Chapter Text
Sanemi Shinazugawa is good at what he does. Though, he’d probably keep it under wraps if he’d prefer. No emotional ties. It’s purely a job.
The air was thick. It smelled of expensive cologne, cleaning supplies and something spiced. None of it really distracted him from his task at hand. Sanemi had him pinned to the mattress moving with a precise rhythm that pulled some desperate dirty sounds from the man underneath him.
Sanemi leaned down, letting his hair brush against the client’s jaw, and bit down sharply on the junction of his neck and shoulder.
“Like that?” Sanemi muttered. He’d perfected his low, filthy rasp years ago.
The client choked back a sob, his hands grasped blindly at Sanemi’s hips, fingers digging into his muscle. “God, yes. Please.”
Sanemi grinded his hips, adjusting his angle just a little to hit that exact spot that made the client’s eyes roll back. He was good at this. He knew how desperate some folks could get. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply, how rough he could be before it tipped from pleasure into panic.
He kept his eyes half-lidded, projecting a heat that was entirely fake. Inside his head, Sanemi did the math.
Rent is due on the first. 75,000 yen. Another twelve for the calculus textbook. If I can pick up a double on Thursday, then I can cover the electric bill before the late fee hits.
The man beneath him bucked. His breathing grows breathless and frantic. Sanemi caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand. He leans dangerously closer, his chest sliding slick and hot against the client’s.
“Don’t move.” Sanemi ordered. A smirk played on his lips. “I didn’t say you could move.”
“I can’t—I’m close,” the client babbled, his face flushed, almost completely lost in the illusion Sanemi spun. As the scarred man kept thrusting, he kept thinking about all the shit he still had left to do, and another worry popped up constantly in his head.
Genya’s Math grade dropped to a C minus last week, Sanemi thought anxiously, maintaining the brutal steady pace of his hips. I need to go over those flashcards. Did he remember to actually eat the leftovers in the fridge? If he orders takeout again, that cuts into the grocery bill…
Sanemi arched his back to shift his weight, his mind wandered to the grocery list. Shit, we’re out of milk and eggs…I should grab the decent beef if I pick up the extra shift this weekend. Sanemi frowned slightly,
Did Genya actually get his algebra homework finished? Sanemi made a mental note to check his brother’s notebook before he left for his own classes tomorrow morning.
The client groaned loudly, his movements grew frantic. Clearly caught up in the rush, the man’s hands came up, clumsily framing Sanemi’s jaw. He surged upward, his breath was hot and heavy, leaning in directly for the scarred man’s lips.
Sanemi instinctively turned his face sharply to the side. He brought his palm flat against the man’s chest to halt his attempt.
“You know the rules,” Sanemi muttered. “No kissing.”
His voice was entirely his own—flat, blunt, and no signs of his breathy performance just seconds before. The client froze, hovering just inches away. He blinked at Sanemi, looking as if he was trying to process the firm rejection through the haze of his own pleasure.
“You don’t like kissing?” The client asked.
“That’s the rule,” Sanemi repeated, not breaking eye contact. He didn’t offer an apology or a softer option. He was clear. He’s in control.
No fucking client will change that.
The man let out a short, frustrated breath but he reluctantly agreed with a nod. He dropped his hands from Sanemi’s face and buried his face into the crook of Sanemi’s neck as the scarred man picked up the rhythm again.
Sanemi’s hand fell away from the client’s chest. He let his eyes drift upward toward the ceiling again, waiting for the clock to run out.
Algebra.
Sanemi let out a harsh breath, faking a groan that sounded rough and completely unhinged. It was the final push the client needed. The man shattered underneath him. His back arched off the sheets as he cried out, his whole body shook like an earthquake.
After another dozen seconds, Sanemi kept his cadence, eventually slowing down gradually to sell the finish. He let his forehead drop against the mattress near the man’s ear. He counted backward from ten, slowly slowing his heart beat down, and then pulled away.
