Work Text:
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Natori said into the phone. His voice was at his silkiest, every word a masterpiece of airy nonchalance. "It's a very busy time for me right now." The slightest frown marred his forehead as he listened to the response. "Sorry, sorry! It's just that there's so much to do. You know how it is; I'm very popular these days. It's so hard to keep up!" He listened for another moment, then said, with a hint of coldness, "That doesn't change the fact that I won't be there tomorrow." He hung up and glared at the phone.
"Now, where am I going today?" he said in a lighter voice as he placed the phone on the table next to the door, by his keys. His bathrobe got tossed into a corner, his glasses placed with the keys, and then there was a scramble for clothes in the closet. Another frown creased his face as he looked around. It wasn't like him to leave this place so sloppy. Celebrity had been an all-encompassing identity lately, leaving him with barely a minute of his own. The take-out containers sustaining him when he finally made it home at night's end were piling up all over the living room. And he hadn't had time to do laundry; he didn't recall wearing everything in the mound of dirty clothes on the bedroom floor, but he must have. He supposed he ought to pay someone to wash them.
He'd have to tidy up before he went off on location to film his next movie. That was happening next week, and before then, there were still several TV talk show appearances, as well as the shoot for a music video: a duet he shared with a teen girl idol who'd recently made her debut. That was what he was doing tomorrow, in fact. Instead of attending another interminable exorcist meeting.
He stepped into the bathroom, mentally reviewing his schedule for the next few days.
"You're not going tomorrow?" Hiiragi asked from the bathroom door.
Natori snorted as he wrestled his hair into perfect sculpted waves across his forehead. Capping the container of gel, he washed his hands and applied lotion. He'd have to buy more of that lavender-scented hand cream soon; it was so good for his skin and women liked the smell. "No, I'm not." He turned and raised his eyebrows. "Spend time watching Matoba play a bit-part villain again? I see enough uninspiring acting on set."
Once Natori might've been impressed. Once he might've wished for Matoba's influence, for his icy certainty. Those days felt like a lifetime ago now.
"He's going to be angry."
Natori's laugh was a movie star's, all sugar and icing and froth. "Of course. He's already angry. But is he angry enough?"
"He's noticed what you're starting," Hiiragi said. "He must have."
"Really?" Natori scowled. "I think you overestimate him. What he sees is a recalcitrant exorcist, true. But also a vain, arrogant, overconfident idol." He buffed his fingernails on his shirt before stepping past her to go to the kitchen. "Well, that part isn't a front. Or much of one, anyway."
Hiiragi, who didn't move a muscle to make room for him as he went by, sighed. "You and your games. Watch out you don't get burned."
Natori smiled then, feralness spreading across his face. "Oh, I fully expect to get burned at some point. The question is, who else will burn along with me?"
Hiiragi shook her head. "You're going to make a mess of things, aren't you?"
"I intend to," Natori said. "Just not tomorrow." He checked the time. "I'd better get going." He was about to pocket his phone when a beep indicated a message coming in. He read it with a raised eyebrow. "Isn't that interesting," he murmured. He could see Hiiragi tilting her head, could feel her expectant gaze on him. He wasn't ready to share his thoughts out loud, though. He only muttered, "Things are changing. Be ready," as he shrugged into his jacket.
"I'm always ready, master," Hiiragi replied. "But are you?"
He gave her a sharp glance. "You don't have to worry about that." She would, he knew. That was all right; better than having her trying to undermine him at every turn.
"Do you really think you can cross Matoba?" Hiiragi persisted, trailing after him as he stepped into his shoes.
He looked back at her, smile idol-bright but limned with exorcist cruelty. "That's what I'm trying to find out, isn't it?"
**
Waiting in the green room of the TV studio, Natori received a message from Matoba, informing him in no uncertain terms that his presence was required at the meeting the following day. He deleted it without a reply, exhaled heavily and prepared his most dazzling smile: he was about to go on.