him? And it's not like Yashiro-san isn't there too, you know," Mari said. She and Aoi grinned at each other. "Besides, I've seen her when she gets out of the car with him in the mornings. She's always super polite. Like, 'Yes, Tsuruga-san,' 'No, Tsuruga-san,' 'I will endeavor to do my best, Tsuruga-san.' And then she bows to him. You don't bow to your boyfriend."

Maeda shook his head. If Ren and Kyoko wanted to keep their relationship quiet, this would be exactly how he expected them to act. But he knew what he saw the day Kyoko had arrived on set, and that was more real to him than any incidental event that had happened since. He refused to believe the girls were blind to what was going on between the two costars, but he figured they simply didn't want to admit he was off the market.

"And you never see them touch each other unless it's for a stunt," Aoi said, satisfied. "IF they were lovers—and that's a big IF—wouldn't they at least hold hands? Wouldn't Kyoko-chan want that?"

"Ohhhhhh if only I could hold Tsuruga-san's hand," Mari said. "I wouldn't let anyone else come near him."

"Keep dreaming, Mari-chan," Aoi laughed. "And I will, too. Tsuruga-san said 'thank you' to me the other day when I grabbed him a schedule from Shingai-san. I'll have to content myself with that…"

=.=.=.=.=

Yashiro suppressed a smile and kept on walking. He knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping, but he couldn't help it—the little crew beneath the pine tree had been rather boisterous. He tried to recall who they were. Maeda-san operated the boom mic and was a sound engineer, he knew. Aoi—he had to wrack his memory—was a production assistant. And Mari-chan was a costume manager. All people who spent a lot of time watching the actors but not being particularly seen themselves.

Ren had learned to control himself since the day Kyoko had come on-set. He was less prone to looking like a moonstruck cow—if anything, he was leaning into the murderer character that he was playing, and Kyoko was reacting accordingly. Yashiro didn't blame the cast for being of two minds about them. People who'd been there for Kyoko's audition tended to think they were in love. People who only saw subsequent scenes thought otherwise.

He couldn't deny that he was pleased—he'd been so worried about Ren keeping his relationship with Kyoko a secret, but if they could fool Aoi and Mari, there was hope. He suspected that there were quite a few women on-set that were members of Ren's various fan sites, and he was surprised that no rumors had surfaced yet about Ren's newest co-star—and he'd been checking fairly regularly, too. But perhaps it was just the fact that Kyoko was Kyoko and had managed to fool everyone into thinking she was an expressionless mouse when she wasn't acting. That said, she never shirked any work that was asked of her, either. She was never above any task—she volunteered all the time for things no leading actress would ever think of doing.

She and Ren were doing a brilliant job acting, and not just in their scenes. Only when they were back at the ryokan did Ren allow himself to touch her. Only someone who knew him well would know, but Yashiro could almost see the physical strain in Ren that kept him from reaching out to Kyoko when they were on-set. He had to give him credit for the self-imposed discipline. If he had to choose, though, Yashiro had to admit that Kyoko was the better actor here. Ren couldn't keep that look off his face sometimes, and at least one person had noticed. Kyoko, though, had not developed a tell at all. Instead, she wore a preternaturally calm face through most interactions with Ren.

Yashiro had even asked once, if it bothered him. But Ren just shrugged.

"It's her Okami-san face," Ren told Yashiro.

"Her Okami-san face?" Yashiro asked.

"The face she wears when she's greeting customers," Ren replied, "Particularly old, drunk jii-sans that may or may not try to touch one's breasts if not adequately told off." He beamed at Yashiro. "It's amazing, isn't it? She's got everyone fooled—" But Yashiro had insisted on changing the subject. Ren was prone to going on and on about Kyoko-chan, at least in close company.