It was a smooth, but immediate transition. Sanemi rolled off the bed, his back turned toward the client as he stripped off the condom, tying it off with a flick of his fingers before dropping it into a small metal trash can by the desk. He grabbed the towel from the nightstand to wipe the sweat from his scarred chest before reaching down for his jeans.
"That was..." The client was still staring at the ceiling, chest heaving. "You're so fucking good.”
“Glad you liked it.” Sanemi’s voice held the casual satisfaction of a worker who had just delivered exactly what was ordered. He zipped his fly and grabbed his t-shirt from the floor before heading over to the bathroom.
Sanemi turned on the faucet with the water running cold. He splashed his face and wiped himself down. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired, but another job was done. It was always easier—he takes control, he’s in charge and he always sets the pace. He always does the heavy lifting so that clients get exactly what they paid for.
But he kept everything strictly one-sided:
He never lets anyone do anything for him.
As Sanemi checked himself over, he thought to himself about the strict boundaries he’d set. Being on the receiving end meant giving up control. It meant trusting someone to care about what he feels. It blurred the lines between work and actual intimacy.
And Sanemi had no interest in crossing that line. Giving kept him in the driver’s seat. It allowed him to be focused on making sure rent’s paid on time, plan dinner, and worry about his little brother. If it meant using his body as a way of living, then he’d do it. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.
The scarred man tossed the towel into a nearby laundry bin. He stared at the clock on the nightstand.
54 minutes. Right on time.
"Time's up," Sanemi said, his tone perfectly polite but leaving absolutely no room for negotiation. He pulled his shirt over his head. “My handler will knock in about three minutes. Don’t forget your watch in the bathroom.”
The client nodded, pulling a thick envelope from his jacket and tossing it onto the small table by the door. “Same time, next week?” He sounded hopeful.
“Check with the front desk,” Sanemi answered. He picked up the envelope and thumbed through the bills out of habit. The count was right. “Have a good night.”
And he didn’t wait for a reply. Sanemi grabbed his phone, stepping out into the neon-lit hallway and letting the heavy hotel room door click shut behind him. He immediately opened his texts, shooting a quick message to his brother while he leaned against the patterned wallpaper.
Sanemi: Hey. Did you finish your algebra homework? Don’t lie.
A few seconds later…Sanemi felt his phone buzz. He stared down at the screen.
Genya: Yeah. Don’t worry about it.
Sanemi knew that was likely a lie. But, he didn’t call him out on it. He sighed exasperatedly. He typed a quick response and hit “send.”
Sanemi: OK, well, I need to get back to work. I’ll see you later. Don’t stay up too late, OK?
Genya: Be safe, Nemi.
Sanemi thought better of it and tucked his phone back into his pockets before heading to the break room for a quick reprieve. But not for too long, he had a schedule to keep if he wanted to make the late night train home.
As the scarred man walked back toward the breakroom to reset, a couple of his fellow coworkers were leaning against the vending machine. One of them, a lanky guy who’d been at the agency as long as Sanemi, whistled low.
“So, he’s back again, Nemi. Room 402, right on time.”
Sanemi didn’t even have to look at the monitor. “Yuu.”
“What’s the secret?” Another coworker chimed in, half-jealous and half-impressed. “Seriously. The guy pays the premium rate every fucking time, plus loyalty fee? He never requests anyone else. How long has he been a regular—”
“Think a year? Give or take.” Sanemi shrugged. The man reached up, ran a hand through his short, spiked white hair. It was already messy from his previous sessions, but he knew some liked it like that. He looked at his reflection in the vending machine glass checking his scars on his face.
He took a bottle of water out of the fridge and took a sip. “It’s his money. I don’t ask questions.”
“Yeah…but man, he’s damn good looking. Easy on the eyes, and he pays well? It must be nice to make easy money, right?”
