Fuck You, Pay Me!

7. Triggered

A/N: Trigger warning. Mentions of drug abuse and trafficking, non-consensual touching, and character death.

"I don't get paid enough for this shit." Katsuki says aloud as he plops down into his vanity chair, short of breath and so incredibly sweaty that his usually styled hair is nearly flattened out, stuck to his face and the back of his neck in a wet mess. He bristles at himself in the mirror, taking a dry towel and patting himself down before he begins to towel off his hair. He'd have to change outfits and, against his own wishes, use that stupid ass dry shampoo Camie is always using between sets. Thank the powers that be that his makeup is still in place---and thank God for extra strength deodorant.

"Is it just me or are the lights out there a lot more hot than usual?" Yuga says as he sits next to him at his own vanity, glaring at his reflection as he reaches for cold water bottle on his desk and chugs it in five seconds flat.

"Yeah they fuckin' are. And why the fuck are there so many fuckin' clients here on a Monday? It's packed like fuckin' sardines in here. Did we miss somethin'?"

"Not sure, darling, but I'd certainly rather be literally anywhere but here." The smaller blonde says venomously. Katsuki knows he's just being bratty because he hates being hot and sweaty, but he can't help but feel a sense of empathy for him. He gives him an encouraging pat on the back.

"Chin up, bitch, you got this. You're a fuckin' vet. Don't let some loose as college kids and some white collar fuck offs knock you off your game."

Yuga groans, visibly annoyed.

"God, what am I doing with my life? I haven't been in college for twelve years; I have absolutely no business in some barely legal teenager's lap."

Katsuki rears back a bit in surprise at that.

"Jesus, Yu, how fuckin' old are you?"

"Rude."

"I'm just sayin', you look damn good for thirty-two. You don't look a day over twenty-one; you age like a fuckin' god."

"Goddess, honey. And I'm thirty-four. Good genes and proper skin care will do that for you." He gives Katsuki a once over with an appreciative hum. "And you'll age much better than I. It's like you were born from the fountain of youth---sickening."

"Shut up, you're a grade A hottie. You know how many of these girls would kill to be as fuckin' hot as you?"

"Do you know how many people would kill to be as gorgeous as you? Honey, I'd sacrifice my grandmother to the dark order without a second thought if I could have a non-existent waistline and a butt like that."

"Get your ass up and do some fucking squats sometime, then."

"What sane person willingly suggests themselves to physical torture, Katsuki? I'll just continue my days being a slim little pretty boy with a flat ass, thanks."

Midnight practically comes kicking the boudoir door in, toeing a bra out of her way as she goes.

"Yuga. Katsuki. You've both been booked for a double dance." She says, so exhausted that she hasn't got any of her usual bite. The two blondes share a look with each other in confusion before they turn back to her.

"That's...never happened before. I didn't even know we did those."

She sighs. "We don't. But they asked for our best so tonight, we do." She counters, finality in her tone that warns them not to be argumentative. Katsuki folds his arms over his chest.

"But we don't have a routine together."

"Improvise."

"...how much they payin'?"