He headed towards them—really, he thought, both of them should be sneezing up a storm, what with everyone on the set talking about them. When he got there, they were sitting together but also painfully apart. Ren was facing towards the garden wall and Kyoko was sitting to his right. Yashiro came around to see him and understood why he was facing the wall: He was giving that smile to her.

"You two," Yashiro said, "are behaving yourselves extremely well. You even have the RENion members fooled, so some congratulations are in order."

As if he hadn't heard anything at all, Ren looked at Yashiro and pouted. "Kyoko-chan won't feed me when I say 'Ahhhhhh,'" he said.

Figures he doesn't care about the gossiping, Yashiro thought.

"Kuon," she chided quietly. She sat elegantly in seiza as she ate her bento. "If we did, it would be game over. And you know it!" She looked down at her bento to hide a smile.

"It's ok. I'll eat all I want tonight," he said. Yashiro watched a blush spread all over Kyoko's features. It took Yashiro a minute or two to understand why she was blushing, and then he took a double take at Ren, who was grinning at her with unbridled lust.

"Ren!" Yashiro said, scandalized. Yashiro was blushing himself. He'd never seen Ren grin like that before—hungry and toothy, as if he were a big, bad wolf. If the women of Japan ever saw him looking like that, Yashiro thought, we'd be in serious trouble.

The man in question merely shook his head. "Now sure what you guys are so worked up about," he said. "I was only talking about dinner."

"Dinner," Kyoko echoed, looking dazed. The blush on her face extended down to her neck. "Right."

Yashiro gave a snort. "So that's what the kids are calling it these days," he said.

Ren glared at him.

Yashiro grinned back.

Kyoko gave them both a sideways glance and then elegantly ate a carrot that she'd carved into a sakura flower.

…which brought back the lovesick-cow-smile on Ren's face.

And then they were back to where Yashiro had found them.

It was a good lunch.

=.=.=.=

"Cut!" Shingai said. Applause met his pronouncement.

They'd just finished filming an emotional scene…a difficult scene. It was the kind of scene only a few actresses could really pull off. It was a shot of Choko, floating in the bath…the camera held still in a close-up of her face. She had no lines—and no other actors to react to, but somehow, she had been enough. The bath scene was the last of Choko's "horror" scenes. The girl was haunted—though the book was never clear whether the haunts were real or mere figments of her imagination.

But Kyoko had managed it, a single pale girl whose eyes had spoken more in silence than a hundred lesser actresses could have done in a thousand words. She'd entered the bathroom quietly, grimly—knowing that she was in a house full of hostile entities—and climbed into the bath. For a while, Shingai had her keep her eyes closed, but to show anxiety with her body. He'd wondered how she would do it, figured she'd need some coaching.

He was wrong—she hadn't needed it. The girl had kept her eyes closed but the anxiety—the fear—was on her face nonetheless. Shingai saw it in the way she kept her lips pursed, her teeth clenched underneath. Her body didn't relax into the water, it held itself rigid even as she leaned back to float. He told her he'd give her a cue to open her eyes in horror, as if she'd seen a monster. The cue had been a mere bell he'd had someone ring, but her reaction had been more than just her opening her eyes—she'd startled, and the water in the tub sloshed over the rim as her body reacted. Her eyes were wide and dilated, he could see how her breath quickened. He was certain that if he'd had a camera angled correctly, he'd watch how quickly her heart beat through her pulse, too.

It was an impressive bit of work. Kyoko was a strange study in contrast. Shingai found that he had little to say about her acting—her characterization, her execution. Sometimes he had her repeat lines to reflect his vision of the scene better, but she herself had occasionally caused him to change his own mind to favor her own interpretation. What she'd needed help on wasn't the finer points of understanding a character. It seemed that whatever Tsuruga had taught her over the summer had sunk in. No, what she needed help with were the small things that most experienced actors knew. Things like placing one's body a certain way so that the camera could shoot from the angle Shingai wanted. Things like how to speak into a microphone. Things like learning how to accept praise.