“Right…” Sanemi finished off his bottle before tossing it into a recycling bin. He didn’t want to tell them that “easy” probably wouldn’t be how he described it. “Easy” was predictable, but “Yuu” was anything but.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
When Sanemi re-entered Room 402, the ambience already shifted. The last session bled away, replaced by the quietness and steadiness of the man sitting at the small round table near the window.
“Hey.” Sanemi greeted casually.
The client was young—maybe Sanemi’s age, which was rare for the premium tier. Sanemi didn’t deny that the man was attractive. He had dark hair pulled back and eyes a deep oceanic blue. Yet, he didn’t really carry himself with arrogance. He looked…calm.
“Back again?” Sanemi’s “Nemi” persona slid into place like a well-oiled machine. He leaned against the doorframe. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, you’re wasting your money for the premium rate. There’s way cheaper ways to make friends, yeah?”
Yuu didn’t flinch or react really to anything Sanemi said. He didn’t even look up. Instead, he placed a second cup of tea across from him. The steam curled slowly into the air. Sanemi expected as much, Yuu always made him tea. Even when they met about a year ago.
“The tea’s hot,” Yuu replied bluntly. It didn’t really carry a performative flirtation most clients brought into the room.
Sanemi clicked his tongue but walked over anyway. He’d met clients of all sorts. Some with some really fucking weird kinks or fetishes, or a sudden demand he wasn’t willing or prepared to give. He had trouble figuring out Yuu, though.
This routine had driven him crazy admittedly. Sanemi always braced for a catch. But, after a year, nothing. Yuu just wanted this.
So, the scarred man muttered, “your money,” and slowly walked over to sit across from Yuu. Sometimes they talked about nothing. Or, they didn’t talk at all, other than to exchange pleasantries. Other times, Yuu just listened to Sanemi rant about “dumb professors” though he never mentioned they were his own.
“You’re late tonight,” Yuu spoke suddenly. His gaze lifted to meet Sanemi’s. There wasn’t any judgement in his eyes. It was merely an observation. “Did you get held up?”
“Not really, just a busy night.” Sanemi lied fluidly, reaching for the tea. The heat of the ceramic seeped into his calloused palms, grounding him.
For a year, Sanemi told himself he didn’t mind the silence. He told himself it’d be the easiest paycheck of the week. But, when he looked at Yuu—this strange, blunt, and maybe kind man, bought hours of his time just to share a pot of tea—Sanemi felt a slight dangerous flicker of something he couldn’t just mark down on his ledger.
It was an hour. Always an hour. Not more or less. For sixty minutes, Sanemi wasn’t a service. He was just a guy having tea with someone who seemed to actually want his company.
Sanemi sat back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Yuu for a second—the focused dip of his head, the fluid movement of a red pen across a stack of student essays.
Just watching Yuu do this made Sanemi weirded out. Something so mundane done in a room that’s meant for anything but this.
“I don’t wanna be that guy, but…this is fucking weird.” Sanemi’s voice cut through the scratching of the pen. Yuu didn’t look up. He finished scrawling something in the margins before capping his pen.
“What is?”
“Um…all of this?” Sanemi pointed vaguely to the tea, Yuu’s papers, and the four walls of Room 402. He raised an eyebrow, and gave the client a trademark smirk that was half-curious. “Don’t tell me you don’t think it’s weird you’re paying me a shit ton of money just to sit and not want anything from me?”
Yuu shrugged. Sanemi furrowed his eyebrows. That was the thing, Yuu was one client he couldn’t figure out. Normally, as soon as he stepped into the room, he could tell what his clients wanted within almost thirty seconds. A kink. Role play. Anything.
But he hadn’t cracked Yuu. Not once. Not in the year he’d been visiting Room 402. Same time. Every week. Always the same rate for an hour. And it honestly freaked Sanemi out a bit.
“Look, I don’t usually tell clients what to do with their cash, but…you’re kinda just throwing it all away by doing this, ya know?”
