Chapter Text
Grievance number seventy eight against division 1-A of the Yuuei Modeling Agency as recorded by Neito Monoma: I took a cab when I ought to have been picked up in a limousine. Or at least a town car.
Neito Monoma is not pleased with the way his day is going.
Brilliantly enough, this is not his own fault. Not that his misfortunes generally are. Of course not.
There are approximately twenty five thousand things that he would rather be doing than meeting with his publicist at the moment, but unfortunately, none of those twenty five thousand things would be good enough excuses to flake out on the one he was supposed to be meeting.
The event that had popped up suddenly in his phone calendar just a couple of hours previously has been taunting him from his phone screen ever since. Of course he couldn’t just receive a text like a normal person— Oh no, it had to be The Calendar, signifying that it was Important and Could Not Be Missed. He presses his fingers to his temples, regretting— not for the first time— that the shared schedule exists in the first place. He’s convinced that the creation of the joint calendar is some particularly weird brand of sadism that his publicist wields like a leash.
It’s not that he dislikes Itsuka Kendou; she’s good at her job, and has been alongside him for practically the entirety of his career. She gives solid advice and has supported him through everything, from underwear ads to camping magazines. She’s someone he might even call a friend and genuinely mean it.
It’s just that the exact stubborn grit that makes her successful, coupled with an annoying tendency to always be right, gives Monoma a headache. His fingers shift preemptively from his temples to his eyelids when he steps into the agency, and that’s before he’s even led to her office.
The sound of his Louboutins against the marble floor seems to echo his reluctance, even his gait being affected by his distaste for the entire situation. He’s well aware, after all, that there are very few conversations that would have to take place in person, and none of those are conversations that Monoma is eager to have. Of course he knows what she’s probably going to say, but knowing and hearing it are two different matters entirely.
As the door clicks shut behind him with what he perceives as a cruel finality, he finds her seated with his latest shoot spread out across her desk, cutting as imposing figure as a petite woman with a side ponytail possibly can— that is to say, sheepishness begins to seep into his expression against his will.
“Well, Neito,” Kendou says, looking at the photographs in front of her as though the Monoma in those can hear her better than the one fidgeting in front of her. Arguably, this could be true. “Do you know what brought you here today?”
“A cab?” he suggests, already knowing the kind of reaction the answer will bring. Sure enough, her eyes snap up to his face.
“I told you that running your mouth would get you in trouble,” she replies, and he knows she isn’t just talking about his quip. “Nobody wants to work with you.”
He scoffs quietly.
“It’s not my fault that the merger is full of people who don’t know what they’re doing. They make us all look bad! And—,” he starts to protest.
“Save it,” she grumbles. “Neito, if they brought the notoriously difficult-to-work-with Katsuki Bakugou to the table and they’re still complaining about your behavior, that’s… Embarrassing, frankly.”
“Embarrassing,” he repeats, dully. He might be embarrassed, if he weren’t too busy running through his mental checklist of grievances against the agency that had recently merged with theirs.
Grievance number seventy nine, he thinks to himself, This Entire Meeting.
“Are you firing me?” he hears himself asking.
Grievance number eighty: the fact that I just asked that question.
“You know that’s not my place,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “I just clean up your messes.”
There’s a weariness at the edges of her voice.
“So? What, you just brought me here to tell me off? You could have called for that,” he points out.
She’s quiet for a beat, glaring across her desk as she folds her hands.
“Your ass is on the line, and I thought you’d like to know how serious it is. You should be thankful you were called to my office and not his, because he’d probably be glad to be rid of you.”
For a second, he sits in stunned silence. She uses his rare speechlessness to continue speaking.
“Either you show me that you’re making an attempt to get along with them and make this merger go smoothly, or we’ll give your next shoot to Aoyama.”
“That French one, or whatever?” he can’t help but half-whine as the name brings a face to mind. “He’s so forgettable! He needs a career boost more than I—.”
“Neito Monoma, I’m telling you to get your act together or lose your job. It’s up to you. Either show me that you can suck it up and do your job, or you won’t have one. Show me evidence that you’re working to get along or I will personally ensure that your contract is terminated."
“How am I supposed to do that?” he demands.
Infuriatingly, Itsuka shrugs, shuffling the pictures on her desk back into a neat stack.
“You tried acting for a while, didn’t you? Use your skills. Make some friends.”
He can tell she’s done with the conversation, even if he’s only become more frustrated than before.
Though he feels a bit as though he’s being taunted, Monoma lets her words sink in during his (humiliatingly common) cab ride home. She's probably right. The industry people are used to dealing with difficult models, so if they're actually complaining... Maybe it really is time for him to take some sort of action to protect his job. Unfortunately, he's also well aware that he'll never quite get along with the pompous jerks from 1-A, so what exactly is he supposed to do?
A dazzling streak of inspiration strikes him about three blocks later.
By the time he trudges into his apartment, stepping out of his shoes, he’s already pulling his phone out of his pocket; feeling a great deal of pre-emptive regret, he begins scrolling through his list of business contacts and hits 'send' before he can talk himself out of it.
Within seconds, though, he’s adding number eighty-one to his list:
Yuuga Aoyama actually picked up his phone in the middle of the first ring.