A dripping Kyoko-chan rose upright from the bathtub she'd been bathing in, still dazed from the intensity of her scene. Someone quickly offered her a bathrobe—she hadn't been nude in the bath, but was wearing things so that she would appear nude.

"Kyoko, please get warmed up," Shingai said. "That was our last scene for the day and you've been working so hard."

He could almost see when Choko's soul left her body. It was almost a decompression—Choko, always in control, always elegant, gave way to Kyoko's calm, impassive face. Shingai had the feeling that she'd adopted another character just for the duration of the shoot. The girl Shingai had met at the audition was unassuming, modest, cheerful, and elegant. This Kyoko kept all of those characteristics under a gray rock.

He looked over as a bevy of assistants helped Kyoko into her bathrobe. He knew that Tsuruga was lurking somewhere on-set—his scenes were done for the day, but Shingai knew that he'd be waiting for Kyoko, nonetheless. And the man was likely having a fit over what Kyoko was wearing. Poor Yashiro was likely stuck, waiting for the lovers.

He had to suppress a chuckle. Shingai sent the rest of the cast home. Tomorrow would be Kyoko's last full day on set before her return to school.

As for Ren…well…

Tsuruga was giving one of the best performances of his career. Shingai had worked with Tsuruga before, and the difference was subtle but important. At first Shingai had struggled to articulate it. Was it simply knowing the character well? Was it simply having a competent actress to work with? He was watching the two of them struggle over a copy of the dead patriarch's will when he realized it.

The Ren Tsuruga he'd worked with in the past had been an excellent actor—one capable of winning awards, certainly. His reactions tended to be reserved…elegant. Shingai always thought Tsuruga would've made a wonderful British actor—he was all restraint and poise. But This Tsuruga was capable of portraying a man who was a mess. Angry, malevolent, manipulative—nothing at all like his performance with Ruriko, where he'd been all snide remarks and quiet, bored hostility. This Tsuruga let violence out without filter or hesitation, and even in polite drawing-room scenes, Shingai could feel a darkness in him, waiting to strike.

But there was something more, too. Something that he'd never seen in any Ren Tsuruga performance before, even the ones that were stage-combat heavy. He'd filmed a scene where his two leads wrestled over an old box purportedly holding the deceased family patriarch's will. Ren was so much taller than Kyoko. The original choreography, initially planned for Ruriko and then modified for Kyoko, had been minimal—meant for Choko to escape his grasp before having to fight out of it. But the actors hadn't followed the original choreography. They'd chosen to improvise.

And how.

It had been intensely physical. It shouldn't have worked. It shouldn't have looked so right. He was shocked, but he somehow felt that he couldn't have stopped them if he tried. Ren had not hesitated in making contact with his co-star, and Kyoko had done the same. Shingai hadn't been able to take his eyes off of them—they burned like beings made of fire and lightning. The way she fought him off made her seem larger, at least to the camera. He lunged at her, she kicked him.

"Don't touch me," she'd said. For a character whose personality was marked by restraint and elegance, it was a hair-raising transition.

She pushed him off her; he kept coming. "I can't let you have that, little sister," Ren said. And then he managed to pin her up against a wall to finally grab the box which she was clutching in terror and defiance.

She screamed in protest. Shingai didn't think it had been intentional, but there was something erotic about the way he covered her mouth to silence that scream, and something equally erotic about the way she'd bitten his hand to get it off of her. She'd escaped and ended the scene then, even though the script certainly hadn't written the fight that way.

Shingai wondered if he'd just watched foreplay. Both actors watched him review the scene, silent and a little sheepish at having taken it too far. Ren had been apologetic, saying "We may have gotten carried away," but Shingai knew the actor wasn't sorry at all.

The scene had been captured and it was compelling, and he was OK with feeling like a pervert. It was a damn good scene.

