Unproductive Production

They were barely three hours into their first schedule block when Yuu realized why she was there—not for note-taking. Not for fetching water and skin-mist, (although she had already fetched them three times).

No. She was there to keep Vil from committing murder.

The producer, Marine Diamond, was exactly the kind of person who should never be allowed near a fashion event: stunningly beautiful, rich as sin, and convinced that glitter was a personality.

“I’m just saying,” Marine said sweetly, flipping through the event mock-ups, “Perhaps you should consider an expose into your personal life as part of the promotion. Perhaps a duet with another student? Maybe a shared spotlight with—oh, I don’t know, Rook Hunt? People love a reunion.”

Yuu saw the twitch in Vil’s brow.

“Rook. Is. Not. Here,” he bit out, voice dangerously smooth. “And if he were, I suspect your idea would still be…how shall I say… grotesquely misguided.”

“But the tabloids—”

“—are not curating this event. I am.”

It wasn’t Yuu’s place. She knew it. But it had been two hours of this exact sort of prying discourse. Her knees were buckling. Her water-tray hand was shaking. She decided to step in.

“Ms. Diamond,” she began, under the pretense of offering the producer a seventh cucumber water. It was a miracle the producer hadn’t run out of the place hunting for a restroom. The woman had a bladder of steel.

Marine fluttered her lashes. “Oh, yes dear. Thank you.”

“Is the Starfall Gala not supposed to be about the city and the magical events it hosts?” Yuu asked innocently, once the producer’s mouth was full.

Marine nodded.

“Then trust Vil to give you something people won’t be mocking on magic forums for the next three months,” Yuu said, tapping her clipboard at Vil. “Sorry, Vil, but we’ve gone a bit overtime. You have an interview in twenty minutes.”

Vil glowered. There was a beat of silence. Then, Marine sighed dramatically.

“Ugh. Fine. No Rook. But we are doing the fog machine. I already paid the vendor.”

“Of course, Madam Producer,” Vil placated as Yuu pulled him out the door. “Potato, was that really necessary?” he muttered under his breath once she had him in the hallway.

“I’m ready to keep over, and you haven’t eaten in five hours,” she shot back. “I can cancel and put you back in there, though. I just thought you’d like a word in edgewise since the interview you’re doing is joint with your costar.”

Vil snatched the schedule from her hands. “That was supposed to be tomorrow!”

“I am but a slave to the pink lines on my list,” she said dramatically.

“Damn! It IS today! I’m not ready! I’m—”

She shoved a protein bar into his hand and stared at him with what she hoped was the same level of disgust and disdain he’d given her this morning when he saw that she’d chosen to wear a retail blazer.

“You’ve been monologuing all morning as a warmup! Or did you mean you’re not dressed for it, which is ridiculous. You’ve changed three times today.”

“I am not taking fashion arguments from someone who forgot what a french-cuff was this morning,” Vil hissed.

She cringed inwardly, knowing the reference was piquing some part of him that was still angry at Rook. Yuu held up her hands in a gesture of peace.

“Vil, you’re right that my fashion advice is rickety at best, but personally, I think you could pull a Monroe and wear a potato sack tunic and gunny leggings to this thing and still look like the primary star no matter who you’re interviewing with. You. Will. Be. Fine.”

“You’re lucky I don’t put you in a sack, potato,” he retorted weakly.

It was a testament to his irritation that his ears went red yet again, and evidently, she’d stunned him into silence. With a sigh, she unwrapped the food and pushed part of it into his mouth.

“If you pass out from low blood sugar, there’s not much I can do for you,” she said, hoping he’d be distracted by logic.

Vil chose not to answer. Chewing with elegant fury, he slapped the itinerary back into her hands and marched off to the interview, where they were only a hair away from being late.

*

They walked into the studio with only five minutes to spare, the interviewer already looking antsy. Vil took his perch on a minimalist white and gold settee, glowing with soft lights. Whether it was the coloring or the precision of everything, Vil looked right at home, as though he was part of the decor. The interviewer, all bleached smiles and hairspray, looked more out of place than he did.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Welcome, Vil Schoenheit—reigning lead of the Starfall Gala’s most anticipated act!” she announced, the moment the cameras set to roll.

“A pleasure. I do strive to give the audience something worth anticipating,” Vil answered graciously.

The host was already laughing. “Oh, they’re going to get it. Especially with your surprise co-star this year.”

Vil gave her an indulgent smile. “I’ve been looking forward to learning who it is all week.”

“Well, wait no longer! We wanted to catch your live reaction! Fun, right?”

“Fun…” Vil repeated with real curiosity as his co-star was escorted into the room.

To the sound of music and cheap pyrotechnics, even Yuu recognized the cherubic face and smile of Neige Leblanche taking a seat on the podium—looking thoroughly surprised to be there, despite having been likely informed weeks ago. Next to Vil, he seemed uncomfortable and awkward, but there was a sort of charming relatability in the way that he blinked in the spotlights, and fumbled in his greeting with the host.

