Archive of Our Own

"Oi, Sawamura—wait—ohshitdon't—"

Ceramic rattled as the tray in his hands, along with the rest of him, jerked to a teetering stop in the hallway. A plate scraped to the very edge of the tray and a line of cups wobbled, but he caught his balance before anything crashed over. Luckily there was no liquid to spill. Everything steady and accounted for, Eijun heaved a sigh of relief and beamed a smile.

"Yes?"

Kanemaru's face had gone white, but was turning blotchy red by the second. "You—! Just—here, I'll trade you. Get this guy to his room before he passes out, I'm mostly sure he won't break if you drop him."

Eijun's eyes narrowed and he clutched his tray close to his chest. "I didn't drop anything!" Besides, Kazuya looked heavy leaning on Kanemaru's shoulder, already well on his way to oblivion. The angle of his face made his expression difficult to see, but Eijun was pretty sure that was a smirk twitching on his mouth. There was probably a mocking glint in his eye, hidden from view. Some taunting thought running through his unfathomable head.

"Don't argue! What are you even doing this close to the main hall anyway? You know it's off-limits when we're open."

"I know that, but it's faster to get to the kitchen this way! And I'm careful!"

"Like hell you are—"

"Now, now," Kazuya finally spoke, slow and syrupy with a warm flush lingering on his cheeks as he lifted his face, focusing a glassy-eyed stare on where Eijun stood. His grin hung crooked on his mouth. "If you two keep standing around like this a customer might catch you~"

Geez, how drunk did the tanuki bastard get this time? Kazuya wasn't always out drinking, but it happened a lot. More than it did for anyone else. He was high in demand to attend big parties or smaller gatherings like the one where they'd first met (only half a year ago, but it seemed like longer, it seemed like Seidou had grown around Eijun like a home and not just a house). "It's tedious work," Kazuya had told him once, blunt and bored. "You flatter people and pretend to be enthralled with them, hanging off their every word, pouring drinks all night long while trying not to get completely drunk off your ass."

He'd failed this time—and spectacularly—at that last part. Kazuya often returned in a state after an evening out, sometimes better and sometimes worse, but being unable to walk on his own was a first.

I don't even want to know, Eijun decided and straightened his back, averting his eyes as he snapped out, "Right! So I'll just be on my way—"

"Oi," Kanemaru growled, but it was Kazuya flinging his arm out that stopped Eijun in his tracks. The tray was lifted from his hands with far more coordination than should be possible when someone was that obviously inebriated, and none of the dishes dared to clatter as they were deposited into another pair of hands.

And then Kazuya promptly fell on him.

Eijun staggered under the surprise of all that full-bodied weight, arms coming up around a curved back and slumped shoulders. He bumped into the wall and slid down an inch or two, but managed to stay upright supporting both of them. Kazuya shook against him in silent laughter and Eijun jolted out of his shock. "You drunkard! What do you think you're doing?!"

"Quiet," Kazuya said, muffled, the heat of his breath sinking and spreading along Eijun's neck. His skin went hot under his collar, and his face outright flamed when Kazuya added sleepily, "Take me to bed, Sawamura."

"Don't say it like that!" He glanced around but Kanemaru had already made his retreat, the bastard.

Kazuya laughed again. His hand came up, searching, all trace of his previous coordination gone, and eventually his palm landed on the side of Eijun's face to pat his cheek. "Cute."

"I will leave you in this hallway, I swear…" But even as he made the threat Eijun looped one of Kazuya's arms around his neck and tucked him against his side. For the sake of Seidou's dignity, he decided. That was why he was going along with this nonsense. It was his job to make sure Kazuya didn't embarrass them all if he was seen like this by the customers.

Eijun made his way towards the eastern pavilion and Kazuya barely helped, feet shuffling, weight dragging on Eijun's side. They reached the stairs and Eijun despaired. The single rooms for the top-ranked courtesans just had to be on the second floor.

He adjusted his grip around Kazuya's waist and took each step carefully one at a time. "You're heavy, damnit. Are you getting fat or what?"

"S'all muscle," Kazuya said, almost unrecognizable through his slurring speech and—even weirder—the lack of his sharp, quick-witted intelligence. Still annoying, though. The familiar bristling itch of his annoying personality brought a strange kind of relief.

That should have been cause for alarm, the fact that he found Kazuya's irritating edge even remotely reassuring, but Eijun took his small comforts where he could get them. Besides, the saying was true that one could get used to anything if exposed long enough to it.

They somehow got to the top of the stairs without the night ending in tragedy, and the home stretch to Kazuya's room was a breeze in comparison. Eijun managed to not dump his burden on the floor right away, but it was a near thing.

He'd been in here before a handful of times. Never long, usually just on errands during the pre-dusk scramble when everyone was getting ready, and someone needed to borrow a watch or tie or hairpin from someone else. As with the rest of the compound the room was traditional in design. Kazuya had a desk pushed out of the way in one corner, a low vanity table with a tall mirror near the window, and a lacquered clothing chest partly hidden behind a painted folding screen that hugged the wall. The scene depicted on the screen was a wash of red maple leaves with long, trailing poem slips fluttering amongst them.

"You owe me for this," Eijun grumped, letting Kazuya down easy to rest on the tatami. He sprawled there without a care (or conscious thought) in the world while Eijun turned on an electric floor lamp and went to the closet to get out the futon. Half the closet space was filled with more wardrobe: crisp button-down shirts, dark suit jackets and matching trousers, waistcoats, an assortment of ties. Shoes were lined up along the floor.

He laid out the futon, turned back to Kazuya, and stifled a groan because there was still more to be done. "Oi," Eijun said, crouching down to prod at an unresponsive cheek with his finger. "Oh, come on, seriously? I need to do everything for you? I'm never letting you live this down. Never, ever."

Eijun started pulling the socks off Kazuya's feet. Next to come off was the suit jacket, which required some lifting and rolling, and Kazuya remained limp as a puppet throughout the process. Then the waistcoat was removed, then the tie, then the belt. And then Eijun hesitated.

This much was fine, right?

It was just—kind of weird, with Kazuya not being conscious and all. Yeah. This much was totally fine. Eijun flipped the futon's cover over and began maneuvering Kazuya onto the mattress.

"Oh, almost forgot." He paused to lift Kazuya's glasses, and with a curiosity that all people blessed with perfect vision possessed held them up to his own face. "Geez, are you blind?"

"Obviously not."

Eijun rocked back on his heels, coming dangerously close to rolling off-balance entirely. "You bastard, you were awake the whole time?!" He flailed his arms to get his equilibrium back.

"Not really," Kazuya said, squinting at him. "Put those down before you break them."

Eijun folded the glasses and set them on the floor above the pillow. Meanwhile, Kazuya was lifting up his arms and looking at them with a frown. He slowly undid his sleeve cuffs. "It didn't occur to me that you needed a lesson in how to undress someone, but I guess I should have expected…"

"Shut up." Eijun opened his hand for the cufflinks Kazuya dropped in his palm and stored them where directed in a box on the vanity. "It's cold, you'll get sick if you strip down. Idiot."

"Mm. I suppose you have a point. For once."

"Shut up." He shot to his feet. "So you're fine now, right? Then I'm gonna head back down."

"Sawamura."

Eijun froze, back turned. "What? Need something else?"

"Maybe." There was something off about Kazuya's voice. It was too liquid, too loose, the words dripping out and driving Eijun crazy like there was a leaky faucet he needed to tighten to make it stop.

He resisted the irrational urge to cover his ears. "What is it?"

"Come here."

His head turned like it was compelled and the rest of him reluctantly followed. Kazuya was lying sprawled on his back where Eijun had left him, arms limp by his sides and cheek resting lightly on the pillow. His eyes still had that glazed-over look, even more out of place now without the frame of his glasses to complete his image. He was missing pieces—his razor-cut sharpness, yes, and also something else.

Eijun drew near despite himself, and despite the scrabbling grasp of this is not something you should be seeing that failed to hold him back. He sank to his knees and leaned over. "Is… something wrong? Do you feel sick? Should I get—"

Kazuya's touch was a shock of ice around his wrist, and with one pull—more of a tug, really, Eijun was that unprepared—he fell face-forward onto the thick cotton padding that covered Kazuya's chest.

"Mmf!" His arms flew out, hands spread to either side to find purchase on the floor and push himself up. "What are you doing?!"

Another touch, light on his back between his shoulder blades. Hardly exerting any pressure, but making him go still anyway. "Stay here," Kazuya said, soft and sleepy, fingertips feathering upward to the top of Eijun's spine. He shivered, then gasped when they slid over his nape.

"What the hell, that's cold!"

"That's why." A trace of Kazuya's usual sarcasm laced the words and the corner of his mouth lifted in accordance, but he didn't commit to the taunt. His fingers stroked back and forth, tickling through the ends of Eijun's hair and warming slightly over his skin.

Eijun swallowed, mouth dry and throat tight. "I could go get another blanket."

"You could," Kazuya agreed. His eyes were dark under heavy, half-drawn lids, and then they closed the rest of the way. After one more teasing pass his fingers withdrew. "Go on then."

The way out was clear but Eijun didn't move. He chewed his lip, poised on his hands and knees with all the coiled tension of an animal about to make a run for it, but he was anchored by a question in his gut that scaled up his throat and sprang out of his mouth. "Did you mean it?"

"Mm?" The sweep of Kazuya's eyelashes fluttered, barely moving. But definitely looking. Definitely tracking the shape of Eijun above him.

It had to be a joke. Had to be. Messing with him was what Kazuya did, and there was a tightness in Eijun's chest like Kazuya had reached in with a hand and twisted, winding him up. He was going to sound stupid, but Eijun asked anyway: "Do you want me to stay?"

"Will you?"

"Would it kill you to answer a question straight?" His attempt at a growl turned into more of a pathetic whine.

"I doubt it would, but you never know."

"You impossible bastard—"

"Sawamura," Kazuya sighed—the nerve, as if he was the one being yanked every which way—and he shifted a little, turning on his side. "Get in if you're going to stay. Simple enough, right?"

…So maybe he did mean it after all. And then what did that mean for— "Okay! I mean, fine. Okay." An imperative need to speak, to act, burned hot under Eijun's skin. He peeled back the cover. He babbled. "Only because you're drunk and it's cold and I feel sorry for you. And you asked first. You—what's with you tonight? You're all…"

"Sawamura," Kazuya said wearily. "Shut up and come here."