Their antics galvanized a cast and crew that had come into the project expecting nothing but a series of painful months subject to Ruriko's tantrums. Every time they walked onto the set, everyone else on the cast heard an unspoken challenge. It was never overt, never even intentional. But every time Ren and Kyoko went deeper into their characters, they pushed the evolution of the film. "This is what we're capable of," they seemed to say. "Can you keep up?"

And their co-stars kept up. It was easy to do—particularly when you had a Ren or a Kyoko in front of you forcing you to react. Sometimes Ren's acts were so startling—so truly discomfiting—that his co-stars would tremble…or drop things…or turn pale in response. Yuko and Minami, playing Choko's mother and sister, respectively, had nightmares the night after Kyoko told them she was being haunted.

What was a director to do, then? Shingai felt a world of possibilities open up. Scenes were re-written. Plots were adjusted. He had a feeling that by the time all was said and done, Ring Doh 2 would be inadequate as a title, and not least because this no longer felt like a sequel. No—it was a variation on a theme, an independent work.

He was just about ready to review a number of the day's shots when the phone began to ring.

=.=.=.=.=

When the fits of giggling stopped, Kuon and Kyoko were sitting in the kitchen, Yayoi was smiling fondly over them, and Yashiro was rolling his eyes. Since the night he'd found her talking to Yayoi, they'd dispensed with eating in his room. It meant having to wait a little longer before he could touch Kyoko, but Kuon didn't want her worrying about having her put his food on a tray and then back down again when he was perfectly capable of leaving his room and saving her the trouble.

It felt better, somehow. More right. More like being part of her life instead of being some guest who would come in and then leave. Yashiro had joined them as a matter of course, and Etsuro or Yayoi-san would sit with them for a little while, just to hear how the day's shooting had gone.

"It wasn't all exciting, though," Kyoko was telling Yayoi. "Shingai-san had me walking down a hallway over and over like a ghost. We must've spent hours doing that scene!"

"It seems to be one of the hallmarks of the movie," Kuon responded. "Endless dark hallways. Secret rooms—"

"Don't let them fool you into thinking they were boring, Yayoi-san. They had a fight scene today," Yashiro interrupted. "I think they scared half the crew to death."

"We did not," Kyoko interjected. "We just improvised, really—I didn't even mean to, but Kuon started it first—"

"I started it?! YOU started it. You were supposed to twist away from me and run, but then you kicked—"

"I had to kick, you were doing that 'looming death glare thing' over me—"

"Looming death glare thing?"

"There it is, you're kinda doing it right now…"

"I am not."

"Are too."

"AM NOT!"

"ANYWAY," Yashiro interrupted, "after they scared the entire cast to death, Kyoko shot a solo scene."

"In a bathtub," Kuon added. He kept his growl in check.

"Kyoko-chan!" Yayoi was concerned. Having Kyoko shooting nude scenes was not what she'd signed up for. "Were you—were you—?"

"NO! No, I mean…Yayoi-san, no." Kyoko blushed. "Of course not."

"They had her fully covered," Kuon said, gritting his teeth.

"Yes, it was like a bathing suit."

"And honestly, Shingai told me it was one of the best scenes he's shot yet," Yashiro said.

"You were wonderful in that scene, love," Kuon said.

Kyoko blushed and made the mistake of looking directly at him.

Yashiro had to cough once or twice to break them out of their trance before they started making out with each other.

"What made it wonderful?" Yayoi asked, genuinely interested.

"Ah—Yayoi-san—" Yashiro responded.

"No, wait, let me," Kuon interrupted.

"You guys—" Kyoko was blushing.

"She had to tell an entire story without words!" Kuon exclaimed, "In one continuous shot, one single close-up of her face in the bathtub, with her hair floating in the water. And she did it! I was behind him, love, I watched Shingai watch it over and over with this smile on his face, like he'd just won the lottery." Kuon had watched her from the sidelines, thrilled, but also troubled that she could convey what it was like to be so anxious and trapped and fearful in such a realistic manner.

