Last-Ditch Digging

The buzz of the ballroom faded as the MC dismissed the guests, thanking them, and subtly ushering them out of the formal rooms. Vil, as ever, never waited. The moment Yuu took his proffered arm, he took the first opportunity to turn down the hallway, and separate from the bustling crowd—and so did Neige.

“Yuu! Wait!”

Her spine straightened like she’d been hit with a cold breeze. Possibly the only person present who knew the way to Vil’s dressing room outside of security, and here he was again like a bad literary repeat-gag.

Neige sprinted up, out of breath, still glowing with that unflappable sunshine smile that had frayed her last nerve days ago. He looked every inch the perfect picture of a concerned starlet: anxious, glowing, and clueless.

She didn’t walk up to him, and connected to VIl, they let him come, like a shining missile of impending embarrassment. Yuu was polite enough to flee, but Vil’s reassuring tap on her shoulder certainly helped her nerves as he caught them.

“I—I just wanted to catch you before you left,” he said, offering a slightly crumpled card from his coat. “Please, just—just give me a moment.” He slowed as he approached, chest rising with effort. “I thought, maybe—maybe we could talk more sometime? Just us? I really feel like we connected. I feel like we left things so…wrong. I didn’t mean to put you in the spotlight like that. I thought it would be romantic, not…”

Yuu opened her mouth, and nothing came out.

“Public scandal?” Vil offered, voice like a blade polished to gleam. “Invasive? Career-threatening?”

Neige winced.

Vil’s energy had already shifted into something vicious and territorial.

“I wanted to apologize,” Neige continued, eyes now fixed solely on Yuu. “I was trying to protect you, I swear. The media spun it out of control. I just… I wanted to stay in touch. Maybe—get coffee sometime?”

She blinked at the card. Then at him. Then back at the card.

Vil said nothing, but the temperature around them seemed to drop by ten degrees.

Yuu reached out. Slowly.

Then, she pressed the card back into his hands with a small, sad smile.

“I really do admire what you do,” she said carefully. “But I’m actually planning on taking a step back from this world after this week, and, um, dating a star would definitely not be that—but thank you! And, you’re definitely going to be someone’s dream come true.”

Vil’s gloved hand slid into the crook of her elbow with pointed delicacy, a serpent coiling around a jewel. His smile was lazy. Reptilian. Pleased, when she emphasized:

“Someone else’s.”

Vil slid an arm around her waist—not overly familiar, but absolutely clear. “We have a dressing room to visit,” he said lightly. “Coats to collect. An evening to enjoy together…”

He let that vague promise hang in the air long enough for Neige’s face to fall.

Okay, Vil. Pull it back, she thought—and then communicated to him with a small pinch to his back. Yuu allowed herself a tight smile, already turning with him.

“Oh, and Neige,” Vil added, pausing with perfect timing. “If a celebrity were to date someone beneath the spotlight… the smart ones would keep it exquisitely private.” His eyes gleamed. “Even from their co-stars.”

Yuu let out a long, rattled exhale the moment Vil turned her away from the stunned Neige, and walked her down the hall. She let him hold the door to his dressing room—where they did indeed have coats to collect.

Vil studied her in the mirror, brows lifted faintly as he removed the ornament sin his hair, and traded his formal overcoat for one that was easier to move in.

“Too much?”

“No,” she said, eyes flickering with something between horror and delight. “That was…effective.”

He smirked. “Good. Because it was entirely true.”

Yuu exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all evening, and, in a gesture born of boldness and fatigue, went to lean on the other edge of his expansive vanity.

“Well. Great performance all round. Truly exhausting, though.”

Vil gave a small, elegant hum. “You didn’t even trip once. I’m proud.”

“I believe I was promised flats,” she muttered, shooting him a glance.

“They’re in the bag Rook brought. You can thank me with a foot massage.”

She snorted, already hunting for said bag before she returned to her perch.

“You wish.”

“So many fans would die for that honor,” he said sarcastically.

She glared down at him. “You’re right. I’ll just go and get them, yeah?”

He chuckled through the cloth he used to clean his face. It seemed that even he could only stand glitter for so long. The sound was warm and inviting, and exactly what she needed to hear to dissolve some of the stress of…well, everything.