Eijun shut up, mostly because he was half on the mattress now and it was dawning on him that maybe he should have thought this through more. A lot more. Cuddling up with Haruichi and Furuya at night when it was cold was one thing. That was… that was economical. Friendly. Camaraderie among apprentices who were stuck in one of the draftier rooms of a stupidly sprawling, antique building. But getting into bed with Kazuya, of all people? That was different. That was going to mean something different.

And Eijun was doing it anyway, sliding the rest of the way in and pulling the cover up, telling himself it was for warmth even though the space didn't feel that warm yet. Maybe because he was hovering on the very edge of the futon.

Maybe because Kazuya was freakishly cold, slithering an arm around Eijun's waist and pulling up along Eijun's taut back. A hand splayed over his stomach which was exploding in butterflies, and he wondered if Kazuya could feel all the wild fluttering incited by the mere print of his fingertips. There was almost no pressure, just the drape of Kazuya's arm, the presence of his body. Kazuya's legs bumping into Eijun's own. Kazuya's chest expanding and contracting, out of sync with Eijun's shaky breaths. His heart was careening around inside his ribs, knocking everything out of place, making a mess.

"Better," Kazuya said, nothing more than a whisper sifting through Eijun's hair. The curve of Kazuya's jaw and chin rested against his head. The sound of a deep, deep inhale came close to his ear. "You smell good."

"You're weird. I'm not wearing any of that smelly stuff." Talking was good. Talking was normal.

"That's why it's good."

He took it back, nothing about this was normal. Eijun squeezed his eyes shut. Kazuya was supposed to tease, to pick apart his language and mock him for it, maybe slip in a lesson about the specific seasons and occasions for wearing different kinds of scents, all couched in that gleaming, knife-edged wit. Eijun could never win against him, but usually he could at least see the moves as they came at him. Kazuya wasn't giving him anything to work with here. All Eijun could do was snap reflexively like he always did. "Well, you stink. Seriously."

That got a snuffling laugh, and it was a muted, but recognizable response. Eijun wasn't even kidding; Kazuya reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Utterly disgusting, Eijun hated it. He mostly hated it because the smell alone was bad enough, but then the memory of the taste rose up on his tongue without fail even though it had been half a year since that first awful kiss. Awful, awful, awful. If he thought it enough, maybe it would become true. Maybe he would stop thinking about Kazuya's mouth, his hands, the fold of his body tucked around Eijun—and he was all firm, solid muscle, the breadth of his shoulders bigger than they appeared when pressed up against Eijun's frame.

"Sorry," Kazuya said. "You can go if you want."

Now Eijun was just getting mad. He huffed out a sigh. "Stay, go, make up your damn mind. Actually, don't. It's late and it's cold and I'm tired. I'm not going anywhere."

Kazuya went still and quiet behind him, his breathing deep and even. He couldn't have fallen asleep that quickly. The back of Eijun's neck prickled, then broke out in goosebumps when Kazuya nuzzled into the crook between his jaw and shoulder.

"Okay," Kazuya said, and Eijun could feel the movement of his lips. The ghosting heat of his breath. He was warmer where they touched now, and the arm around Eijun tightened, holding him close and secure. Not going anywhere. He didn't have to repeat himself to make that one true. Kazuya murmured contentedly into his neck, "Okay. Good."

Morning ripped Kazuya from the peace of oblivion and dumped him in the cruel clutch of consciousness. A great, drumming headache pounded away behind the lids of his eyes, heavy with the weight of fatigue, and the groan that tried to crawl up his throat got stuck in the dry rasp his mouth. He turned his face into the softness of his pillow, seeking some refuge, only to encounter hair tickling his chin and a warm body breathing deep and enviously easy under the tuck of Kazuya's arm.

Logic was slow to assemble so instinct took over instead. A spike of alarm forced Kazuya's eyes open, gut churning around sickness and a wild flare of panic that would have pushed him stumbling out of bed if he'd had the motor control to move.

His vision adjusted to the brightness of the room. Piercingly bright, and Kazuya could have sworn his skull was splitting open from all angles, but he recognized his own room when he saw it. He was in the eastern pavilion, not the western one. Not somewhere else in town. And in that case, not with a client.

Kazuya let out a breath of sharp relief. He welcomed the cut of it as the bile in his stomach receded to a manageable level, making room for reason to seep in and fill the gaps. Who on earth had he dragged to bed with him? And what had he been thinking?

On the other hand, given his battering headache there probably hadn't been much thinking involved. Perhaps habit then. But that begged the question of who was stupid enough to have gone along with him.

As soon as he finished that thought the obvious answer burst into his head, adding to the rest of the clamor. He winced, and in spite of many misgivings Kazuya looked down to confirm the head of messy brown hair under his chin belonged to Sawamura, who was snoring lightly and possibly drooling on Kazuya's shirt.

Of course he would be the one in Kazuya's bed. The one kid who shouldn't be there because… because Rei had warned him, and Chris had warned him, and Kazuya knew perfectly well on his own what kind of environment this was for the young and inexperienced. How carefully the apprentices had to be trained. Just the other day he'd walked in on Sawamura during an indelicate moment, but the look on his face had been so utterly appalled at being seen that the only decent thing to do had been to leave him alone. He wasn't ready yet. Or maybe he just didn't want Kazuya, physical attraction notwithstanding, and wouldn't that be ironic. Either way, Kazuya shouldn't be taking him to bed.

And yet here they were.

He pulled his arm away experimentally, but as a chill crept into the opening he changed his mind and resettled around Sawamura's body heat. The kid was like a furnace. He seemed content enough, what with the snoring and drooling, and it was unlikely anything had actually happened last night considering the state Kazuya must have been in. So there nothing to worry about, he rationalized.

Just what had happened, anyway?

Frowning, Kazuya squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push through his headache to remember. His scheduled client had been... Yamada, not one of Kazuya's regulars, but the outing had been routine enough. Private room at Touka's with a few of Yamada's associates. Champagne, not wine. They'd been celebrating the completion of a project with—

"Oh, damn."

Endou. Endou had been there. Endou who had recognized him immediately, and Kazuya hadn't seen him since, what, that trip to René five or six years ago? Right, it'd been during a holiday break from school, Mei and the rest had returned home to Hanano but in Hanano the child known as Miyuki Kazuya was a scandalous indiscretion not to be discussed, or seen, or heard. He was too useful to be thrown away, but too controversial to make public. On foreign soil, though, he was just another precocious rich kid with too much time on his hands and no real authority to rein him in. So whenever school let out Kazuya had liked to travel up and down the entire continent, or overseas if he could find a way. One of the nice things about being under the Inashiro umbrella was that there was never any shortage of contacts to take advantage of, and Endou had put him up for a week in Gallia's capital. The museums and art galleries had been nice, but the theaters were always Kazuya's favorite.

Endou had remembered that. They'd talked about it over drinks. A lot of drinks. A lot of skirting around a name that couldn't be spoken aloud, but it hung in the air above Kazuya like a Gallian guillotine. He'd been eleven or twelve back in René and born into a very powerful family, illegitimate or no. Now he was seventeen, a courtesan, and had nothing to do with the Miyuki name anymore. Not officially, but he couldn't erase the past after all. A piece of paper might say otherwise, but Kazuya was still that invisible son, and he was still very good at playing the role. Not causing the family any trouble. Doing as was requested of him.

Without warning the acid in Kazuya's stomach rebelled again. He rolled over and gagged, insides heaving with a tortured attempt to purge, but there was nothing to show for the effort. His mouth tasted like a cocktail of consequences, sour from being drowned in champagne and ashy after drying up in smoke, none of it enough to mask the rawness of his throat and the bitterness of swallowing his pride.

Head spinning, Kazuya collapsed at the edge of the futon and shivered. He shouldn't be surprised. He'd spent the last two years avoiding faces from his past for this exact reason. Because of the messy complications that could surface if he was recognized.

But this was nothing he couldn't handle. He could adapt. If that meant changing his own rules, he'd do it. He'd smile and be agreeable. He'd play the role expected of him. Next time he'd make sure not to get so abominably drunk, of all the stupid things. He wouldn't feel half so terrible now if not for that. And really, he was much better at his job when he was fully functioning. So, next time. Next time he'd find a way to fix this. Whatever it took.

Kazuya didn't realize how cold he was until warmth crept up against his back, Sawamura making his presence known. Maybe he was just drawn to a source of heat. Kazuya thought of moths and flame. Pulling away would be easy. Or sending Sawamura away with a few choice words, sharpened on the edges of a humorless smile—yes, that would be a simple matter and good for the kid in the long run. He was better off risking a singe from someone else.

Before Kazuya could implement his plan of attack Sawamura headed him off with, "You okay?"

And just like that, Kazuya was disarmed. That damn sincerity coming out at the worst of moments, and Sawamura didn't even have the decency to sound awkward about it. No judging, no digging. Just a sleepy mumble of concern—and shit, that was cute. Shit. How unfair. If he'd been loud and obnoxious like usual Kazuya could have kicked him out without a second thought.

Why hadn't he kicked him out last night? Or at the very least let him leave. Kazuya remembered in bits and pieces: returning to Seidou and coming across Sawamura in the hall, reaching for him, breathing in his nice, clean scent. Laughing for one reason or another. Sawamura protesting, complaining, hauling him around, all simple and familiar and somehow soothing. Sawamura sitting by his bed, put out over something Kazuya had done or said. Sawamura in bed with him, warm and just… warm. He said he'd stay. And here he was.

Kazuya rubbed a hand over his face, sighing deep. "I feel like shit," he said because it was perfectly true. His voice scraped up his already abused throat and his stomach did another queasy roll. He found himself wishing to throw everything up and be done with it, get the sickness out of his system. Then it would almost be like nothing had happened.

If only.

"I'll bet," Sawamura said, sounding more awake now with an I-told-you-so lurking behind his words. That was less cute. It even stung a little, not that Sawamura had any idea what he was talking about, and the less said of it the better.

Kazuya turned over and the startled flare of wide brown eyes put the beginning of a smirk on his face. He pushed a little further, he always did, and snuck a hand past the curve of Sawamura's waist, around to the small of his back, and watched as color bloomed and brightened on Sawamura's cheeks with each climb of Kazuya's fingers up along his spine. "And you," he said, casually stroking the valley between a pair of tense shoulder blades, "what are you doing here?"

"Huh? You mean you don't—" Sawamura's brows came down in a swift, sudden scowl, flushed embarrassment taking on a new form as he latched onto whatever he found in the twists and turns of his mind. "Of course you wouldn't remember how much of a pain you were last night, you stupid drunkard!"

He remembered enough, but Kazuya had never found the act of admitting to be much fun. "Oh? Then sorry to trouble you." His hand spread over Sawamura's lean back to take in as much warmth as he could before the kid left his side in a flurry of anger. "That still doesn't explain why you're here, though."