"I know he accepted the scene," Kyoko said, "but I'm sure many others could have done it better."

"But that's what I'm trying to tell you," Kuon said. "Directors don't really do that shot often because it requires an actor who can convey something with how they set their lips or close their eyes. And you were wonderful."

"He's right," Yashiro confirmed. "You should be proud."

"Kyoko-chan, ahhhhhhhhh!"

"Kuon." She'd become far more open with Yayoi since Kuon's arrival, but still gave him a stern look as he opened his mouth.

He was not deterred. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"

She looked at him sternly. "Kuon, we are in the kitchen with Yashiro-san and Yayoi-san."

"Yayoi-san doesn't mind. Yashiro-san doesn't mind either. Right?" He looked over at them. Yashiro and Yayoi rolled their eyes indulgently.

"I mean, you should have some mercy for your long-suffering manager, Kuon," Yashiro said. "I've waited for so long to see you like this. I'm so proud!" He wiped a fake tear from his cheek as he grinned, and then narrowed his eyes at them. "You two are ridiculous."

"I think it's cute," Yayoi said. "And Etsuro could learn by example." She grinned at them and patted Kyoko on the shoulder. "Anyway, you should just go ahead and feed him, dear, it's getting late and both of you have an early start tomorrow." She turned away, as Kyoko and Kuon's jaws dropped. "Anyway, I'm off to bed. Goodnight, you two."

"Well, I'm off too," Yashiro said. "We leave at 6am sharp tomorrow morning."

Kyoko and Kuon stared at each other. Both of them had the feeling they'd been left alone on purpose, but neither one was complaining. They were extremely careful on-set. They touched each other whenever their roles allowed it. Shingai was right—the combat had left them hungry for each other. Kuon wanted to drag Kyoko off behind a tree immediately after the shot had been called, but Ren wouldn't allow it.

Instead, they engaged in a maddening game. Never anything overt—never a kiss, or a hug, nothing that could ever be interpreted by prying eyes as a gesture between couples. When they were finally away from the set, he'd hold her hand in the car, clutching onto her for dear life.

Kyoko offered Kuon chocolate mousse—leftover from that evening's dinner service—who ate it with a quiet smile off her fork.

"They've left us all alone," he said, grinning.

"I am sure they are tired," she responded. Hastily she got up, conscious of the way his gaze lingered on her skin. "I'll clean up—"

"No, wait," he said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her down onto his lap. And then he kissed her. Just a brief, quiet kiss, enough so that she could taste the chocolate on his breath. Even though they couldn't be open about their relationship on set, having her work with him was a dream come true. She was every bit a partner, even though she was an antagonist, and their scenes were like dances.

He pulled away gently, watching the faint flush on her cheeks as her eyes opened and enjoying the feel of her body against him.

"Don't go just yet," he said. "Please?"

She giggled. "The quicker we clean up, the faster you can go to bed," she said, and then pulled his mouth in for another kiss.

"Good point," he whispered.

"I'll clean up."

"You cleaned up yesterday, too."

"I know. And you cooked yesterday, too. And the day before that." He laughed at her as he quickly cleared the stainless steel utility table they were eating at. He grabbed their empty bentos, too, and set about washing them. She stood by, drying each dish and putting it away.

"You know, technically, you're still a guest, Kuon," she frowned.

"HA!" he told her. "I stopped being a guest a long time ago, and you know it."

"Well, I appreciate it," she responded, "But you needn't." He looked at her affectionately.

"I'm still not really sure how you were ok with me carrying rocks up the hill but aren't OK with me washing dishes, love," he quipped.

"That was different, though," she pouted.

"Mmm," he said. For a while they were just quiet together, washing their dishes and putting them away.

"Kyoko?" he asked. Something had been bothering him since the scene in the bathtub.

"Hmm?"