“So,” she said lightly, enjoying the release, “what was your favorite moment? The undercooked oysters? The patron who called you ‘Vince’? Or was it the very long and very awkward silence after the emcee mispronounced Neige’s name three different times?”

Vil smirked, soft. “I admit, the look on his face when I corrected the pronunciation myself was exquisite.”

“And the fact that you did it in three languages.”

“Fluency is power.”

Yuu grinned, but it was sleepier now. The moment the adrenaline left her, it seemed that she was almost ready to give out.

“…It’s going to be strange going back to regular school life after this.”

Vil’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his shoulders loosened. “Nothing out of the ordinary for me, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t envy you even a hair,” she gushed sincerely. “Not a smidge. Best of luck. I’ll send you flowers.”

“You do know,” he retorted, “that the spotlight isn’t leaving you just because the party’s over.”

She tilted her head. “Oh?”

“I’ve seen your inbox,” he said. “I’ve seen the articles. The fans. They’ve already decided you’re something else. You could ghost everyone for a year, and they’d still want to know what shade of lipstick you wore tonight.”

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“You’re right!” she exclaimed raising her hands in mock surprise. “I could even play Neige’s love interest! Chance of a lifetime!”

He reached out and flicked her ear. “I believe I hired you with the condition that there would be less cheek.”

“The week is over. Contract complete. My cheek privileges have returned.”

“Marvellous. Remind me to add that into all future contracts.”

“Right.” She shook her head. “Exchange of all sass toward Vil Schoenheit in exchange for double hazard pay.”

Vil arched a brow. “You’re setting the bar terribly low.”

“I’ve had a terrible week,” she said plainly.

Vil’s jaw tightened. “I should have stepped in sooner.”

She looked at him sidelong. “You’re angry.”

He set down his cloth, and stood to face her.

“Oh, I am. But not at you. It… merits saying that my legal team is going after the ones involved in spreading less savory pictures.”

There was a long, slow pause.

“...I wanted this night to go well,” Vil added, and for once there was no sharp edge to his voice—just bone-deep weariness. “I needed something to remind me why I even bother. The interviews, the branding, the endless correction of perception. And the last few days, I couldn’t stop thinking—‘What if she regrets ever saying yes?’ I recognize you didn’t exactly volunteer for all of this, and I apologize for not recognizing that sooner.”

Her jaw dropped. The stars had aligned. Ramshackle had been renovated. Grim had gone on a tuna fast. Deuce had aced an exam.

Vil Schoenheit apologized?

“I don’t regret it,” she said sincerely. “Because thanks to you, I never actually got hurt.”

“You don’t regret it. Even after I snapped at you on set?”

She laughed. Long, and hard, and loud. Was THAT what he was worried about?

“Are you kidding? That’s practically your love language. I’d be more worried if you stopped talking to me—like you did, by the way—or if you asked me to go on a Rook-level manhunt for a producer who died in his apartment weeks ago.”

“Is that where he was!?” Vil gasped. “How did that not reach the headlines?”

“Well, because I am NOT Rook, I got the police to do the investigating there. They don’t like to look incompetent, so they were…reticent to hand over that story to the press.”

Vil groaned into his hands. “Oh dear…”

“That said,” she said gently, “Rook really is better qualified than me. So much of this might have gone better if he was here.”

There was a beat.

Then Vil gave her a look—mildly wounded, arching a single brow. “Don’t worry, I know you’re not planning on returning. I just didn’t know you found any entanglements with celebrities so distasteful.”

She caught it too late, remembering what she’d said to Neige.

“Wait—when I said that to Neige—I didn’t mean you.”

He didn’t answer right away, but the amused glint in his eye had dimmed just a little.

“Oh come on,” she said, groaning. “I didn’t mean you, Vil. You’re…you’re not the kind of celebrity I was talking about.”

“Oh?” he said coolly. “And what kind am I?”

“The kind that…”

He stood just above her, bending down to put a hand on the vanity beside where she was leaning so that they would be eye-to-eye. His eyes were en even more shocking-purple up close, and for a moment that she couldn’t precisely measure, her thoughts fizzled out like a used firecracker.

“You were saying?” he said eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

She was being teased.

In an effort to put more distance between them, she folded her arms across the bodice of the dress he’d picked, and tried very hard not to let it remind her of the moment they’d…almost imagined they shared in the changing room when they’d bought the thing.