"That! That's because it was late and cold and you—you asked!"

Kazuya paused. He didn't remember that part but upon reflection he supposed it had to be true. Certainly it wouldn't have been Sawamura's idea. "And you stayed, hmm?"

"Well… well, yeah. Obviously. Are you still drunk? Don't get sick on me, I'll hit you."

A snicker tickled up Kazuya's throat. "What terrible bedside manner. I sure hope you never say that to a client."

"Of course not!"

"Ah, but this is the same guy who once punched a customer on his first day of work…"

"Why are you bringing that up? That's in the past! Are you trying to sabotage my future career?!"

Kazuya laughed outright, starting as a short, staccato burst, and then for no good reason (it wasn't that funny) more kept on tumbling out. There was no stopping it. The noise and force of it hurt all over, from the ringing in his head down to the twisting in his gut, but the way the feeling reached deep inside him wasn't entirely bad. It opened him up. Made some room to move. He brought his hand up and buried his fingers in Sawamura's hair, pulling him close as the laughter shook through Kazuya's aching body.

Sawamura's nose was cold as it came in contact with his skin, but everywhere else he was warm and wriggling. His discontent, half-muffled swears were absorbed into Kazuya's shirt, passing heat through by the mouthful. A curled up fist thumped once against Kazuya's ribs, and then stilled along with the rest of him.

"Are you done yet?" Sawamura asked once the laughter began to subside, petulant with his face pressed to Kazuya's chest.

"Hah…" Kazuya breathed like he was coming down from a workout or an orgasm or both, loose and giddy with release. "I believe I am."

"Asshole."

Kazuya bumped his chin against the top of Sawamura's head. "Brat."

Sawamura grumbled, but he didn't move away or even squirm in place. His hand stayed balled up and rested on Kazuya's side, not quite holding, and not pushing or protesting either. Just neutral. Allowing. Didn't seem like he was about to bolt anytime soon, but doing so would probably amount to losing in his mind.

Idiot, Kazuya thought, and took the initiative to extract himself before he got any more comfortable. He lifted his arm away and with grueling effort made himself sit up, shivering with the sudden absence of warmth. You didn't have to stay. Though Kazuya was the one who had asked in the first place so it was his own fault. He should have known better.

"Come on," he said, partly to himself and partly to Sawamura. "Let's get up."

It was probably still early. Now that Kazuya listened, he didn't hear much movement in the hall or surrounding rooms. He couldn't just stay in bed with Sawamura though. He could ask Sawamura to leave, but… well, no matter. Kazuya needed to take a piss anyway, and wash his face, and rinse his mouth out once or twice or twenty times. He got to his feet, stretched, and after a second of fumbling started to undo the buttons of his shirt one-handed while the other slid open the closet door to find something more comfortable to change into.

"A hot bath sounds really good," he sighed. "What do you think—"

He turned and met Sawamura's wide, blinking eyes. Eyes that went dark as a blush began to glow on his face. "You, uh…" Sawamura's throat moved when he swallowed. "You… can go ahead and do that. I mean, yeah, you really should 'cause you're kinda gross right now. No offense."

Kazuya didn't doubt it if he looked half as bad as he felt. But apparently, despite the hangover and the morning breath and the general mess of his appearance, he still turned Sawamura on. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward. "Oh, really?"

Sawamura pulled back as far as he could without actually taking a step. Again with the refusal to lose. "Yes, really! Go wash already!"

"Fine, fine." Still too soon to do anything. Kazuya finished shucking off his shirt, and when he cast a glance behind him Sawamura was very studiously not looking in his direction.

Definitely still too soon. He'd have to get used to it sooner or later, though, so maybe it was about time to start working on advancing to the next level. Sawamura was curious at least, if not certain yet, and his learning curve so far was marked by sudden leaps with just the right trigger.

All right, Kazuya decided. Let's see what it takes to make the next step.

Winter at Seidou meant close quarters. It meant the staff and lower ranked courtesans got extra friendly with their roommates while the elites with their singles either stole the heaters from the western pavilion or splurged and bought their own. It meant everyone gathering in the communal room and staying there all day long, for days and days at a time, accruing junk and clothes and random personal belongings that got mixed up to the point of never finding their way back to their original owners. This usually went on until the room resembled a nest more than anything a civilized person would live in, and the staff in charge of cleaning threatened to quit en masse.

To Youichi, winter meant sitting around the kotatsu with his legs warm and his hands busy shuffling tiles for a game of mahjong. Opposite of him sat Ryousuke's little brother, taking Ryousuke's place after watching everyone play for a while. Kominato listened intently to the rules as Youichi reviewed them, and Ryousuke himself sat back to observe. Since he wasn't playing Youichi didn't hesitate to put his quick, clever fingers to work. He kept it simple, nothing too fancy when Kanemaru in the east seat had a watchful eye. Nakata on Youichi's other side was less of a worry. Ryousuke noticed every little trick—of course he did—but said nothing about them. He was that kind of guy.

"Pon," Youichi called, claiming Kanemaru's discard to make three of a kind and set it aside, face up. He had two other hidden triplets in his hand, a pair of green dragons, and a pair of six circles. One more matching dragon or circle tile for a win. He'd lose some points for opening his hand and couldn't declare riichi because of it, but he was close enough to victory that it didn't matter.

Only, once it was Kominato's turn he slanted a look at his brother for confirmation and then announced, "Riichi." His hand was still closed, and one tile away from winning with a draw or a someone else's discard.

"Oh?" Youichi grinned as Kominato's 1,000 point deposit went into the center of the table. "Not bad, little brother."

"It's probably beginner's luck," Kominato said with a demure smile, cheeks pink, and their color deepened when Ryousuke's hand settled on the back of his neck in place of praise.

The round continued, and on Youichi's next turn he discarded a character tile he couldn't use. As soon as he did so, Kominato called, "Ron."

Over Kominato's shoulder Ryousuke's mouth pulled wider in a smirk.

Youichi's jaw dropped. "What, seriously?"

Kominato revealed his tiles. "One-shot, two sets of identical sequences… I believe that's right?"

He had a five-six-seven bamboo sequence, twice, and a one-two-three character sequence, twice, with a pair of west tiles to complete the hand.

Youichi could only stare and whistle while Ryousuke said, "That's right. Good job, Haruichi."

"Very nice," Youichi admitted, paying out the points for the win off his discard. Ah, well. Next game he'd get them back.

Ryousuke added, "You should get a penalty for cheating."

"Ryou-san!"

"It was very subtle cheating, I almost didn't notice when you swapped in the previous round." Kominato spoke with an earnest gloss, the kind of polished, keen tone that reminded Youichi whose bloodline the boy shared. A peculiar sort of evil must run in the family.

"You two are too much," Youichi said, but he'd been caught fair and square so he divvied out the extra points to the others. You win some, you lose some (and sometimes you lose a lot).

"Or maybe you're losing your touch," Ryousuke needled. As if he wasn't the main reason Youichi didn't cheat as much as he used to back when gambling had been less of a hobby and more of a livelihood. He couldn't say he hated the way things were now, though. Far from it.

"Maybe I am," he said, conceding the point with an indifferent shrug as he pushed his tiles to the center of the table for shuffling. Kominato stayed in for another game, and so did Kanemaru and Nakata. Youichi grinned slyly at Ryousuke. "You wanna switch back in? Bit of rivalry between brothers?"

Kominato's hands faltered over the tiles. "Aniki?"

"Hmm." Ryousuke's head tilted, gaze cast downward as if he was contemplating the pile on the table, but it was the touch of his hand on Kominato's nape where his thoughts seemed to collect. Intent gathered in his fingertips, squeezing and releasing once before he said, "Why not? Haruichi seems to have gotten the hang of the rules already, so it should be fun."

Leaving the warmth of the kotatsu was a pity but there was no helping it; Youichi scooted away so Ryousuke could take his seat. He didn't move far, taking up a spot to watch the game and get a look around the rest of the room while he stretched out his idle limbs.

The noise of clacking tiles filled their corner, but not too far away Nori and Kenjirou had set up a phonograph that was playing a record from their abundant collection. A familiar folk tune spilled out, and more than one head in the room nodded along to it.

Snores accompanied the music from where Masuko was lying on his back, understandably dead to the world when he had the late guard shift all week. Youichi's turn was the week after. Boring work for the most part, but necessary.

Jun was sprawled out on his stomach being pampered with a massage from Furuya, scruffy chin propped in one hand while the other turned the pages of a literary magazine, enthralled with whatever story was unfolding within. A whole stack of issues sat nearby, the favorites dog-eared and creased. Some of them looked to be from other people's stashes. Jun preferred light reading, romances and comedies and popular works, while Ryousuke's tastes ran more towards gothic and pulp fiction with an appreciation for the occasional biting satire. The owner of the erotica was anyone's guess, but the hoity-toity foreign publications had to be Kazuya's.

There were scattered books, too. Historical novels, poetry, and an encyclopedia for some reason which Youichi was certain he'd originally seen in Rei's office. More miscellanies included loose sheets of paper, brushes, and a ruined ink stone with the ink dried up and hardened in the well that someone was going to catch hell for later. Plates dusted with flour and crumbs were accumulating in little piles with long-empty cups stacked on top. A set of dice and a deck of hanafuda were waiting to be picked up again.

Tetsu sat at the shogi table with Sawamura as his opponent, the former stern and the latter loud—but this time the noise was warranted, because Kazuya was arranged over him like Sawamura was there to be leaned on.

"Hmm, Tetsu-san made an interesting move. What will you do now, Sawamura?"

"Shut up! You're distracting me!" Sawamura bucked his shoulders, but instead of being shaken off Kazuya only slid down with his arms wrapping around Sawamura's middle.

"Okay, okay. I'll behave."

"That's not behaving!"

Winter tended to make everyone a little stir-crazy after being stuck with each other in close quarters for days and weeks at a time. Jun snapped even more than usual, Ryousuke's barbs got downright venomous, and Kazuya took his knack for irritating others to a whole new level. He was always up to something. Youichi alternated between wanting to punch him in the nose and wanting to tie a warning bell around his neck, but then he had to deal with the mental images—Kazuya bloodied and smirking, or Kazuya collared and smirking—and Youichi didn't think he or anyone else could handle one of those becoming a reality.

Least of all Sawamura, who had turned so red he might as well have been steaming. If Youichi had to guess he'd say it was two parts anger, one part embarrassment, and one part pitifully turned on. Kazuya was behaving himself by his standards—fingers interlocked over Sawamura's stomach instead of straying, comfortable rather than suggestive in the way he pressed his front to Sawamura's back—but the kid was young and new. It didn't take much with those factors at play.