"The way you held yourself in the tub." He was looking down at the bowl he was washing. It was the last dirty dish. The kitchen seemed too quiet now, and Kyoko knew what he was going to ask. "The memory you used for your acting. Was it Sho that made you feel like that?"

She was quiet, looking away. He looked up at her as she nodded, just once, and he shut off the tap and folded her in his arms. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault," she whispered into his chest. She let herself snuggle into his solid mass, her own arms entwining about him. "Truthfully, I don't think of him very often," she said. "Even before you got here, he was a fading memory. But since you—"

"I love you." His wet hands ruffled her hair. He leaned into her and held her tighter.

"I love you too," she said. He grinned at the sound of her voice, muffled by his shirt.

They stood still like that for a very long while.

=.=.=.=

"Wait what!?" Shingai nearly fell off his chair. He'd noticed quite a few missed calls on his phone and checked to find that it was Lory.

"You heard me," came the voice on the other side. "I'm coming. To Kyoto."

Oh no. Oh no…Shingai was not prepared for the seismic shift Lory's presence would bring onto the set. The man was a typhoon-level distraction. He'd bring a neon-lit production to the middle of a historic street. "Oh god. And what are you bringing with you? Camels? A three-ring circus? No—wait—this time, let me guess—Viking horde?"

"Worse."

"What could possibly be worse than your entourage?"

He heard Lory chuckle. "Guess."

"Nothing comes to mind. Is there anything worse than a troupe of bagpipers? Because you did that once—"

"Kuu Hizuri."

"Kuu—what? But why?"

"I told him about our little project and he's interested in securing the distribution rights for the stateside release."

Shingai paused. Kuu was a megastar—the kind of name that drew a crowd world-wide. He sighed heavily. "You're right. That IS going to be worse than a caravan of camels." Shingai didn't even want to think about it. It was bad enough having Ren Tsuruga on-location, but they'd managed to keep the fact that he was shooting here under wraps. Ren was capable of moving around like a shadow when he wanted to. But Kuu was a much flashier affair—his public relations MO often involved screaming fans from airport arrival to airport departure. Despite reports that he was always kind and generous to everyone around him, Shingai was not looking forward to catering to a star.

"I don't understand—since when does Hizuri-san license movies for international release? And why are YOU coming?"

"I AM an executive producer on this little project, you know," Lory said, pouting. "And I want to see my two protégés acting," he added, nonchalantly. "Besides, Kuu's starting a foundation or something. Cross-cultural exchange."

"Your two protégés?" Shingai was puzzled. "Last I checked I found Kyoko."

"Ahhhh but you didn't. Technically she auditioned for me first, and I've been looking for her for a year now. I had a special training regime planned out for her and everything."

That explains his reaction when I sent him the clip, then, Shingai thought. "You've been looking for her for a year? That's why she isn't represented by LME? Last I checked she was working at her family's ryokan."

Lory sighed. "I had plans that fell through." Shingai would never understand—Kyoko had been so different back then, nearly feral with a manic lust for revenge. But his entire plan to rehabilitate her had gone up in smoke. Yayoi had told him how she was when she came back to Kyoto. He didn't know what had happened, but his instincts screamed out back then and they were screaming out now. One didn't survive in show business without an eye for talent, and Lory was well-known for knowing.

"Fell through, you say? In any case it's irrelevant whose protégé she is—You two cannot come on set like this."

"Like what? You mean you don't want the camels? I wasn't planning on camels, but you've mentioned them twice and I was thinking—"

"No, I meant like this. Unplanned-for. Unannounced. Kyoko-chan is starting school on Monday, which leaves us just tomorrow as her last full day on set and I want to knock out some more scenes in good morning light while we can." Trust Lory to put a wrench into the works just when everything was working like a well-oiled machine.

"Ah."

"You're bad enough on your own, you know, but with Kuu freaking Hizuri, it's going to be a madhouse—and we've got a tight schedule. Not a whole lot of time between scenes."

