Chapter 3: Remote
Miku had been having the most restful sleep. The hotel room had been cleaned while she was away and she returned to fresh sheets and the scent of lemons wafting out from the toilet. After taking her second shower of the day she had popped a mint from the bedside table and fell into bed, halfheartedly skimming the TV channels before drifting off into a dreamless slumber.
Mornings have always been Miku's favorite time of day; she loves the awakening stillness, the quiet, the hopeful feel of starting over, and she treasures every second of her peaceful solitude sipping espresso before cameras and dresses and hairspray takes over. That's why as she is shaken awake this morning, the light hitting her lids not sunlight but artificial fluorescent, she's quite tempted to reach out and slap the face that looms over her, smiling and cheery as always.
"Darling, get up." Her manager pulls the covers down, not batting an eyelash at her half-naked figure; he's seen her and others in much less. "I'm going to miss my flight."
Miku sits up, deciding against her violent intentions – she wants to keep her job after all – and eyes him confusedly, pulling the large T-shirt to cover the tops of her thighs. "Flight?" Her voice is slurred from raw from sleep. "Where are we going?"
He clucks his tongue, rocking back and forth on his heels. "We aren't going anywhere. You're staying here. I'm going to Aruba." Miku stares blankly, wondering why he is being so vague if he's in such a hurry. The man pats her on the shoulder. "Paid vacation Hon. You're all set up here so I thought it would be a good time to use up my free days." He shrugs, smiling opaquely. "Spring break is coming, and my girl back home is getting cabin fever."
Miku feels her brain shutting down in the usual way whenever he chats. Although he had always seemed rather open and friendly to her she just couldn't get past the suspicion that it was a front or some kind of façade that came along with the business. It's always confusing whenever the train of conversation wanders into personal lives like this; Miku can't decide whether it's just to fill space, build trust, or just share slices of life. Usually she just plays it safe and sticks to professional discussion. It's not like he really wants to her about her private life anyway.
"So…what do I do while you're gone?" The entire point of having a manager is to organize your agenda, isn't it? Miku finds herself rather confused at his assurance of her being 'all set up here'. She's never had to get herself to her own meetings or communicate with business partners. That's his job. If his idea of prepared is having a load of official crap dumped on you while the person who actually knows how to handle it runs off to a tropical paradise, then she will seriously consider finding a new assistant.
He tilts his head worriedly. "You do your work. Crypton, remember?" She nods slowly, understanding that she has a contract but not getting where he is going with this. He raises his hands pleadingly. "The people there will take care of it. Just head over to the set we were at yesterday." Taking her frown as a response he steps lightly over to the door, waving a hand over his shoulder in farewell. "Show them what you're made of!"
"Have fun Mr. Kamui." Miku cringes inwardly at his comment, finding his overly sociable behavior off-putting yet again and raising her own hand to speak politely. He had asked her in the past to call him by his first name, or 'Gak', or any other variety of ridiculous things, but she had found herself unable to, concluding the designation of her manager as 'Po-Po' a tad too upsetting.
The door shuts with its usual click and she's left alone in the room again, sighing as she notes the time to be too early for much of anything. The pillows whisper to her gently, urging her to fall back into the comforting plushness, but she's already wide awake thanks to her too hectic of an early morning and forces herself to stand, stretching her arms and extending shaky legs. The artificial light casts the room in a stark yellow tone, turning the pleasant whites and creams of the walls into an unappetizing mustard color. She pushes the light switch to down with a flip of her hand and strides over to the windows, opening the curtains and gazing across a slowly lightening sky.
Buildings are hazy in the dawn dew, blurred shapes sticking up from a world of concrete wet after late night rain. Fog hangs in the air, catching the slight sunlight and lighting up the surroundings with patches of cloudy brightness. Blinking dully, Miku retreats back into the dimness of the room, slipping into the bathroom for a shower.
After standing under the hot water for a good fifteen minutes and fixing herself up her eyelids feel considerably less heavy and she glances around, grabbing a blouse and pair of jeans before strapping on her shoes and leaving the room, bag secured on her shoulder. The hallway is mutedly lit with small lamps every eight feet or so, their gold light shining in ambience on the maroon carpeting. Smooth wooden doors line both walls, polished brass handles shining. There's not much sound through the suites as it's too early for most people to be up and about. Most of them are probably only just opening their eyes, pushing back the covers to tap a finger down on the alarm.