Youichi had a hunch that Kazuya was being purposeful, easing Sawamura into the more intimate side of courtesan work by getting him used to this first: the closeness of another person, frequent touching, and loosening one's grip on self-consciousness. He was still being a great bother about it of course, but one way or another he fulfilled his duty to teach the apprentices. When all was said and done he was the responsible sort—where other people were concerned at least (with himself was a totally different matter, and one that gave Youichi no end of grief since he had his own duty as one of Seidou's guards).

That was what Kazuya would claim if confronted about it, Youichi was sure, and he was equally sure that Kazuya was at least 50 percent full of shit at any given time. He might evade at first with all the flippancy and talent for distraction at his disposal, but once cornered he'd shrug and say he was just being a good senpai, his words carefully plain, throwing up a dead-end wall that couldn't be scaled no matter what.

It had been about a week since Kazuya started… whatever this was, this thing he was doing with Sawamura. If Kazuya was anyone else Youichi would call it clinging—but that was so unlike Kazuya the very thought creeped Youichi out. And it made him pay attention.

The touching and cuddling wasn't constant. Most of the time Kazuya was his typical self—engaging when it suited him, but aloof more often than people realized. He had a cat's finicky nature, affectionate only when he wanted and untouchable if he chose. He pulled people to him as a matter of course, but once in a while, lately, he'd reach for Sawamura. He'd throw an arm around Sawamura's shoulders and lean into his space, and Kazuya would be content to stay there, sometimes teasing and sometimes not, making himself at home as natural as anything. The odd part was how mundane the whole thing was. He wasn't flirting with intent—and everyone in the household knew what that was like, either from experience or observance. From what Youichi could see, Kazuya was playing at something else. What that something was, though, that was the real question.

"Are you sure you wanna make that move? Really sure?" Kazuya grinned wide over Sawamura's shoulder, but he wasn't looking at the shogi board. The tilt of his head and the downward angle of his gaze were aimed only at Sawamura's face.

"Quiet, you! You're not the one playing!"

Sawamura didn't seem to notice anything strange, but Sawamura broadcasted to anyone and everyone how he thought Kazuya's life goal was to mess with him. He probably wasn't wrong, but…

"Hurry up and decide, you're making Tetsu-san wait." Kazuya shifted in place, and it was difficult to tell when the light glinted off his glasses just so but Youichi had the unpleasant feeling that there'd been a glance in his direction. The bad feeling turned outright sour when the next thing Kazuya did was blow into Sawamura's ear and the kid's wild flailing upset the table, shogi pieces sent flying.

That sly bastard. Youichi glared but Kazuya didn't look his way again, too busy trying to extricate himself from the zone of Sawamura's flustered destruction and snickering all the while. He made an excuse and then made his escape, more of a rotten scoundrel than usual, and Youichi couldn't let that go. He got up and followed.

Chasing Kazuya down was never an issue. He didn't seem to care about getting caught. Holding onto him was the tricky part, and getting him to admit anything was wishful thinking, but he was at least going to listen to what Youichi had to say.

"Oi, wait up, you tanuki asshole."

Kazuya paused in the corridor, shoulders slumping and face turned up towards the ceiling in theatric resignation. "That nickname is really catching on, isn't it?"

"If it walks, talks, and acts like an asshole…"

"Now that's just crude."

There were a lot of reasons Youichi had declined the offer to join the courtesan ranks, and among those was the truth that he just wasn't cut out for pleasantries. "Look," he said, glaring holes into Kazuya's back, "I'm not gonna try and drag anything out of you, but whatever you're doing, leave innocent bystanders out of it."

Kazuya turned, but only by a few degrees. Enough to show the somber flatness of his mouth. "'Innocent bystander'…" A smile twitched in and out of existence. "Indeed. You're right about that."

"If you know, then stop using him! Oh, do not give me that look." Youichi grimaced as Kazuya turned to fully face him with utter astonishment written all over his features. "Don't even. You practically threw him at Chris-san before."

"I thought that worked out rather well, though."

"That's not the point!"

Kazuya flapped a hand. "Fine, fine. Point taken. I'll refrain from doing anything that gets your protective instinct up in arms."

"That's a lost cause when it comes to you." Kazuya cracked a sheepish smile at that, and Youichi had to sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair. "How bad?"

"Pardon?"

"Whatever it is you're hiding. How bad is it?"

The surprise on Kazuya's face was genuine this time, and it only showed in the small wrinkle of his brow while his lips pulled in a smile. "I have a lot of secrets, you'll have to be more specific."

"Ugh. You…"

"Not to mention the house rule about privacy."

There it was: the urge to plant his fist in Kazuya's handsome face. Having to pay an outrageous compensation fee for the damages would be worth it, but Youichi rallied and held his temper in check. He gritted out, "That rule wasn't invented for you to abuse all the time."

"No," Kazuya agreed, cheerful and shameless, "but it does come in handy."

Youichi reconsidered the pros vs. cons of violence.

"And anyway, I can handle myself." The frivolity dimmed to a more bearable level, and so did the red staining Youichi's vision. Kazuya put on an open, frank expression that was meant to disarm. "I appreciate the concern, but you're worrying too much. I'll take care of my own business, and if I ever get in over my head…" He shrugged. "You'll be sure to find out."

The door slamming on the conversation was almost audible in Youichi's mind. His hands curled into fists, but no matter how much he strained that door wasn't going to open again. "Talk is cheap," he said instead, spitting the words. "Especially from you."

Kazuya shrugged again. "Guess it can't be helped."

Youichi didn't take a swing, but he did shove as he walked by. A useless gesture overall. Kazuya took the push without resistance, which was its own kind of infuriating, and the worst type of fight in Youichi's experience was the type where he didn't have anything to fight against except his own frustration and powerlessness.

Half a year at Seidou and Eijun hadn't changed much. Wakana had wondered, on occasion, whether courtesan training would turn him into someone else. Whether that was even possible. She'd thought it unlikely, but she was no expert. She only knew that the courtesans who came to the restaurant as guests were poised and refined and sharp-eyed in ways that Eijun was not. But there must have been more to it than that or else Kazuya wouldn't have offered him a place in Yugao, and Seidou with its famed reputation certainly wouldn't have accepted him.

He told her he'd been learning how to dance. Not like the festival dances everyone knew back home, but grand, elegant dances meant for marble floors or spotlighted stages.

"Can you believe it?" he said with a grin dangling on his face, like he almost couldn't believe it himself. Like she was supposed to be astonished.

Wakana cradled her tea, savoring the warmth cupped between her hands. The cold days kept marching on towards the end of the year. "Do you remember," she said after taking a sip and breathing in the jasmine scent, "that traveling circus we saw when we were children?"

It must have been several years ago now. Their tiny village was too small to attract such entertainment, but everyone had heard about the troupe performing in one of the bigger towns nearby. Not near enough to be convenient to see during harvest season, but Eijun's excitement had stirred everyone up and in the end all their friends had followed him to one of the shows. They didn't return until nightfall, and none of them had slept afterward thanks to the switchings that striped their backsides, but they hadn't regretted it either. A circus was a rare sight back home.

"Oh, yeah!" Eijun's eyes lit up with the memory, and reflected there she could see the dazzle and glitter from the show: fire being juggled, swords being swallowed, and costumed people flying through the air. "That was amazing! Maybe we'll get to see another one when the weather gets warm!" Half a year living in Asagao—where there were strange sights aplenty—and the magic of the circus still hadn't worn off on him.

Wakana set her tea aside to fold her arms on the table. "You went on for days and days afterward about leaving home to join the circus."

"I did, didn't I? Wonder where I'd be now if I'd gone. Kinda weird to think about." He spared a second to two trying to imagine it, and not successfully judging by the knit of his brow, before tossing the whole matter aside and digging back into his bowl of udon.

Wakana could imagine it; she'd imagined it back then, and too easily, and so she hadn't said anything. No one had said anything. They'd treated it as a joke, and Eijun had laughed loudest about it, and he'd stayed with them in their tiny little village, growing up bright and happy and content. Then Wakana had come to Asagao, and she realized what it meant to be a frog in a well.

"I think you would have been good at it," she said, years and years late.

"Mmph?" Eijun glanced up at her, hunched over his bowl with fat noodles dripping broth from his mouth.

"The circus could have been a good place for you. You could have been an acrobat, traveling all across the country—or even overseas." He had the ability and the fearlessness. The drive and determination. Eijun had that… pull that drew attention to him. For good and for bad sometimes, but everyone back home had gathered around him without question. It had been natural to want to hold onto their center, thinking only of themselves, and Wakana smiled ruefully at the child she'd been. "Everyone thought so. You could have gone and done it."

Eijun finished slurping his noodles, flicking broth from the ends. "I guess," he said, setting his chopsticks down. "But I would have had to leave you guys behind, and I didn't want to do that no matter what."

Wakana turned her face away, tucking her cheek into a hand and feeling warmth under her palm. "You idiot," she huffed, and shoved a napkin at him without looking. "You made a mess."

"Sorry," he laughed. "Chris-sensei said he'd teach me all the fancy etiquette stuff later."

"Probably because he knows a hopeless case when he sees one." She gazed across the dining area of the restaurant, crammed full of people getting in out of the cold for lunch. It was smaller and cheaper than Suzuki's where Wakana worked, but the food here was good, and one of the waitresses was a classmate. It was rather far from Yugao, though Eijun said he didn't mind making the trip. "Anyway," she said once the heat had faded from her face. "Table manners aside, I don't think it's strange that you're doing well. You've always been good at… physical things."

"Eh? Manual labor isn't really the same, though."

"I mean your body…" The blush came rushing back before she could stop herself. Damnit. "I'm saying that dancing—it suits you. In general. It's weird to think of you attending a party at someone's mansion, or up on stage at the Kokaku, but it's not like you don't have talent. That's all." She steadfastly refused to meet Eijun's eyes. Instead Wakana bent all of her focus on trying to forget about those last few months before she'd left home, when she couldn't help but notice things like how tall Eijun was getting, how his exaggerated, animated movements never overbalanced him and he was even graceful in a certain way, and how he looked with his face red and grinning upside-down from the branches of a tree, swinging down as effortlessly as he'd climbed up. She took all of those memories and packed them away where they couldn't cause her any trouble.

"Really?" Both of Eijun's elbows were on the table, and he leaned his weight on his crossed arms. He was grinning, and he was the same boy she grew up with, the same stubborn idiot who didn't think things through and got carried away with his emotions all the time. Even if he was learning dances fit for palaces, and even if he might one day be someplace else out of reach, that wasn't going to change. That look on his face would never change. Eijun was someone who could find happiness wherever he went, and that was all that mattered in the end.