"Which is why we were planning on going incognito," Lory said.

"Great, so both of you will be dressed as sultans?"

"I tried, but Kuu wasn't interested in that one," Lory said. "We'll both be American investors, how about that?"

"Beards and sunglasses, then? It'll look suspicious."

"I considered showing up as part of the construction crew. Would you prefer that? We'd both be in working clothes."

"All the crew members on set prep and tear down are accounted for."

"Caterers?"

"It's a thought, but how would you watch them acting? Any time we bring food on-premises, it's served well and truly away from the set. Plus caterers tend to simply deliver here." Shingai was exasperated. "Just show up as the investors," he said. "But you'll have to do an amazing job with disguises. Nothing that'll disrupt their acting."

=.=.=.=

Lory ended the call with Shingai with a sigh and looked at the tall actor casually eating yet another container of senbei on his armchair. It was his twelfth bag, and Lory made the note to ask Ruto to secure another case of them. Kuu had shown up unexpectedly—and what was Lory to do except to host him at the Takarada mansion? He looked at the actor, noting the shadows underneath his eyes. The years of Kuon's exile had been hard on Kuu…and Julie…and their marriage. Their careers had continued uninterrupted, but Lory could tell how Kuu missed his son. Lory had watched from the sidelines with a great deal of concern. He knew Julie blamed him for Kuon's sudden departure, but the child had been in crisis. Lory hadn't wanted him to have time to stew on the decision, and so he'd acted. Julie refused to speak to him for a year. Kuu, on the other hand, called a little too often.

Lory had seen how disappointed Kuu was when Ren had refused to meet him last year. The man had put on a brave front, but he was heartbroken and Ren had been ice-cold. But Kuu was determined this time.

"If he won't see me, then I'll go see him," Kuu had told Lory on arrival. "Even if I just see him on set. Even if it's from twenty feet away. Even if he doesn't recognize me—I want to see my son's face in person. And my daughter-in-law's," he added.

Lori raised an eyebrow at the latter statement. "Does Julie know you're here?" he asked.

"She does," Kuu said. "We flipped a coin to decide which one of us would see her first…"

"Her?" Lory raised an eyebrow. "Not him?"

He watched the man deflate. "Of course him. But we wanted to see her, too. The girl who brought our son back from the dead."

Lory knew what he meant. When Kuu had arrived in Japan last year, Kuon had refused to meet him. Rather, Ren hadn't had time to meet with Kuu. But now—now, things felt different. The laughing boy in the pictures from Kyoto was a far cry from the sober-eyed actor. Lory could only imagine how Kuu felt, seeing Kuon looking happy and healthy again after so many years. He'd sent him the pictures knowing it would stir up waves, and he'd been right. Kuu and Julie had been ecstatic—no—rather, they'd been moved to tears.

"But it was when you told us that the girl was taking on a lead role as her debut into acting that I felt compelled to come see them," Kuu said. He'd crossed the Pacific full of hope. "Maybe this time," Kuu told Lory with a smile.

"He's…changed," Lory said. "He's definitely changed. So I agree with you. Maybe this time."

"He looks…like himself. Like Kuon," Kuu said. "In the picture. Before…all the things happened. With Cedric. The gang bullshit. That director—" Kuu stopped, and Lory heard what sounded awfully like a sob being suppressed. "I think…not that long ago…Julie and I watched Ren on Dark Moon and I kept asking myself 'where is my son? Is this my son?' I thought he'd disappeared, because Ren Tsuruga isn't my son. And then you send me this picture of him and it's like our wishes came true. It's like someone took the dark off of him and gave him back to us."

"He was always there," Lory said. "Somewhere behind Ren. I think he was buried so deep in there he'd forgotten how else to be. He hasn't been himself until I dragged Kuon out to send him on this vacation. He was stuck with his acting—"

"I saw," Kuu said. "I saw, and I couldn't even call him to offer advice."