That made Yuu finally look up at Sanemi. His blue eyes were calm, and it lacked the hunger that Sanemi usually saw in every other client who used Room 402. He was a visitor. Yuu looked exhausted after a day of teaching it seems.
The man shrugged again. “I don’t really consider it a waste.”
“Whatever.” Sanemi snorted, though it felt weird in his mouth.
Sanemi figured out Yuu was a teacher—the red pen and graded papers were dead giveaways—but Sanemi refused to let anything from his personal life slip. He didn’t mention the Advanced Calculus textbook tucked into his backpack in the breakroom.
There was an internal ledger in the scarred man’s head that’s always running. But there was something about Yuu that refused to balance out.
Every session was the same: green tea ordered from the front desk. There’s always a stack of papers, and a feeling Sanemi couldn’t really figure out that came with the comfortable silence that usually followed.
And if there was one other thing Sanemi was good at aside from sex, it was math. Yuu was likely a public school teacher. They made a pittance. After taxes and insurance, this guy was essentially handing over a week’s worth of labor just to sit with him.
On a teacher’s salary? It was ridiculous.
The hell is he doing here? Sanemi wondered. His eyes tracked Giyuu’s profile. He could buy ten high-end dinners for what he’s paying to just have tea with a random guy.
Sanemi’s mind drifted back to the first time he’d seen Yuu’s name on his tablet:
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
One year ago…
Sanemi walked into Room 402 with his shoulders squared and practiced. He’d seen the “First Time Client” tag and figured it’d be quick. The kind of job where the guy would be too nervous to speak and just wanted to get his money’s worth before the shame hit.
Well, that’s not what happened. Instead, he’d find Yuu standing by the window, looking out at the neon haze of the district like he was lost.
“Alright, let’s get moving,” Sanemi had greeted. He kicked the door shut. He’d started unbuttoning his shirt before he was even halfway across the room. “You paid for the full hour, so don’t waste my time.”
“Huh?” Yuu looked perplexed.
“Uh, you paid for the hour?” Sanemi replied. “On the bed. Face down if you’re shy. I don’t care.”
Yuu turned around. He didn’t look at Sanemi’s scarred chest or arms. He just stared eerily into Sanemi’s face with a strange haunting expression in his eyes.
“I don’t want to do that,” Yuu had said in a low, surprisingly steady voice.
“Then what? You wanna talk?” Sanemi had paused, three buttons down, his brows furrowed. “That’s double the emotional labor rate, bud.”
It was then Yuu pointed to a tray on the table. “Uh…I had tea brought up, and I honestly have some work I need to finish. I thought…” He looked embarrassed. “Maybe, you could just stay? You don’t have to do anything. Just sit with me for a while.”
Half-naked and extremely confused. Sanemi had stood there. He’d expected a demand. Or someone who wanted a fantasy fulfilled. What he didn’t expect was a man who looked like he just wanted someone else to be in the room while he just existed.
“You’re paying this much…for a fucking study buddy?” Sanemi blinked. His “Nemi” persona dropped for the briefest second in complete shock.
“I just want your time,” Yuu corrected Sanemi. “Do you mind?”
And that was when Sanemi laughed for the first time in years, and it was because of this weirdo who bought a sex worker’s time for nothing having to do with sex.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“You’re staring again,” Yuu’s voice broke through Sanemi’s thoughts. He blinked as Yuu kept grading his papers. The tea was gone now, though it felt a faint wet ring on the table.
“I’m starting to wonder if you’re just the world’s biggest idiot,” Sanemi mumbled. “You’re gonna be eating cup ramen for a month because of what you paid for.”
Yuu’s pen stopped for a fraction of a second. “It’s worth it.”
“The hell it is.”
But Sanemi couldn’t help but let out a scoff that was almost a laugh. To Yuu, he was just “Nemi.” A young man with white hair and far too many scars who apparently provided the right kind of company.