"Yes," Wakana said, drawing her tea close again. The cup was a little less warm now; she'd better enjoy it while she could. "Seidou did take you in after all. You should learn well and live up to everyone's expectations."

"Of course!" Eijun's back straightened, snapping at once into a mold of flawless posture. "I will do so without fail!"

I don't doubt it, Wakana thought, smiling into her tea.

The sky was gray overhead when they stepped out of the restaurant, and nearby someone commented that there would be snow later. Eijun and Wakana shared a look, equally dubious.

"Feels like rain to me," Eijun said after taking a good, deep inhale of air that was heavy with moisture. He wrinkled his nose. "It's been cold and wet all season! Is it always like this here?"

"It's my first winter in Asagao, too," Wakana reminded him. She tugged the collar of her coat higher around her neck and studied the clouds that blanketed the sky as far as the eye could see. "Looks like it'll last for a while when it starts. Will you be all right getting back?"

"Of course! It's not like I'll get lost…" Eijun had a very good sense of direction, in fact, regardless of whether he was navigating rugged terrain or city streets.

"All right. You can send a message next time you're free—don't just show up suddenly! The landlady still hasn't forgiven you about the rent you never paid. The sooner you start earning money…" She trailed off and followed the line of Eijun's gaze across the street. It was still the middle of the day so there were plenty of people out: errand runners hurrying to and fro, a pair of police officers on patrol, an umbrella seller setting up his wares and pointing at the sky. The occasional rickshaw clattered past. Wakana glanced back and forth between the crowd and Eijun, who was frowning. "Eijun?"

"What the heck is he doing?"

"Who—" Wakana looked again, and this time she saw him, but only because he turned partway to say something to his companion before they disappeared into a building a little ways up the street. His silhouette from behind could have been anyone, but there was no mistaking Kazuya's profile. Not with a face like that. "Oh. Out for lunch I suppose. Is something about that weird?"

She wasn't sure what she expected. Some ridiculous reason, probably, like all the other nonsensical things that could fall out of Eijun's mouth. Whenever he talked about Kazuya it was usually with inflated complaint, tanuki this and tanuki that. If Eijun's words were to be taken at face value there was a whole conspiracy at play.

But instead of launching into an incensed rant Eijun quickly glanced away. "Uh, I dunno. Maybe?" He scratched at his head, eyes flicking again to the place Kazuya had been standing. "…Yeah, I guess, I mean… he was all dressed up."

He'd looked the same as he always did to Wakana, wearing a long winter coat over what had to be another perfectly fitted suit underneath. She only ever saw him at work, though. When he was also working. "That makes sense," she said. "He's probably different when he's not entertaining."

"That's it!" Eijun grabbed her by the shoulders and Wakana's eyes flew wide to match his. "That's exactly it!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

Eijun leaned forward until his breath misted against her face in warm puffs, speaking in a hush. "He's in work mode. In the middle of the day."

Wakana's foot shifted to retreat a step, but she was arrested by the seriousness of Eijun's expression. She whispered back, "Is that so bad?"

"Seeing clients without the house knowing is against the rules."

"He might have permission."

"He never works during the day. He hates being asked out, he'd never do it more than he has to."

Wakana opened her mouth, then closed it. She'd never noticed an attitude like that whenever Kazuya showed up at Suzuki's. Of course he wouldn't let it show. I don't let it show either when I'm tired and stressed but still have to smile for the customers. And Kazuya was always smiling when she saw him; secretive, like he was amused by some private joke. He'd tell you a lot of things and you'd know he was still holding something back. It was just the way he was. The complete opposite of Eijun, who was an open book, every emotion on display.

Right now Eijun was craning his head around to look across the street again, face lined with… confusion, mostly. Maybe some anger, too, but that was his usual state where Kazuya was concerned.

When Wakana had asked him to look after Eijun, she didn't mean for him to interpret that as "rile him up at every opportunity." Not that riling Eijun up was hard; he got excited all on his own countless times. So often and so easily she'd have thought Kazuya would be tired of it by now, but judging by the stream of Eijun's complaints there was always something new Kazuya had done or said to set him off. It was hard to tell whether they got along in a strange way or not at all. There was no one like Kazuya back home, so it was no wonder Eijun didn't know how to deal with him. But in spite of Eijun's rampant complaints—or maybe because of them—he did appear to pay special attention to Kazuya, to be able to pick him out in a crowd and notice something was wrong.

Eijun wasn't stupid, not really, but he was prone to tunnel vision. Sometimes he focused a little too well. And that meant he wasn't going to let this go.

Wakana hugged her coat tighter around herself. "Are you certain he wasn't just with a friend?" Eijun looked at her again as if she'd said something completely bizarre and Wakana wondered if this was how Alice felt at the bottom of the rabbit hole where nothing made sense. She questioned, exasperated, "Then what do you plan to do? Tell the head of the household? Confront him about it—wait, Eijun, don't just barge in there!" She grabbed him by the arm, yanking to keep him by her side. "You idiot, that's the Soyokaze! You can't cause a scene in there!"

"Fine!" His voice rose in volume. Others were glancing their way. "I'll wait until he comes out then!"

"I think you should calm down. You don't know anything for sure, and yelling about it on the street isn't going to help."

Eijun nodded in understanding and took deep breaths. Wakana almost relaxed, thinking like a fool that they were on the same page, up until Eijun declared, "Right. I'll sneak in and find out what's going on first."

I can't believe I'm doing this.

Wakana slipped around to the back of the restaurant where the kitchen entrance would be. She walked like she knew what she was doing, as if she was merely going in to work at Suzuki's. Except Suzuki's was a hole in the wall compared to the Soyokaze, the highest-rated restaurant in the city. It wasn't open for lunch, normally, which Wakana had to admit made the whole mystery with Kazuya that much more suspicious.

It had taken a lot of convincing—and a threat to tattle to Eijun's grandpa—to get Eijun to back down on his grand idea to play spy. That could have only ended in disaster. It might still end in disaster, but for Wakana instead of Eijun, because he was too stubborn to leave the matter alone and the moment he got caught in a mess like this would be the end of his training at Seidou.

Wakana at least had a tiny sliver of a chance to make a passable excuse if she was caught. Maybe.

Her nerves were buzzing. She clapped her hands together quietly, eyes squeezed shut, and prayed for success like she was standing in front of the local shrine back home, to whichever of the gods might be listening. Then she took a breath, and ducked inside.

The interior was cooler than she expected, the kitchen offering little heat. Well, they're supposed to be closed after all. No wait staff in sight. The lights were on, though, and she could hear voices. Feminine chatter coming from the main dining area. Wakana couldn't go near there; she'd be seen for sure. Hoping that Kazuya and the other man were in a private room, she tiptoed down the hallway.

She didn't get far before footsteps approached from behind. Hands clutched over her heart as if they could help stifle its noise, she hid in one of the empty rooms and waited. The sound of slippered feet made a soft tread over the wooden floorboards, slowing right outside the door, and for a panicked moment Wakana looked down to examine the soles of her shoes. They were dusty from the road.

Why didn't I take them off?!

Whoever stood outside clicked their tongue, but made no move to open the door. The footsteps continued on, stopping again one or two rooms down, and a woman's low voice spoke: "Is there anything else I may do for you? …Very well. Please enjoy."

Wakana tensed when the woman came back her way, but the room she was hiding in was once again left alone. She let out a shaky breath and removed her shoes in silence, keeping them tucked in the crook of her arm as she eased the door open and peered out. No sign of anyone.

Her socked feet padded down the hall until she heard voices. This was it. Keeping her back to the wall next to the door, Wakana listened in.

This had better be worth it.

"Things are still rough in Kiers, or so I hear," said Kazuya through the screen of the door. He sounded normal. Cheerful. His usual façade, then. Wakana had nothing to compare it to. Maybe Eijun would have noticed anything strange, but he wouldn't have been able to keep quiet about it.

"How could they not be? The civil war only just ended. The capital's a mess, that's for sure."

"So… not an ideal time to go sightseeing."

"I would think not."

"Pity, I've always wanted to see the cathedrals in Malinov. Not at this time of year, though. Far too cold. How's business over there? Not too dangerous, I hope."

"The same as ever according to Carlos. The country's economy remains dependant on their mineral exports, and suppliers remain plentiful. There's some talk of partnerships if the political climate stabilizes."

"Oh, really?" Kazuya's tone swerved upward. "That sounds like quite a project."

"Certainly, it's a large undertaking. The risk assessment…"

Footsteps approached again, and Wakana took cover in the adjacent room. She pressed herself against the connecting wall but the voices through it were muffled and more difficult to make out. Mystery man said something about factory management. Kazuya seemed encouraging. It was all nothing but business talk.

Somehow I expected an off-the-books meeting to be more… risqué. Wakana felt her face warm. She should be thankful the conversation was so mundane; she didn't know how she'd look Kazuya in the eye again otherwise.

Outside in the hallway someone was wiping the floor, and Wakana grimaced again at her dirty shoes. Then a door slid open—not her current hiding place, but the first room she'd entered. The woman cleaning clicked her tongue again, muttering, "I'll need to have a word with the staff. If the rest of the rooms are in this condition…"

Wakana shrunk against the wall but there was no place in the room to hide as the woman came nearer. Her shadow stopped before the screen of the door. The panel cracked open, letting a narrow strip of light appear, which widened by inches.

Then it halted as there was shuffling next-door, and more footsteps entered the hall.

"Thanks again for agreeing to meet," Kazuya said, suddenly too clear and close for comfort.

"I wouldn't have expected you of all people to call me out. I admit I was curious."

"I hope it's no trouble."

"It's fine. Until next time then."

The woman standing in front of the door bowed. "Gentlemen, thank you for your patronage. I'll see you out."

With that, the door to Wakana's room snapped shut, leaving her safely in the dark and undiscovered. Her legs wobbled and she slid partway down the wall. She might have slumped entirely to the floor, but her limbs locked up on their own with the reminder that she had to get out of here before the woman came back to finish checking the rooms.

She made herself wait for the hallway to clear, and then started worrying that she was waiting too long. Peeking out, she saw no one, and hurried to make her escape.

The exit was in sight and she was reaching for the door when a voice called out, sharp, "Who's there?"

For a single, spiking instant Wakana considered fleeing. The door was right there. Her fingers twitched for it, and then she remembered she was still holding her shoes.