"He wasn't ready for the part," Lory said. "I told you I was against him taking it in the first place, but he and Ogata insisted—and there's only so much I can do."

"Yeah. I remember you telling me last year when he wouldn't meet with me. But I didn't understand why you were against him taking the part until I saw the broken teacup episode." Kuu put his head in his hands. "He copied me. He used to follow me around like a shadow—I was his hero—but I was always so busy I never even noticed when he got hurt."

"You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened."

"Then who do I blame, Lory? It's been six years, but that doesn't change the fact that I was a shitty father."

Lory sighed. Kuon was the same, always blaming himself. He'd spent a lot of time with both father and son, talking them off of ledges. "But you're here now," Lory said. "And you'll see him tomorrow. And Kuu…from what I've seen, you'll never have to worry about his love-acting ever again."

"I don't even want him to notice I'm there," Kuu said. "Just seeing him will be enough."

Lory somehow doubted that would be enough.

"And maybe I can just…see my future daughter-in-law, too," he said. "Julie wants to know everything about her. She's already planning wedding dresses."

"Doesn't it seem a little premature to call her your daughter-in-law? She's young, you know. It'll be a while before he can even date her openly. They'll have to be apart after shooting ends. That kind of thing kills young love."

"Pfft. You know better than that. I know she's his girl, Lory. I was the same way when I met Julie. Don't you know this? Mr. Defender of True Love?"

Lory smiled. "I do." He remembered what he'd told Kuon at the beginning, right as before he left for Kyoto—that when Kuu had found Julie, they'd been incandescent together. And in the time he'd learned about Kyoko from Yayoi, he'd had to acknowledge how this situation couldn't be anything less than true love. There were too many coincidences—too many times where they'd been parted only to be brought back together again. It was as if the universe conspired to throw them together somehow.

They were quiet for a time. Kuu finished the bag of senbei and began looking for another snack.

"Do you think I should try to talk to him?" Kuu asked Lory. He'd been debating it within himself. Part of him wanted to give Kuon his space and let him return to them in his own time. The other part of him wanted to tackle his son and tell him how much he was missed.

"I would," Lory replied. "If you can."

"That depends on him," Kuu had said. "Entirely. The door has always been open," he said. "Even if he wanted to abandon his career here, we would have taken him back."

"Does he know that?"

"No." Kuu looked at Lory. "How could he have known? He never even so much as called us!"

"He…threw himself into work when he got here," Lory said. "There were days and nights when he worked so hard he would fall asleep on his script. I told him to remake himself. I'm sorry, Kuu, I insisted on him staying in character all day, every day. I was too worried about what would happen if he gave in to that guilt."

"It was probably for the best. Freeing him from me, that is. I didn't realize how much being my son hurt him. But I couldn't be more proud of who he's become," Kuu said.

"Shingai gave us permission to show up on set tomorrow," Lory said.

"'Gave us permission'?" Kuu asked. "Or did you bully him?"

"I…may have bullied him a little," Lory responded. "But yes, we'll have to be incognito."

"Ms. Woods, then?" Kuu looked thoughtful. It had been a while since he'd worked with the self-titled 'witch of beauty' but he knew she was capable of miracles.

"Ten is coming, yes."

Kuu nodded and finished the piece of cake he was snacking on.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

=.=.=.=

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Thank you for reading (if you're reading!). This chapter is a little shorter than normal, but I had a choice between an Extremely Long Chapter or a Normal Length (but short for DoK) chapter. I opted for a shorter one this time. Please let me know what you think. Seriously—fic authors live off of the dopamine your reviews give, and *this one* is always…terrified you guys will hate it. I know I always say this but argh. I always feel like I should re-write vast swaths of everything, but then this chapter has been delayed due to a very busy month at work and with other WIPs (yes, I've been cheating on this story with...other stories.). I'll try to get the next installment out faster.