“You’re hard to buy time from, Nemi.” Yuu took a sip of his tea. “If I have to pay the premium to make sure I’m not interrupted, then that’s the cost.”
Sanemi looked away, focusing on his own tea. “You’re a damn freak, Yuu. You know that?”
“I’m used to it,” Yuu replied casually. ”Being told that, I mean.”
He couldn’t help it. Sanemi felt a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He quickly suppressed it as soon as he felt it forming. He didn’t exactly want this client to know that he liked that one hour, he didn’t have to provide, protect or “serve.”
Sanemi could just be a guy sitting across from someone who didn’t want to take anything from him. “Well,” he muttered. “If you want to pay me to watch you grade papers, I’m not gonna stop you. Just don’t expect me to help you with marking shit.”
“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it.” Yuu replied. But then he gave a small smile. “But, I wouldn’t mind the company at all.”
And that was that. After an hour, Yuu packed up his papers and finished off the rest of the tea that got lukewarm. He set down an envelope on the table.
“See you next week? Same time?”
Sanemi was about to retort his usual snark, but then, he felt himself ease up slightly. It’s been about a year now. He had no real expectation that Yuu would change anything between them. It’s always been like this.
Shared companionship. As long as it’s within the rules…then, Sanemi didn’t have a problem with it.
“Yeah. Same time.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Sanemi managed to make the late night train, but he stopped by a local late night market to finish off the grocery shopping he hadn’t been able to do for the last few days. Luckily, with the number of clients he had tonight, the grocery bill wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated.
Milk. Check. Eggs. Check. Bread. Check. Beef. Check.
He went down his grocery list, making sure he’d hit everything that he recalled was missing from their fridge. As Sanemi finally let out a relieved sigh, his eye caught something nearby—watermelon. His eyes softened slightly. Genya’s favorite.
Knowing it wasn’t really budgeted, Sanemi knocked on a few of them, testing them for ripeness before settling on one that he felt would be good enough. He grabbed one and tossed it into the cart, feeling a little bit better about the night.
After taking the midnight train home, Sanemi tiredly climbed up the stairs. He fumbled with his keys as he dragged in the bags of groceries into the apartment. As the scarred man made his way through the dark and into the kitchen, he found the lights were still dimly lit.
It was then Sanemi saw a sleeping Genya at the kitchen table, he was drooling and snoring while his head was propped up against a textbook and a laptop. Sanemi rolled his eyes. Genya had a tendency to sleep wherever and whenever.
Knew he didn’t start his algebra homework, idiot. Sanemi couldn’t stay mad at his little brother. The only family member he had left. Their mother had died from an illness several years ago, leaving Sanemi and Genya alone.
Their drunk and abusive father, Kyogo, had deserted them when they were children. Raised by a single mother. It was only ever the two of them. And if Sanemi didn’t want Genya taken away by social services and separating them, the elder brother knew what he had to do.
As soon as he turned eighteen, Sanemi had to grow up faster. He didn’t get to enjoy college life like the rest of his friends or classmates did as soon as they graduated high school. He had vowed he’d do anything to protect his little brother.
So, that’s how Sanemi ended up working at the agency. How he ended up in Room 402 for the last three years. It was what kept the lights on and food on the table. It also allowed Sanemi to take online courses and day classes.
But most importantly, in Sanemi’s eyes, make sure he and Genya stayed together so that the younger Shinazugawa brother could still stay at his high school and be with his friends and graduate with them. To go to school where he wanted. To be whoever it is that he wanted to be.
If that meant Sanemi had to take on more clients. If that meant working himself to the bone. Then he’d do that for Genya. He’d do that for his future.
Sanemi went to the fridge and opened the door. He slowly started restocking it when he heard slight movement.
“Nemi?” Genya rubbed his eyes. He lifted his head groggily from his textbook. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, I stopped by the store to pick up some groceries.” Sanemi said casually. He started stashing the food away into their proper places. “You didn’t finish your algebra, did you?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s due soon isn’t it?”