“Vil!” he cried happily. “SO good to see you again! I was worried it might not be someone I knew—not that I mind meeting new people, un—but, it’ll be fun to work with you again.”

“Neige.” Vil nodded.

The hostess cooed over the two of them. “You two have such chemistry on screen!”

“Yes. Like champagne and… marshmallows,” Vil said tightly, gripping the side of his chair furthest from the cameras.

“So! You and Neige together onstage again. Fans are calling it a “dream pairing.”

“I’m SO EXCITED! I’ve already planned a dance where we hold hands and spin!”

“I’m already spinning,” Vil answered through a tight-lipped smile.

From the eaves, Yuu hid a smirk behind her clipboard.

“And I’ve designed our promotional t-shirts that we’ll be wearing this week leading up to the Gala!” Neige chirped happily.

Vil swallowed around his professional smile. “...I beg your pardon."

*

The next hour passed in a whirl of Neige and Vil being photographed in said t-shirts. Cheaply-made. Cotton-polyester. Yuu thought her sides were going to split when, not only was Vil forced into the clothing, but Neige cuddled him for half the shots.

After what was probably an eternity to Vil, and Yuu having watched what would have been Rook’s fever dream, they were allowed to leave.

The glass doors burst open to a chorus of shrieks.

Outside, the barricades were buckling under the weight of flashing phones, trembling hands thrusting out autograph books, and handmade plushies waving like flags of devotion. The air thrummed with the breathless chant of two names—one sung like a lullaby, the other screamed like a prayer.

Neige stepped out first, beaming like the human incarnation of a cupcake. He waved with both hands, eyes sparkling like he was genuinely thrilled to see every person there.

"Hi everyone! Thank you for coming out! Stay warm, okay? Don’t catch a cold!”

The crowd surged forward like a tide of squealing gratitude, but the barricades held until Vil stepped out.

Vil Schoenheit emerged behind him like a slow-moving blade of sunlight—immaculate, untouchable.

He didn't wave. He acknowledged.

One gloved hand lifted in a subtle tilt of recognition, fingers curved like a statue’s. His expression didn’t smile so much as permit appreciation.

Cameras clicked like gunfire. A girl screamed something unintelligible and nearly fainted. Someone tried to toss a crown of roses—Neige caught it, delighted. Vil side-eyed the petals on the sidewalk like they were disease vectors. Which was apparently wise…because one tossed gift opened the way to an ASSAULT of them.

“Vil-Vil! A poem written in my lifeblood!” one completely unhinged fan screamed.

Yuu stepped between Vil and the lunatic. “That’s so, um, thoughtful. But I’m afraid Vil’s allergic to A4. And iron-rich fluids?”

The fan had the audacity to look slightly murderous.

“Who are you, and how do you know MY VIL!?”

Unfortunately, the fan wasn’t the only one who shared the sentiment.

The ‘gifts’ started raining down on Yuu. Flowers (not de-thorned), love-letters with prison-shiv-sharp corners, and then, the first of them hit her dead in the chest—a glitter bomb.

Her vest and blazer exploded in a haze of gold sparkles. Then, there were more of them, pelting faster than the security could get them.

Vil tried to grab her, but she flinched back.

“Just get in the car,” she ordered. “There’s no way this is coming out—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Vil snapped, grabbing her arm, and throwing her into the back seat. “And try not to touch anything but this infernal shirt.”

Inside the sleek black car, the doors sealed shut with a muffled thunk—shutting out the screaming sea of fans. The silence that followed was almost jarring.

Vil leaned back into the leather seat exhaling through his nose with the air of a man who had so. Very. Many. Problems.

Then he noticed the glitter.

So much glitter.

It sparkled across the seat, the air, and—most catastrophically—Yuu, who was slumped beside him like a human piñata. A haphazard halo of pink and silver flakes clung to her lashes, collar, and the tip of her nose. Her sleeves were coated. Her hair was practically frosted. There was a sticky rhinestone on her cheek, likely not self-applied.

“I…have a new respect for what you do for work. I think your fans weaponized a craft store,” she mumbled.

Vil stared at her. And for once—for once—there was no immediate correction, no snide retort, no fussing with a comb.

Just a pause. A strange, quiet pause.

He reached out, thumb brushing under her eye with a practiced gentleness, flicking off a rogue piece—half-pound—of glitter. It floated down like snowflakes and disappeared into the seat.

“You stepped in front of me.”

“You’re kind of… expensive. I figured the world would notice if you lost an eye to a flying stiletto.”

A beat.

Then—softly, genuinely—Vil said, “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re welcome.”

Yuu leaned back, eyes fluttering shut, glitter crackling as she shifted. Vil’s oh-so-colorful schedule wasn’t even half-finished for the day. She felt for him…and for herself.

Vil’s hand lingered for half a second too long before he pulled it back, resting it in his lap like it had betrayed him. He looked out the window, jaw tight. But the edge in his voice had softened.

“Remind me to add in hazard pay. And buy stock in industrial shampoo.”

“Unfortunately, the glitter goes with your shirt,” she quipped.

Vil didn’t answer. But a corner of his mouth—just one—tilted up.