Deciding against the elevator, Miku takes the stairs, trotting down them briskly to bring her body to attention. Pushing through a set of double doors, the lobby is gold themed with couches facing each other around tables and powered off flat-screens adorning nearby walls. It's empty save for a few of the staff, who glance at her curiously as she steps off into the buffet room.
A small platter of eggs soon finds its way into her stomach, followed by a glass of orange juice. Sitting at a lonesome table near the wide windows she watches people pass by outside on their way to work as a few early rising patrons trickle into the room. Pushing her chair in, she rises, looking around for a place to put her dishes. A gaze catches hers across the room and its owner smiles, gesturing down to the table. He'll get it for her. She nods at the familiar blonde boy and moves around the edge of the dining hall to exit.
Miku finds herself wishing for a jacket as she steps into the chilled morning air, pulling her arms around herself and quickly hailing down the closest cab she can find. She passes up a slip of paper containing the address of the shoot to the cabby and settles back into the upholstery, running her fingers along the fabric and feeling where the smoothness has been worn down by years of passengers. The driver tries to chit-chat with her, remarking on the weather, the traffic, asking about herself, but her responses are quick and reserved. Eventually he gives up on conversation, simply taking her to her destination and grunting when she offers him a bill.
Feeling a touch guilty for her slightly cold behavior, Miku strides up to the large building ahead. She vaguely remembers the slant of the windows and the shade of the walls and concludes it to be the place she had come to yesterday. Trailing into the dimly lit elevator she surveys the rows of buttons, cursing herself for not paying more attention. After pressing several keys the doors close and the tiny room ascends, stopping every couple of seconds to reveal a hallway to her, each as unfamiliar as the last.
After seven floors and many a sigh of annoyance, the silver gates open to a dim hallway, long, but with only a few doors marking the walls. Making her way down the corridor she checks each door, searching for something she remembers, until she stops at the fourth entrance down, a room marked as 708. The number rings in her mind and she knocks, hoping for a winner or at least a friendly disappointment. She gets neither. No one comes to the door. Frowning, she knocks again, still receiving no answer.
Glancing around, no other rooms seem familiar in the slightest and she is more certain every second of the shoot being just behind this door. With a long-distance promise to Kamui to make his life difficult whenever she sees him again she hesitantly tugs on the door knob, relaxing as she feels it turn under her grip.
Her attention more focused than the first time she was here, Miku takes in her surroundings. The suite seems to be some kind of remodeled luxury apartment with most of the furniture removed and replaced with green screens and suitcases and cosmetics tables. The white stage she remembers still dominates the far side of the main room, loomed over by black umbrella lamps, now turned off. Old doughnut and carry-out boxes litter the corners and light bulbs hang naked from the ceiling. Large floor to ceiling windows are covered by black out curtains, just the faintest hint of light struggling in at the edges.
Out of the corner of her eye something moves in the dim and otherwise empty room. Her lips press together as the figure comes closer, slowly stepping into the light of the doorway.
He flips a switch and the room lights up considerably. The photographer eyes her with distant boredom, his hand falling to his side after a moment. "You're a little early." His gaze never leaves her and she forces herself to not look away. With a moment of silence he moves back into the space of the room, the loss of eye contact feeling like a rubber band breaking. She follows, setting her bag down lightly on a chair and gazing around, noticing the lack of people other than them.
"Why are you here so early?" she inquires, finding it odd that he would prefer to hang around in dark photo-shoots before hours. Halfway across the room he pauses, looking back over his shoulder with the same unreadable glare she remembers.
"Why are you here so early?" She frowns at his response, feeling peculiarly riled up at his strangely childish argument tactics.
"Don't answer my question with a question."
He blinks tediously, as if even just that simple movement is wasted if it's done for her. Seating himself onto a tall bar stool he reaches over into his work station, clicking a few buttons and having the machines whirr to life. "I had to set everything up," is his simple response, seeming both complete and ambiguous at the same time. She replies with a nod, waiting for some other train of conversation, but having none come. Choosing to instead stare openly at the profile of his face while he works, she lets her mind wander as they wait for the rest of the crew to arrive.
A/N: How did this chapter wind up being so long but not being about anything? Well, whatever. I'm trying a new writing style for this story; I've always admired people who have fics that long and detailed enough to be actually books, so I'm trying to mimic that. Tell me what you think, and as always reviews make me cry with happiness!