Heart fluttering wild inside her chest, she made a slow turn. Somehow she put a smile on her face. But one look at the stormy expression waiting for her and she dropped into a deep bow. "I'm very sorry! I—I came in to… inquire about a job! Please forgive my rudeness. Would you happen to have any openings?"

"A job?" the woman repeated with a sniff. "You misunderstand what kind of place this is. We don't hire any rude girl off the street. You've no recommendations, I suppose? Experience of any sort?"

"Ah… no, I'm afraid not."

That tongue click again. "Then we've no openings for you. Now shoo, I'm quite busy."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm terribly sorry. Have a good day." Wakana backed away, still bent at the waist, and had one hand on the door before she remembered her shoes again and fumbled to put them back on. Finally, she could leave.

That could have gone worse, she consoled herself, before stepping outside into a cold, wet drizzle.

Both of Eijun's hands clapped down over Furuya's shoulders, squeezing the muscle there and finding him tense under the fitted lines of his suit jacket. His face gave away nothing as usual, and went even blanker as Eijun smiled wide.

"Don't worry, since it's your first time people will be understanding even if you mess up! Just remember to watch what you say, don't overdo it—oh, and try to stay calm!"

"Er, Eijun-kun…" Haruichi came out from behind the screen carrying an armful of colorful silk kimono—rejects, apparently. "It sounds like you're repeating what someone else told you."

"Of course! Chris-sensei gives the best advice."

"It's very sound advice," Haruichi agreed. He began to fold the clothes, careful and precise, to be put away in their storage boxes. Rows and rows of storage boxes. Ryousuke's room was a treasury of kimono. "But it was advice for you, so…"

Haruichi was doing that thing again, a sneaky trick he'd picked up from the senpai, speaking in half-sentences and waiting for Eijun to complete them. It never failed to make Eijun squirm as he tried to come up with the right answer. He was starting to think there was never a right answer. His only consolation was that Furuya was equally bad at this kind of conversational game.

("It's hopeless," Kazuya had once said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I thought maybe two negatives would make a positive but they're both idiots after all.")

Eijun shook his head until Kazuya's mocking tone was buried under a jumble of other thoughts. He was burying a lot of Kazuya-related secrets lately. "Ah," he said, snatching up the first answer that fell in reach. "Harucchi is right! I'm just a novice, it's very presumptuous of me to be spreading Chris-sensei's wisdom as I am now."

"That's… well, I guess it's not wrong, but I think you're still missing the point."

"How much longer do you intend to stand there?" Furuya muttered.

"Don't be like that," Eijun chided, sweeping his hands from Furuya's shoulders down his arms, checking that everything was in order. The charcoal pinstriped fabric fell in smooth lines with a half inch of white shirtsleeve showing at the wrists, and aquamarines set in silver glittered on his cuffs. Another jeweled stud put a pretty bit of sparkle on his earlobe. His tie was snugly knotted at the base of his neck, tucked under his waistcoat, and a matching blue square was folded in his pocket. As far as appearances went there was nothing to differentiate him from their senpai. He looked like a courtesan already.

Furuya's debut was approaching. The precise date hadn't been picked yet, but it would be before the end of winter in one or two months' time. Between now and then he'd shadow the senpai while they entertained to complete the rest of his training.

"Yosh," Eijun said with a hard swallow that caught thick in his throat. He cleared it away loudly. "Don't fuss with anything or you'll ruin everyone's effort in preparing you for this occasion!"

A rustle of silks announced Ryousuke's appearance from behind the folding screen, accompanied by the cutting edge of his tongue. "Sounds like you're the one fussing." He swept across the floor, long sleeves trailing. While Furuya's aesthetic was completely modern, Ryousuke embodied the opposite. His maroon kimono had a branch of plum blossoms climbing across the front of one arm and the back of the other, stray flowers and single petals caught mid-flutter as they descended down sleeves and body. At the bottom of the kimono were swaths of deep purple, softer lilac, and muted gold fans with winter peonies adding to the pattern. A gold brocade obi tied into a tateya knot at his back, showing a hint of purple obiage underneath, and the tasseled obijime was crimson.

Ryousuke moved with swift purpose despite the encumbrance of his clothes and Eijun got out of the way without being told, letting Ryousuke take his place in front of Furuya to asses him with a cool up and down of his head. The height difference was so extreme it was funny, especially with the way Furuya froze and probably sweated a little under the appraisal, but Eijun had enough self-preservation to not let a grin slip. He was half-certain the reason Ryousuke's eyes were closed all the time was because he could see out the back of his head—like something from those grotesque horror stories he was always reading. Eijun shuddered and shook his head when Haruichi sent him a questioning glance.

"Not bad," Ryousuke finally said after walking a circle around Furuya. "This look suits you. Any reason why you chose this instead of kimono?"

Furuya paused before answering. "…I was given to understand my debut would be in kimono."

"And so?"

Eijun sympathized with the uncertainty that crossed Furuya's face. "I thought it would be better… this time… if I didn't get ahead of myself."

The smile on Ryousuke's lips wasn't comforting, but it wasn't his nastiest either. Relatively speaking, this was almost nice for him. "You're severely underestimating what a new courtesan's debut is like. This is nothing in comparison. But thinking ahead doesn't hurt I suppose, and you look good in both Esteren clothes and traditional kimono, so well done."

"I look good in both, too," Eijun muttered, sympathy evaporating while Furuya stood straighter and practically glowed even though his expression hardly changed.

"You're impatient as always," said an uncomfortably close voice that made a burn race up the back of Eijun's neck. He spun, feet almost tripping over themselves, and there Kazuya lounged in the doorway. Lounged, as if he couldn't be bothered to stand like a normal person, and any second now he might decide to drape himself over Eijun again. Until recently that had been Kazuya's new favorite hobby, a game only he knew the rules of, crowding up against Eijun's back or side without warning to throw an arm around his shoulders, or slink one around his waist, sticking as close as Eijun could bear right up until he thought he'd have to do something. He didn't know what he'd do, never had to decide, because as soon as he reached that point Kazuya would slip away.

It'd been a while since that last happened, though. Eijun only noticed when he found himself anticipating the closeness that never came. Maybe the rules he wasn't privy to had changed. Maybe Kazuya knew that Eijun that knew about… whatever he'd been doing in town. Wakana hadn't heard much. Was it something Eijun should worry over? No, not worry, he wasn't worried, he was just… anyway, it might be none of his business. After everything with Chris, Eijun really shouldn't be getting into other people's business. Once was enough. He still had to face Kazuya for dance lessons, getting him angry would be a bad idea.

Unless there was a good reason to bring the matter up, like if Kazuya really was meeting clients without the house knowing—but Kazuya wouldn't do that. Would he? Eijun didn't presume to know him well and it wasn't as if they were friends, but Kazuya made no secret of his attitude towards the money he made, specifically, how little he cared. He turned down requests worth fortunes without blinking. So it probably wasn't about making extra money. And he didn't have… or according to Wakana at least, it hadn't sounded like he'd been meeting with a lover. Maybe a friend? Except the more Eijun thought about it (and he'd been thinking about it a lot the past few days), aside from the members of the household Kazuya never mentioned any other friends. There were people he knew, but they always sounded like passing acquaintances. He never talked of friends, or family—but that was definitely in the forbidden territory of Not Eijun's Business.

So he hadn't said anything to anyone yet. He also hadn't said anything since Kazuya appeared in the doorway, and now Eijun was receiving a look—maybe a couple looks, he couldn't avert his eyes from Kazuya to see the others.

"You feeling all right, Sawamura? You've been acting strange."

"What? No. Me? I'm fine!" And then he was less fine as Kazuya took a step forward.

He was dressed the way he usually was for work; black suit jacket open over a gray waistcoat with mother of pearl buttons, purple tie and matching pocket square adding color to the monochrome. A small gold pendant dangled from a chain pinned to his lapel. The symbol was a foreign one, a stylized flower that Eijun couldn't remember the name of. He couldn't remember much of anything when Kazuya put a hand to Eijun's forehead and leaned in.

"You don't have a fever, do you?"

His face was too close. Intimately too close. Eijun shut his eyes, but that left him with breathing in Kazuya's scent and he was wearing something with a clove fragrance tonight, the spicy sweetness going straight to Eijun's head where a dizzy wave rocked through him.

"I said I'm fine!" He broke away, heat burning in his cheeks. Burning low in his belly, too. Kazuya was such a bastard sometimes. Eijun didn't know why he worried about him for even a second. "What do you want? Go bother someone else!"

"Aren't you the one bothering others?" He actually sounded annoyed, what the hell, Eijun was the one who deserved to be annoyed in this situation. "I came to see if Furuya was ready. Things are already busy downstairs."

"Good," Ryousuke said. He'd added a white-and-pink peony hair ornament to his ensemble. "Then we'll be fashionably late."

Kazuya stepped to the side and made a sweeping gesture. "After you."

He almost got chopped for his cheekiness, Ryousuke clearly debating it as he walked past, but in the end he didn't do anything except flick his sleeves.

Haruichi called out, "Have a good evening, Aniki," and Ryousuke raised a hand in acknowledgment before turning down the hall.

"You look good," Kazuya said to Furuya, who did that thing again where he wasn't smiling but you could tell he was ecstatic anyway.

"I'm ready," he said, and he did look good, he looked perfect and composed and not at all out of place next to Kazuya. Furuya looked like he belonged in the elegant world downstairs that Eijun had only glimpsed from afar.

Kazuya put a hand on Furuya's back and ushered him out the door. "Let's head to the party then. I'll introduce you to some people, try to remember them, but you won't be expected to interact much on your first night. Just observe and look pretty." He paused, looking over his shoulder. "See you two later. Stay out of trouble, Sawamura!"

"Good riddance!" Eijun yelled after them, trying to ignore the anxious stirring in his gut at the trailing sound of Kazuya's laughter. An annoyance was what he was. A secretive, suspicious, pain-in-the-ass annoyance. "I don't care about you and whatever you're doing!" Eijun added, long after Kazuya and Furuya had gone. If he said it aloud, maybe it would be true.

It was the end of the year, but not quite New Year's, and for one reason or another Seidou was holding a party to celebrate an Esteren holiday that was catching on throughout Asagao. Mostly it was an excuse to indulge in food and drink and entertainment—the favorite pastime of the aristocrats and wealthier merchants—and maybe it promoted goodwill with the foreigners or something. Who knew? The main hall and western pavilion were off-limits to Eijun during business hours like usual, so he busied himself with small tasks in the kitchen. Washing rice, peeling and chopping vegetables, cleaning the dishes—but only with rubber gloves on because heaven forbid he rough up his hands. They were soft-skinned now, slightly dry on account of the weather, but they no longer resembled a farmer's labor-callused hands. Wakana had told him his skin was paler now, too. He didn't spend all day under the sun anymore.

