Love on the Silver Screen
An Akagami no Shirayukihime (Snow White with the Red Hair) Fanfic
In Obi’s experience, every girl loves a good romance picture. He remembers the girls in school swooning over Rudolph Valentino or Douglas Fairbanks and declaring the actress starring with them to be “the luckiest girl in the world”.
This new actress does not realize the charmed life she’s living.
It’s quite simple really. A few steps of a dance, then the leading man sweeps his lady love away for a tender conversation and a moon-lit kiss. Quite lovely, in theory, but the apologies puntuating every misstep of the dance and the obvious discomfort of the lady rather spoil the effect.
Obi is no movie director, but even he can see this role is a little too ambitious for Miss Shirayuki, but the younger Wisteria brother is rather adamant about keeping things as they are.
Still, they can only film the same scene so many times.
“Okay, we’ll take a break for a few minutes, then try this again,” Zen says, and Obi watches those pretty little shoulders slump. She steps off the set and shuffles over to the wall, lifting her long, satin skirt to avoid tripping over it. Against his better judgement, he follows.
She glances up at him as he leans against the wall beside her and he can’t get over how defeated she looks. “You want some advice?”
She blinks up at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, and he curses his stupidity. He’s not an actor–doesn’t even have a defined role at the studio. Why on earth would she want acting advice from him?
“Do you mean it?” she asks, and now it’s his turn to stare.
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” She nods and leans forward, as though she doesn’t want to miss a word. “Your problem is that you’re too focused on the script.”
She frowns. “But the sript tells me what to do.”
“Well, yes, but this scene is more about the feelings than the exact right wording. Most of the picture is building up to this scene. You’re madly in love and you want to see if he feels the same way. If he does, it won’t matter if you miss a step in the dance since he wants to be close to you anyway, and if he doesn’t love you, well, it still doesn’t matter.”
She stares at him in such grateful awe it makes his chest ache. How badly must everyone else here be treating her if she’s this grateful for one little suggestion?
“What else?”
“Hmm.” He tips his head back and considers the rest of the scene. “During the conversation, it’s not a big deal if you stammer on the lines since you’re supposed to be nervous, but you do actually have to look interested, not like you’ve just been kidnapped.”
She forces her wince into a smile. “I’m, um, not very good at that.” She frowns at the set, which he takes as the end of the conversation, and wonders if he should walk away before someone yells at him.
“Would you help me?”
He freezes. “Wha–?”
She still isn’t looking at him, just staring firmly at the decorated dance floor. “I don’t–I don’t think anyone else wants me here, so they won’t practice with me, but . . . I can’t do this on my own.”
In this moment, with her hair styled in perfect finger waves, the elegant satin gown, and that determined expresion, she looks just like any actress on the posters outside a picture palace, but the hurt from before is burned into his memory.
He’s not even a technical worker at the studio, jsut doing odd jobs as part of the “community service” the bosses had suggested as punishment when they caught him trying to steal equipment (strangest punishment he’s ever heard of, but he’s sure not complaining). The understanding had been that he wouldn’t try to break any more rules. He was pretty sure that flirting with the new actress wasn’t strictly against the rules, but that it would be highly frowned upon.
Still . . . she had asked.
“Sure.”
Her face lights up, and she turns slightly towards him, clearly expectant, and . . . he’s not entirely sure where to go with this. “Well, uh, first of all, remember you’re not acting in a theater. You don’t have to shout your lines all the way to the back. Say them quietly and slowly.”
“Why?” she asks, though softly, and he grins.
“You want him closer.” He steps forward and rests his arm against the wall, leaning into her space. He watches for any sign he’s making her uncomfortable, but her expression doesn’t change, and he relaxes. “Can’t stand five feet away if he can’t hear you.”
That makes her laugh–the first genuine laugh he’s heard from her. It’s intoxicating.
“Yeah, if he says anything funny, laugh just like that, and maybe bat your eyelashes or something.”
Okay, now she looks alarmed. He wonders if he should step back, but she says, “bat–um, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I just look silly doing that.”
He sincerely doubts that. “Okay. No problem. Just, like, look up shyly, or . . .” He trails off as she tilts her head and does just as he said. “Uh . . .” She bites her lip, and he hastily drags his gaze back up to her eyes.
“Sorry,' she says, “I’m not very good at this.”
“No, you’re doing great!”
A ghost of a smile, then, “What next?”
“Ah, well, you don’t want him to get away from you now, so you’ve gotta find some way to catch him. Any distraction now would ruin the mood.” He didn’t mean literally, but now she reaches out and tentatively hooks one finger around his suspenders. It’s hardly enough to keep him in place, but he feels it brush agaisnt his stomach every time he breaths and he’s certainly not escaping anytime soon.
“A–ha.” The laugh bursts from him without permission. “Very sneaky, Miss.” She beams at him, and he–he’s star-struck, like some kid seeing a picture for the first time. Well. He’s had his fun. It’s time to end this.
He leans closer. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move as his lips come to hover over her ear. “And then you’ve just got the kiss.”
She doesn’t need rouge. She blushes prettily enough on her own. He expects to be shoved away, but instead she stammers, “Wh–what?”
He pulls back, but doesn’t quite return to a respectful distance. “Don’t you remember? That’s what happens at the end of your conversation. Out on the balcony, in the moonlight. You’ll have everyone swooning in the audience, I’m sure.”
“Oh. Right.”
He feels her knuckles brush agianst his chest and glances down. When did her entire hand get wrapped around his suspenders? He swallows, reminding himself that getting stuck on his boss’s new actress would be stupider than anything he’s ever done.
“Obi?”
He didn’t know she knew his name.
“Yes, Miss?”
Her hand tightens, and he steps forward in acquiescence. He waits for her to speak, but she just stares up at him. His finger stretches ou and brushes against her cheek.
“Okay, everyone, let’s try this again,” Zen shouts, and Shirayuki jerks back, letting go of him. He stumbles backwards without meeting her eyes and turns around to go back to work.
“Obi?” He turns around, and her smile makes something inside of him tighten. “Thank you for helping me.”
Well, he’s already dug his own grave, what’s one more shovelful? “Anytime, Miss.”