“You got watermelon?” Genya’s eyes perked up at the sight. Normally, Sanemi wouldn’t spend a cent outside of their budget, but…since the night went well, he decided it was OK to indulge just a bit. “Holy shit—”
“Language,” Sanemi replied flatly.
“Yeah, coming from you, that’s rich.” The younger Shinazugawa brother snickered. Sanemi playfully shoved his brother to the side. “I can help with that.”
Sanemi didn’t turn him down. They chatted a bit. Genya’s day at school went well. But, his P.E. teacher was giving him a lot of shit.
“Mr. Tomioka is like a drill sergeant,” Genya griped. “Me and Tanjiro literally had to run so many laps around the track we almost threw up.”
“Well, did you give him any reason to do that?” Sanemi replied shortly as he finished tucking away the plastic grocery bags into a tote and closed the pantry door. “Usually, teachers don’t just randomly assign disciplinary actions for shits and giggles you know.”
“Uh…” Genya chuckled nervously. “Well, Tanjiro broke the school dress code with his earrings. And I guess I kinda pissed off Mr. Tomioka by not showing up with my gym uniform. I forgot—”
“Genya,” Sanemi sighed. He rubbed his temples with his fingers. “You really need to remember to take your laundry and actually put them away where they’re supposed to go. They’ve been sitting on top of the dryer for the last two days.”
“I’ve been busy studying.”
“Uh huh, and I’m sure you finished that homework like you were supposed to with all that study time?” Sanemi frowned as Genya rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly. “Just don’t do it again. I don’t need to be called in from work for a teacher conference, alright?”
“Yeah. I know.” It was then Genya tilted his head. “Hey, how was work tonight? Was the warehouse busy?”
Sanemi tensed up slightly. He never told Genya about what he actually did for a living, but he made up some excuses. It was enough of a cover.
It wasn’t that Sanemi was ashamed about what he did. He actually wasn’t. It helped put money in the bank, and it helped with keeping them alive and also putting Sanemi through finally finishing his mathematics degree, but he didn’t exactly want Genya’s friends or teachers finding out about what he did.
The world wasn’t exactly the most understanding, and he didn’t need his little brother to bear any shitty comments from any of his classmates or teachers if they found out. Or maybe worse. Sanemi made sure to be very careful about it.
And the less Genya knew, the better.
“Busy,” Sanemi shrugged. It was a noncommittal answer. Not a lie necessarily. “Just a lot of stuff to unload and ship out. Ya know? Just the same shit.”
“Look at the one who’s swearing like a sailor—”
“Shut up.” Sanemi scoffed. He then ruffled Genya’s mohawk before he shuffled to his bedroom. “I’m gonna go to bed. Make sure you don’t stay up late. Finish your algebra, I mean it.”
“Alright.”
“Night.”
“Night.”
Sanemi didn’t go to bed right away. He went into his bathroom and showered. He scrubbed every part of his body with a bar of soap to make sure it didn’t smell like work. He closed his eyes as he washed his hair and took a moment to let the water massage him.
Afterward, he lathered some shampoo into his silvery-white locks and massaged his scalp before rinsing off. Sanemi calculated how long it’d take for him to make up for the cost in his college textbooks. If he could maybe get another client or two that decides to upgrade.
That’d be nice.
Soon he’d have to do this all over again. He was just tired. That’s all. Three years of doing this was really nothing, but it was starting to drain him a bit. After standing in the steam and the hot water, Sanemi reached out and turned the faucet off.
He toweled himself and brushed his teeth. He got ready for bed to finally unwind after another hard day of work. It was a routine.
Sanemi laid in his bed in some shorts as he stared up at the water stain in the ceiling. His eyes grew heavy as he slowly drifted off to dreamless sleep. But, he found himself looking forward to the next week, when he’d find Yuu in Room 402 again.
Maybe, just maybe, Sanemi might offer to help him grade those papers.