Not for lack of work, though. There were dance lessons, music lessons, language lessons, a constant stream of newspapers and magazines to read in order to keep up with current events, lessons in fashion, in conversation, in art. How to glide effortlessly when swaddled in the layers and swinging sleeves of a furisode, how to lead a partner in a waltz, how to someday enter that mysterious, glittering world that people like Kazuya existed in and Furuya was just now experiencing for himself.

Just you wait, Eijun thought furiously. He gave the plate he was drying one last wipe before stacking it with the others, and then heard a voice pitch above the general din of the kitchen.

"I swear there are more people in there than were invited! We need—Sawamura, are you free?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Go to the storehouse—the eastern one—and get more wine glasses. They'll be in boxes. Bring as many as you can safely carry. Got it?"

"More wine glasses, got it!"

It wasn't until he was all the way in the very far back of the compound, standing before the dark shape of the storehouse, that Eijun realized he hadn't gotten the key from anyone. He tried the doors anyway out of a vain hope that maybe they were open and he hadn't wasted a trip out into the frost-laden night, but they didn't budge. He hadn't remembered a lantern either, and the storehouses back here didn't have electricity.

Oh, well. He'd just have to run back and get what he needed.

His route took him by the northern offices, all of them dark within. Everyone was in the main hall with the guests. This was probably the most abandoned part of Seidou right now, so when footfalls approached Eijun first assumed it was one of the guards making his rounds, but there was no telltale glow of light thrown across the ground and the sounds coming closer belonged to more than one person.

Eijun sucked in a breath to call out, but the words died in his throat when he heard Kazuya's urgent whisper around the corner.

"This wasn't what we agreed, you said you wouldn't come here!"

"No need to worry, who's going to notice?"

"The party was invite only."

"I'm sure I'm not the only one who found a way in without an invitation. Besides, it's the holidays! More cheer to go around, eh?"

"That's… okay, fine. You're right, no one will notice when we're this busy. This party seems to get bigger every year."

"You see? Then everything works out."

Eijun's ears burned, listening. He hardly dared to breathe lest he make a sound. The cold, dark evening was a void where nothing else existed except the two people around the corner, their low, covert whispering and the silken slide of movement that was fabric over skin.

"Wait," Kazuya said with an inhale that sliced and bled his voice out. "Wait, Endou-san, your presence may go unnoticed, but if I'm not there people will wonder."

There was a soft, indulging laugh. "You never used to worry so much. They'll just think you're with someone, and technically you are."

"And that would be fine," Kazuya said, tone taking on a cutting reversal as he added, "if you could afford me."

Sudden stillness. It was that suspended moment of utter disbelief and surprise when a man found himself stabbed when he least expected, and Kazuya was nothing if not an expert with timing. Eijun had known that, and yet, until now he hadn't considered it in terms of being outright deadly. Drastic measures were a common part of Kazuya's arsenal. But desperate measures, those would surely be a last resort.

Eijun's blood ran cold, freezing him in place. Desperate—was that was this was? Was that why Kazuya sounded like knife-edged violence?

The man recovered and armed himself. "We had a deal."

"You reneged on it first by coming here."

"Should I take that to mean you're no longer concerned about anything else I do?"

Kazuya's pause lasted for all of a heartbeat, and that single beat was enough to burn through Eijun's veins and carry his voice on a scalding note.

"Senpai!"

The naked shock on Kazuya's face when he saw Eijun appear would have been something to relish at any other time. Shock turned into bewilderment and bewilderment gave way to something short-lived and furious and frightful under the contrast of moonlight and shadow, before a tempered mask of disapproval settled over his features. "What are you doing here?"

Eijun looked from Kazuya to the other man—who was not, in fact, the same man from town. This one was shorter, thinner, and maybe older, features half-hidden in the dark. Then who was—? No, that wasn't important right now. Eijun pointed in the direction he'd come. "I was getting more wineglasses for Natsukawa-san but I forgot the storehouse key, and I heard voices when I was heading back." He met Kazuya's stare without flinching, having nothing to hide.

"You," Kazuya said with his arms crossed, tone cold and clipped, "know better than to interrupt something that involves a customer."

Eijun flared up in response. "Is this guy really a customer?!"

"This is none of your business."

That line. Well, Eijun knew it would come out at some point. "But—"

"Who is this?" the man asked, hands in his pockets and casual.

Eijun turned his glare on the unwelcome shape that had cast such a pall over everything, and only then did Kazuya glance in the man's direction to answer flatly, "Just an idiot who doesn't know what's good for him."

"One of the servants? Or…" Icy foreboding cooled Eijun's anger down to a wary, wavering flame, and Kazuya's mouth thinned when the man said, "Ah, an apprentice. But he's not inside with the other one, so…"

"He's not ready," Kazuya said, swift and short and precise as he aimed a warning shot at Eijun. "At this rate he might never be."

Eijun stood his ground. He might have slightly earned that, barging in like he had, but he had to have done something. When he heard—he couldn't have just let—he had to have done something. Anything. He could have come in swinging, it wasn't like he hadn't done so before. Even if that had gotten him fired from his last job. And here he was again, with Kazuya calling him an idiot again, like nothing had changed since summer.

Except for the bitter cold, and the chilling lack of amusement in Kazuya's remote expression.

"I see. Well, then." The man rocked smoothly on his feet, unconcerned. "Kazuya-kun, shall we continue our discussion at a later date?"

Silence stretched thin until the fragile thread of it snapped in half. "I'll send word," Kazuya said, and ignored Eijun's outraged cry of, "why would you agree to that?!"

"I'll wait to hear from you." He sounded so unbearably smug that Eijun took a step forward, boiling over, only to be held in place by Kazuya snatching a handful of the fabric covering Eijun's back. The man turned leisurely on his heel. "Have a good evening, boys. Enjoy the holiday."

Eijun snarled and struggled, straining to either chase the man down because how dare he, or stay and confront Kazuya because how dare he. In the end all Eijun did was get twisted and turned around. "Why are you letting him go like that? You should report him! I'll report him! He can't do something like—"

"Sawamura, shut up."

The grip on Eijun's clothes hauled him backwards into the deeper dark of a room, and the silvery light from outside vanished behind the wooden snap of the door hitting the inside of its frame. Walls closed in on every blind side, and he could feel Kazuya's presence at his back, a tightly wound tension transferred from the ball of his fist to the dip between Eijun's shoulder blades. Another tug, a twist, and Eijun spun to face darkness. Kazuya was there, near enough that the trace of his breath shivered across Eijun's skin. Near enough that Eijun could smell a hint of cloves in the air. He could almost see him, faintly outlined against the other shadows of the room. Someone's office. Takashima's, maybe.

Eijun recalled the last time they'd both been in Takashima's office. Kazuya had been angry with him then, too.

"I'm sorry," Eijun said, unable to stand the cold silence, more fed up than apologetic. "I know I walked in without thinking. But he can't just do that!"

"You just had to get involved," Kazuya muttered with heat kindling in his voice. A warning sort of heat, not a welcoming warmth. "Out of all the people who could have possibly gotten involved, it had to be you."

"So what if it's me?! You're the one sneaking around in the first place and having secret meetings!"

Kazuya's tone sharpened, flinty and hammered to a point. "You already knew, didn't you? I thought you've been strange lately."

Like a knife in the dark, Eijun recalled, swallowing what he could of his reckless temper. If he charged in now he'd be lucky if all Kazuya did was dance around him. Chest tight with restraint he said, "I haven't told anyone. Wakana knows because she was there, but no one else."

"Really? And you've been keeping quiet this whole time? How very unlike you."

The condescending tone rubbed callous over Eijun and all the hours he'd spent trying to decide what was best, and whom it was best for. Scraped raw and sensitive, he tried to glare at Kazuya, but pinning him down in the dark was impossible. Eijun turned his head away instead. "I wasn't trying to stick my nose in, okay? I was going to stay out of it."

"Good job with that."

Eijun flinched. He should have known better than to take his eyes off Kazuya, letting his guard down even a little. Kazuya was thorough; no opening was too small for him.

Maybe Eijun should just leave. Walk away. Forget the whole thing. He saw nothing, heard nothing, nothing happened. He could do that. He could pretend he never saw Kazuya that day. He could…

Something about this felt familiar.

That's right, Eijun remembered. He'd tried to forget that other time, too. That meeting outside the restaurant—the real meeting with the real Kazuya, not the polished and poised stranger who'd first walked through the door, but after, when Eijun found out to his chagrin that the most handsome person he'd ever laid eyes on was also the most unbearable. He'd tried to forget, but hours and days afterward the heat would come back to him. All kinds of heat: the feel of summer sticking to his skin, the burn of words and their possibility flirting in his ear, the melting of a mouth and all its poisons seeping through Eijun and entering his bloodstream, carrying him eventually to Seidou's gate.

There wasn't going to be any forgetting. He couldn't possibly forget. Not then, not now, and probably not ever. Wherever Kazuya was, Eijun turned in his direction.

The breath Eijun took filled his lungs, pushing away the doubt, and making room for him to burst out with, "I was worried, you asshole! So fine, be mad, but I was worried and couldn't help it!"

Once released, the words couldn't be pulled back. They flew from him and hung in the air, met with silence. For a while the only sound in the room was Eijun's too-loud breathing. Like Kazuya wasn't even there at all. But he was, and in time he moved, drawing away from Eijun without a word. He didn't leave though—he didn't even go far, the track of his feet over the floorboards coming to a stop elsewhere in the room where a drawer was opened and rummaging could be heard. How he could even see what he was doing, Eijun had no idea, but a few seconds later a match rasped and an orange flame sprang to life, illuminating Kazuya's face as he lit the tip of a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was focused on the task, not looking at Eijun, and the shadows around them hovered, waiting.

"Those aren't yours," Eijun accused, which earned him a flick of Kazuya's gaze, eyes darkly gleaming. That was the last thing Eijun saw before the tenuous flame extinguished with a shake of Kazuya's hand, leaving only the brief ember glow of the cigarette.

"Rei-chan won't mind," he said. "You want one?"

"No way."

"Good, it's a terrible habit." Kazuya laughed under his breath when he said so, finding something funny, but it wasn't a happy sound. The fact that Eijun could recognize the subtle grade of humor or lack thereof in Kazuya's voice was… well, it was something. Maybe something natural after being on the receiving end of his mirth so often. Eijun got used to it, the way he got used to the smoke that gradually permeated the air in a haze.

