Uh Huh, Honey

Play it in my mind

First, prep. Giyuu takes his phone from his pocket and deposits it onto the closest table before heading to the corner of the room, near the shower, and opening a drawer to pick out everything he'll need. Then he divests himself of all clothes from the waist down, washes his hands, and completes his prep without enthusiasm.

Second, wardrobe. The only piece of clothing hanging on the rack is a pair of tight boxer briefs, fresh out of the packaging, dark gray with a black waistband to contrast the paleness of his skin. Giyuu stares for a second too long, jaw locked tight, then reaches up to ease them off the hanger. Feels his eye tick as he slides them up his legs, snapping the waistband against his skin once to test the fit. Perfect, as always. With how often he stars in Hashira's videos, it's no surprise that they have his measurements down to a tee.

In the down time, Giyuu grabs a bottle of water from the mini fridge and perches himself on the arm of the sofa, sipping at it passively as he reads the fine print of a poster decorating the wall next to him.

You don't have to do it, was the first thing Shinobu said after dropping the bomb on him that night.

Sunken into a couch in his pitch black apartment after the longest day of his life, Giyuu was in no position to make a decision. So, head pounding, he told Shinobu that he would sleep on it and let her know once he was in a better mindset.

But Giyuu had already seen the end result: he would take the job and follow through with it 'til the end, misgivings be damned.

It could boost him out of his slump, or send him so far into it he'll have to quit this business and find some other way to make a living. A double-edged sword, held up to his throat with the promise of drawing blood. Whatever the outcome, it's a risk that Giyuu has to take. He drove himself into this corner; it's about time he hauled himself out.

So, the next morning, he texted Shinobu a simple: I'll do it.

Then she sent him the script. Every word was harder to read than the last, and by the end of it Giyuu was certain that Sanemi would drop out within twenty-four hours. In fact, on the slim chance that Sanemi didn't quit, the nausea pooling in his lower belly was nearly enough to push Giyuu into withdrawing himself.

But he stayed aboard, stuck on the deck of ship he wasn't sure would float or sink when push came to shove, praying with everything he had that it would never leave port. Checked his inbox every hour for the email that would begin with We are sorry to inform you... and end with a list of alternate actors who could fill the role instead. Watched his phone obsessively, jumping every time it chimed with a message or rang with a call. Waited for that cancellation, so sure that Sanemi would turn it down.

Only he didn't.

The final contract still came through, followed by the schedule and the paperwork and everything that confirmed Sanemi had agreed to work with him again as if nothing had happened. Like Giyuu hadn't ruined whatever relationship they had, hadn't taken a sledgehammer to whatever had started to grow between them.

Day after day Giyuu waited, all the way up until the morning of the shoot arrived and he realized that no change was happening and that he really was going to film with Sanemi again.

Giyuu wanted to call him. Punch his number into his phone and call him and ask him why. He had the means, just not the spine. Nor the right, if he's being honest.

Not that it matters. Giyuu feels like he's watching his life through a screen, the events rolling past him in a motion picture with a plot he's powerless to reshape.

A knock at his door saves him from the pitfall of his thoughts.

"It's open," Giyuu calls out. He pushes himself off the sofa, screwing the cap back onto his water bottle and leaving it on the table.