Chapter 14: 14. A Weak Personality

Keith

The moment we exit the coffee place, tabloid reporters swarm us. They surround us on all sides, caging us in. My breath catches and starts coming fast and ragged. Guess the shifty server notified them. Without giving us a break, they start snapping pictures of us and tearing into me. 

“What’s the nature of your relationship?”

“Is this man your boyfriend?”

“Are you working together?”

“Is it true you’re shooting a new show in Canada?” 

My pulse skyrockets and I’m unable to squeeze even ‘get the hell away’ out. Thankfully, Shiro remains calm. He steps forward, shielding me with his large body. Hands folded over his chest, he measures the reporters, who I swear shrink in front of my eyes, with disdain. Mister congeniality is gone, replaced by a dispassionate soldier. He sends me a look over his shoulder.

“Do you wish to speak to these people?”

I manage to shake my head. He turns back to the jackals.

“Move out of our way.” Or I’ll make you. He doesn’t say it, but the meaning is clear. 

“Hey, it’s a free country.” 

“And this is harassment. So unless you want to be slapped with a lawsuit, step aside.” Shiro raises his arm, casually displaying all the beefy muscle bunching as he moves, but he just stretches, never hinting at any threatening action. Oh, he’s good. No grounds for the journalists to claim assault. They slink away regardless, and Shiro uses the opportunity to slip away before they realize what’s happening. His hand lands on the small of my back to guide me or provide support; I’m not sure. All I know is the touch burns through my clothes like hot wax. I want to sink into it, or better yet, turn to Shiro and wrap myself around him, but that would provide way too much fodder for the paparazzi who, I’m sure, keep glaring at our backs. 

Too soon, we leave them behind, prompting Shiro to drop the hand. Like a moron, I regret the loss. He stops at a parking lot next to a boxy black minivan, fishing around his pocket for keys.

“This isn’t where I parked my bike.”

“No, this is my car. I assumed you might want to sit for a bit to calm down before driving.” He offers a hesitant smile. “But if you’d rather go…” his voice trails off. “Sorry, I’m overstepping again. Do you want me to go with you?”

“Actually, sitting down for a while sounds good,” I say. Shiro only nods, unlocking the car. I slump into the passenger seat, and he settles next to me. He stays quiet, so there’s no way for me to guess if he’s still pissed. 

“Sorry for prodding,” he says out of the blue.

“What?”

“In the coffee place. I thought you overreacted, but I get it now. Your life is public property, and that must be exhausting. Does this always happen?”

“Not always, but often enough. Somebody must’ve tipped them off.” 

“Well. Price of fame, like you said, right? Still, it sucks.”

“Better get used to it. If our show makes it, you’ll be in the same boat.” 

“Doubt it. I’m not…”

“What?”

“I’m not you.” 

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“No, you’re better. You handled the jerks like a pro. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“And sorry for being such a dick. You know. Earlier.” I shift in the seat, too interested in my fingernails.

“That’s okay. We all have our weak moments.” 

“You could say I have a weak personality.” The laugh that escapes me is all bitterness, no amusement. 

“Hey. Don’t say shitty things about yourself. The world does that enough for all of us.” Shiro’s giant hand captures mine in a reassuring grip. Such a physically affectionate person. Usually, I hate strangers pawing at me, but Shiro’s touch is pleasant. Well, it’s pleasant in the same way a tsunami is a wave. It’s a molten heat spreading from the point of contact through my entire body, forking out and reaching into long-forgotten places. I should yank my hand back. I should get out of this car, away from Shiro, away from the shy smiles and protective streak that turns my knees into jelly. Instead, I thread our fingers together and squeeze back. 

“No, it’s true. I suck at handling these situations.”

“Really? You always seem fine during interviews.” The tips of Shiro’s ears burn red when he realizes what he said.

“You googled me?” I can’t help teasing him a little.

“I wasn’t… I was… I wanted to prepare for the show a little.”

“Sure. Well, anyway, almost everything you see is prepared and rehearsed. When I know what’s coming and can brace myself for the impact, I do okay. Plus, I can act, so I just… act as someone who’s good at charming people. But when they jump me like this, I either freeze or lash out. Sometimes both. Don’t know why I’m telling you. You must think I’m such a colossal mess.”

“No, I think it can’t be easy being an introvert in this business.”

I give a shaky laugh, surprised that he discovered the root of my issues so easily. “It really isn’t.”

Shiro’s thumb gently skates over my knuckles, then again. He repeats the motion and starts rubbing circles over my thumb without realizing it, forcing me to bite back the whimper that threatens to fall from my lips. Pathetic. A part of me knows I should freak out, but it’s so pleasant, sitting in Shiro’s car smelling of vanilla, melting into his touch.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” Another lopsided smile, and my heart gives a heavy thud at the sight. Fuuuck. Maybe I should convince the screenwriters to adjust the scripts so we share fewer scenes. If I have to spend hours on set with Shiro, playing best friends, I won’t escape unscathed. 

“I’m gonna go,” I say, but make zero attempts to free myself. “How are you getting to Canada?”

“We’re making a road trip out of it, Lance, Katie, and I. Turns out we have too much baggage for a plane.”

“Got it. Sorry again for—” Shiro waves a hand, interrupting me. 

“Water under the bridge.” 

“Okay.” With great reluctance, I retract my hand, missing Shiro’s warmth already. 

“Hey, Keith? I enjoyed talking to you today.” 

“Yeah, um, same. See you soon.”

I step out of the car and run for my bike before I can give the paps something shocking to write about. 

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