Uh Huh, Honey

Your mind is messing with your head again

Giyuu wakes to the sun slanting over his eyes and the hollow sound of regret beating in his chest.

He thinks he might have been dreaming. About what, he isn't sure. All he can remember are green fields wider than paradise and an ocean lake and a heat great enough to burn.

His muscles twinge when he sits up, a dull ache below the skin. Absently, Giyuu rubs it away, concentrated at his hips and lower back, and glances at the clock. Even after close to ten hours of sleep, he's still tired. Which, Giyuu reasons, is to be expected.

After the shoot yesterday, Shinobu took them to a nearby diner to "celebrate," as she put it. For the most part, she let Giyuu eat in silence, watching him inhale his food with thinly veiled disgust.

Upon satiating most of his hunger, Giyuu had mumbled, "Did it meet your expectations?"

Shinobu made a face at him, told him not to talk with his mouth full, and sighed, "Yes."

She proceeded to say that it was better than her expectations, in fact, leading her to wonder just what Uzui traded off to the devil for such an uncanny matchup. That she was sure the whole production would run into a wall, unguided and confused, only for it to bloom into one of the best she's ever seen.

And Shinobu wasn't alone in her surprise. Apparently, as Sanemi fucked the brains out of his head, the crew did more watching than working. Mitsuri was in a constant state of shock, close to fainting at one point, eyes saucer-wide. Iguro, who was on the main camera, found himself covered in a heavy layer of sweat. When confronted, he blamed the combination of the sun and his black clothing, too defensive to be convincing. Frozen in his seat, Uzui barely did any directing and talked so little Shinobu grew worried for him. Somewhere towards the end, she swore he stopped breathing.

So, it was a success. More than a success, which was why, after the cameras stopped rolling, Shinobu swallowed her pride and apologized for ever doubting Uzui and his directions. Or lack thereof. Uzui had just laughed, insisting that the true outcome of a scene depends less on his involvement and more on the actors on set. Which is why he's so choosy with who he signs and who they're paired up with. When there's a spark between two stars, it means half the work for double the profit, a foolproof equation that Uzui lives by.

And in Uzui's own words, the moment he put Sanemi and Giyuu together, he "struck gold." Literally. If this film turns out to be just as popular (or even more so) than their first one, the payoff will be incredible.

"Please don't ruin it," Shinobu had said, imploring. "All of us want to keep making easy money."

And Giyuu, so sure of himself, had replied, "I won't."

Now, sitting in his bed and thinking a little farther back, Giyuu can feel the panic start to creep in, lapping away the remnants of sleep.

Success or not, he gave Sanemi his number.

At the time, it seemed like a good idea. The illusion of the day and the intensity of the sex very obviously messed with Giyuu's judgement, skewing it beyond reason. All those hours he spent with Sanemi—talking, fighting, fucking—softened his boundaries and made them pliable as clay, warped easily under Sanemi's influence. During that unscripted scene, it was fine. Necessary, even. Afterwards, however, Giyuu forgot to backtrack, leaving the front door wide open for Sanemi to stroll right into.

Yes, Giyuu's given his number out to his film partners before. But none of them have ever made him come untouched or twice in a row without stopping. None of them told him to let go and saw him at his most vulnerable. And none of them know as much about him as Sanemi does now.

Besides, Giyuu exchanges contact information not to maintain a relationship, but a connection. Two wildly different things that merged into one when Giyuu forgot himself in the timbre of Sanemi's voice as he suggested they "keep up."