Uh Huh, Honey

Keep it in your sweet memory

"Welcome back," Shinobu sing-songs as Giyuu slides into the backseat of her car. "Long time no see, Tomioka-san."

"It's only been a week," Giyuu deadpans, flicking his hood back and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. After pulling into the main road, Shinobu chances a look back at him and immediately scoffs.

"Can you stop? You look like Secret Service. I promise you're not as famous as you think you are."

"I get recognized," Giyuu insists, and it's true. It might be rare, but it still happens, and every time it's so torturous he's taken to covering himself up just to minimize the risk. "They're always disappointed by how I am in real life."

"Ugh," Shinobu says, but doesn't push the issue. They roll around a corner too sharply, lurching dangerously close to the curb. For how skilled of an agent Shinobu is, her driving always leaves something to be desired. Sometimes Giyuu thinks it's because she's too short to see over the steering wheel, but he keeps these thoughts to himself out of concern for his safety.

She's a good agent, ruthless with producers of all standing and no less harsh on Giyuu. For the two years she's managed Giyuu's contracts and networking, Shinobu's fought tooth and nail for his comfort, his pay, his name. At the same time, she isn't afraid to knock Giyuu down a peg or two by voicing her own brutal opinions. Giyuu doesn't doubt that she's one of the reasons why he's 1) survived in the industry for so long and 2) become as successful as he has.

"Your film with Rengoku-san is doing well," Shinobu says. "Last I checked, it was number three on site traffic this week."

Giyuu hums, unsurprised. Rengoku's easy to work with, not at all bad on the eyes, and always enthusiastic about filming. After close to a dozen collaborations, Giyuu likes to think they've become... acquaintances, at the very least.

"Here's your bonus," Shinobu adds, reaching behind the seat to hand the check to Giyuu. He pockets it without looking.

They cruise along this road for a while, as smoothly as Shinobu can manage, the radio buzzing quietly in the background.

"How was the new guy?"

The question isn't unexpected, given that it was one of the few shoots Shinobu's ever missed. Giyuu knew it was coming, yet he still manages to startle.

"It was," he starts, thoughts unintentionally straying two weeks back to Shinazugawa Sanemi—the wild hair, voice, unhinged, the hunger in his eyes—who is fresh in Giyuu's mind like it was only yesterday. Stamped into the flesh of his eyelids, the dips between his fingers. "Okay."

"Try again," Shinobu says, flipping her visor down. Giyuu makes a frustrated noise. He does not want to think about Shinazugawa Sanemi and his big hands that can span the width of Giyuu's waist, much less talk about him.

"It was—it was fine, alright? Uzui was happy with it."

"Were you?"

Giyuu hesitates. "Yes."

Shinobu looks at him through the rear-view mirror. Giyuu faces it head-on, tension wringing his muscles.

Yes, he was happy with it. They were hot. They did a good job. They got off, and so will the many people who click on their video. Objective met.

No, he was not happy with it. They broke character; Shinazugawa first, then Giyuu, who followed helplessly, wounded, grasping at the last threads of self-control without hope. The worst thing about it was that he fell naturally, inevitably.

The light turns green, and Shinobu pulls her eyes away. "It's going up tomorrow," she says, in reference to the film.

Giyuu nods, relaxing into his seat, and turns his head to watch a few pedestrians cross the street to their right. His first mistake is thinking the conversation is over.