“Exactly what kind am I?”

Her eyes darted away from his, then flicked back. “The infuriating kind.”

He raised a sculpted brow. “Go on.”

“No thanks,” she said with false cheer. “I have a feeling I’ve already said enough that you’ll make me regret it.”

He took a slow step closer, the chill of the room seeping into the space between them.

“You think I’m infuriating?”

Well, in for a penny….

“Deeply.”

“But not the kind of celebrity who drives you mad.”

“You drive me a very specific kind of mad.”

He was smiling now, close enough that she could see the fine shimmer of powder across his cheekbones. “And yet you’ve stayed at my side through scandal, sabotage, and, as you put it, a weaponized craft store. How curious.”

She shrugged one shoulder, looking anywhere but his mouth. “I guess I’m a glutton for the promise of a robe with sleeves...”

“No,” he said, voice low. “You just like me.”

“Well,” she huffed, feeling equally parts curious, and emotionally suicidal, “I certainly didn’t wear this dress for the photographers…but the other option was Rook’s hunting shirt, so take that as you will.”

His grin curved up, and she felt his breath fan against her face.

Had he always been so close?

“You wore it for me.”

“I did.” She surrendered. “Next time,” she said, brushing her nose against his, “remind me not to fall for a narcissist.”

“Next time,” he said, smile curling against her cheek, “remind me not to fall for someone who kisses my rival in front of a dozen lenses and a theatre audience. Tell me if I need to stop,” he murmured, voice a low threat against her lips. “You’re allowed to say no.”

So much for never waiting. He waited for her to come the rest of the way to him, until she brushed her mouth gently against his, still wondering in some distant crevice of her mind if this was what he actually meant.

He didn’t leave her in any doubt, however. His kiss was controlled, beautiful, and precise, like him—at least, the first one was. When she didn’t pull away. When she reached timidly for him, he closed the rest of the space between them, effectively pinning her hips to the vanity.

She gasped, and he took that as an invitation, deepening the kiss with the kind of hunger that spoke of long days and sleepless nights.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, pulling her closer—closer than the dress allowed, closer than decency allowed, closer than whatever arrangement they’d pretended to have. His hand slid up her spine, elegant fingers dragging over the zipper in a way that made her knees threaten to fold.

Yuu barely managed a breath.

And Vil—Vil exhaled like it hurt. Like he'd been keeping himself elegant too long and had finally remembered he was human underneath the perfection.

His mouth found her jaw, then lower, and she gasped—actually gasped—when his hand slid from her waist to her back, splaying over skin with shocking certainty. His fingers traced a line up her spine, his lips never far behind. The pressure of him, the scent of him—powder and sharp perfume and something warmer, something Vil—it overwhelmed her in the best, most devastating way.

He was getting too far away. Fingers curling in his lapels, she pulled him back up to her, and he let her, enjoying her desire as much as he did his own. Their lips parted slightly, just enough for breath to hitch between them, before they met again.

Then he kissed her again—harder, deeper, like he was making up for every time he’d walked past her this week and said nothing. She tangled her fingers in his hair, felt the slight give of it styled into perfection, felt him melt beneath her hands. She felt the pull of his lower lip between hers, the subtle tilt of his head to better slot against her. Her fingers dug into his shoulder, anchoring herself as her knees nearly gave way under the heat of it. His traced her shoulder blades, her spine, her waist, and then the curve of her hips, comfortably pressed against him on the vanity, but when he pulled her in closer…the room was suddenly too hot to breathe, and it was her who pulled away for breath—not that he let her get far.

His voice, when he spoke against her mouth, was velvet worn raw. “Do you have any idea what this week has been for me?”

She shivered, thinking back to the smoothies and water cases and bathtub incident. “...Hydrating?”

He swallowed, wrapping himself around her so that he was speaking into her neck.

“I’ve had to smile through articles speculating about your ‘type.’ I've had to rehearse with Neige, pretending I didn’t want to knock that infuriatingly pure expression off his face. I’ve had to watch—helplessly—as people claimed you were just another flash-in-the-pan scandal. Like you weren’t mine.”

She leaned her chin into his hair, enjoying the warm feeling of closeness.

“I wasn’t anyone’s.”

She said it like an invitation, and he took it.

“You are now.”