Kazuya gave no indication of returning to the party anytime soon. He leaned against Takashima's desk, figure veiled in shadow and smoke, silent and unforthcoming. Eijun could leave and Kazuya wouldn't say a word to stop him. Or he could stay and…

"Stay here," Kazuya had said that one time. Just that once.

Oh, Eijun thought, pulled into that memory and slipping into its cracks, fitting into the spaces between words spoken and unspoken. I think I see. Another cold, dark night. Another glimpse of something that would have otherwise remained hidden. He let out a sigh and muttered, "You're always so damn difficult." There was space next to Kazuya, and when Eijun stepped into it he wasn't turned away. He wasn't welcomed with open arms or encouragement or gratefulness either, but he perched on the edge of the desk with intent to stay and endure the undercurrent of awkward pull between them. There was a sort of equilibrium to it, the things they didn't admit.

Then Kazuya, being Kazuya, took that delicate balance and pushed until it tipped.

"Sawamura."

"What?"

"Sorry." Eijun's head whipped to the side so hard and fast he almost toppled over, hands catching on the edge of the desk and gripping while he stared, astounded, at Kazuya's profile. His eyes wouldn't meet Eijun's. Kazuya lifted a hand to cover his mouth, cigarette sticking out between his fingers, and took another drag, exhaling smoke that wisped around his face. "I messed up," he said quietly, calm on the surface, but for Kazuya honesty came at a price. In desperation he might be aggressive, but in resignation all that was left was this. "Now you're involved—maybe you were involved since early on, I shouldn't have—anyway, you didn't do anything wrong. You're right to be upset. So if you want to tell Rei-chan, I won't stop you."

None of that was what Eijun wanted to hear, and none of it could be ignored, either. He'd stayed for this. To know this. He went ahead and asked, "Why haven't you said anything?"

"It's complicated," Kazuya said, because of course he wouldn't make it easy. Everything was always complicated with him, he made it that way. The harder he was to deal with, the less anyone wanted to try. "Besides," he added, firming up now that he was retreating into his own territory, "I'm handling the matter."

Eijun wasn't going to be put off that easily. "Is that what you call handling it?" He reached out, grabbing at the lapel of Kazuya's jacket and making the chain pinned to the fabric jingle. Fingers tightening, Eijun hung onto the connection. "He's—he's blackmailing you or something, right? That's not okay!"

"I won't disagree with you there," Kazuya said, not seeming to mind the way Eijun was wrinkling his suit, "but it won't be for much longer. I do have a plan, you know."

"A plan," Eijun repeated. He didn't loosen his grip.

"I'm not telling you what it is."

"Wh—you—but I'm already involved anyway!"

"That's why." Kazuya's hand covered Eijun's own, trailing past the tightness of his knuckles and fitting over the grooves of his locked fingers, digging in a little, like Kazuya was thinking about prying Eijun off but not committing to the idea yet. "You're not getting involved any further. It's for your own good. You're an apprentice, idiot, and you're lucky you're not debuting soon. If Endou-san says anything about you now it'll be forgotten by summer."

"Then that means there's no problem!"

"Are you listening to me? No, of course you're not." When Kazuya drew his hand away Eijun reversed his grip to latch onto retreating fingers, and they warmed under his just a little bit.

"I'm listening," he insisted. "But I don't care about that. What about you? Are you really gonna go along with him? How much longer? I don't like it."

"Then tell Rei-chan or Chris-senpai." Before Eijun could retort fine, I'll do exactly that, Kazuya shifted until he was standing in front of Eijun. Blowing one last stream of smoke over Eijun's shoulder, he put the cigarette out and planted his hand on the desk, pressing into Eijun's space. "Or," Kazuya said, smelling of tobacco and spice, "you could trust me."

"Trust you." Eijun laughed, but the sound was weak. His hold on Kazuya's hand wasn't enough. He put his hands on either side of Kazuya's face instead, and Kazuya let him, keeping still and quiet as Eijun felt the corners of his mouth. He wasn't smiling. "Give me a reason at least," Eijun said. "I'm sure you have reasons. Why shouldn't anyone else know? Will something bad happen?"

"It's..." Kazuya's lips parted under Eijun's fingers and a sigh ghosted over them. "It doesn't matter."

"Huh? O-oi."

They were already so close—embarrassingly, revealingly close if not for the dark hiding them—but then Kazuya slumped forward just a bit more until their foreheads touched. "It doesn't matter," he said again, into the scant space between them. "I won't try to convince you. Do whatever you think is best, Sawamura."

For a moment Eijun was afraid to breathe. He felt the shape of the words in the air as they touched his skin, brushing his mouth, and sank into him where they simmered low and long. Whatever he thought was best. Whatever he thought. But, wait—Eijun's breath caught, and then all at once boiled over hotly to protest, "That's not fair! How the hell would I know what's best? You won't even tell me anything!"

There was a blank pause. Then a pattern of air whispered against Eijun's face, and he saw the movement of Kazuya's lips, but no sound gave voice to his thoughts. He started to pull away. "You're right," Kazuya said at last, after deliberation. "You're right, it's not your responsibility. Never mind—"

Eijun wasn't about to let the slippery bastard get away just like that. He yanked, much harder than he needed to, and Kazuya was unresisting as they crashed into each other against the desk. Pens rolled and papers fluttered. Eijun's arm flung out, knuckles cracking against the brass of a desk lamp with enough force to jar his bones. He fumbled around with numb fingers until he found the pull chain and clicked it on, flooding the office with light.

"You idiot, turn that off before someone sees!" Kazuya, half-sprawled over Eijun, reached for the lamp. Eijun grabbed his wrist. They both blinked at each other, squinting through the sudden brightness.

"Just answer me this," Eijun said, jumping on the chance to have Kazuya a tiny bit off guard. "You don't want anyone else finding out about… whatever's going on, right?"

"Didn't I say that?"

"Stop avoiding the question!"

"Fine," Kazuya said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, which didn't entirely disguise the anxious gleam in them. "I'd prefer for my business to remain my business and no one else's. Satisfied?"

"Do you want me to trust you?"

Eijun enjoyed the rare pleasure of seeing Kazuya's surprised face. He didn't startle or anything dramatic like that, he just froze for half a second, eyes showing a bit more white around the brown before blinking back to normal. A smile crept upon his lips, although it didn't match the rest of his expression. A reflex with nothing behind it. Eijun thought he might laugh the question off, or turn it around, grinning wide and impenetrable.

Instead Kazuya's smile tilted crooked, and even though Eijun had asked in the first place he felt like the world went askew along with Kazuya's mood. Everything hung in balance based on what he'd say or do. Eijun had given him that much power. The matter of trust was almost redundant. Almost.

"Yeah," Kazuya said, just barely avoiding Eijun's direct stare. "I guess I do." His hand went for the lamp again and this time Eijun let him turn it off, dousing them in darkness once more. Complete darkness this time. Eijun couldn't see a damn thing but he was conscious of Kazuya's weight against him, easing back but not all the way off. Noncommittal. He could get up and go at a moment's notice, but—maybe—he didn't want to. Eijun stayed where he was, and so Kazuya stayed, too.

"Okay," Eijun said, staring up at nothing in particular on the ceiling. There was just infinite darkness spread before his eyes, and cold all around, save for the warmth of another body alongside his. "I won't tell anyone, and I'll trust you."

"That easy, huh?" Kazuya's laughter was an evasive sound; Eijun could feel its vibrations but wouldn't know where to reach for the source.

He reached anyway, bringing his fingers to the smooth curve of a cheek and down lower, feeling over the rise of Kazuya's mouth, the slant of his smile. Kazuya's lips pushed against Eijun's fingers. Maybe. A little. It was hard to tell. "It is that easy," Eijun said, partly to himself.

"All right. That's settled then." One moment, solid warmth, and the next nothing but cool air as Kazuya moved away. Eijun sat up in a hurry, chasing after his wake but not going so far as to blindly grab hold. He wasn't about to start clinging. There was a difference between being off-balance and being completely overturned. One made a bigger mess than the other.

"All right," Eijun echoed, nerves starting to jitter now that there was space for them to bounce around. His eyes were adjusting slowly—very slowly—to the darkness blanketing the room.

Kazuya was a whisper of silk and lingering scent, his shadowy form making vague motions as he straightened his clothes and combed fingers through his hair. "I really need to get back. You have something you're supposed to be doing, too, don't you?"

"Uh, right, I was just…"

"That's no good, you better come up with a decent excuse."

Whenever Kazuya's tone hit that particular teasing note Eijun's immediate, uncontrollable response was to snap. "What's your excuse?"

"Me? I was taking a smoke break." It wasn't even a lie. Sort of.

Eijun made a disgusted sound, both annoyed and gratified when Kazuya laughed again. Annoyed and gratified when Kazuya's hand landed in his hair and ruffled. "Just go already! And… be careful. In case that creep is still around."

"It's cute how you worry."

"You—!"

Kazuya's hand curved around the back of Eijun's head, drawing him close and murmuring a word against his temple. Just one word, and Eijun couldn't tell if it was thanks or an apology. Or maybe both. Being indistinct was one of Kazuya's favorite games, but sometimes he said things exactly as he meant them. There was a trick to telling the difference, Eijun was sure, but so far he hadn't found it. All he had right now was the impression of a fleeting grin, and then Kazuya let him go with a slip of his fingers. "I'll see you later," Kazuya told him, light and easy like his usual self. He opened the door and paused within the frame, barely outlined in frosty moonlight. "Goodnight, Sawamura. Stay out of trouble."

"You, too," Eijun returned, the words dropping like stones with their weighted impact, and Kazuya acknowledged them with a wave of his hand before stepping out into the night. The evening stretched long before them, and there was work to be done.

When Eijun first came to Seidou he didn't know what he might be able to offer as far as skills a courtesan would use. He'd only been prepared to do anything with the chance he'd been given. Only that.

Back home, dancing was something that happened during festivals. Everyone could do it to some extent. He didn't think about liking or disliking, or whether he had any talent or not. So when Takashima had smiled at him from across her desk and told him about the dance lessons Eijun merely nodded his head, the same way he readily agreed to everything else she talked about. Writing, reading, math, history, languages, etiquette, fashion, music—the list was a long one, not to mention a daunting one, but he couldn't afford to balk. He'd just have to learn.

Some of the lessons went more smoothly than others. The dance lessons, though, they were the easiest… but then some days they were the hardest. At first Eijun thought the reason was simple: he wasn't very suited to the foreign steps and turns, the broad sweeps of the music, the constricting clothes and hard-soled shoes. But he got used to those. He still wouldn't say he had talent—the word "talent" was for other people, geniuses who did things effortlessly—but he practiced, and practiced, and practiced, and eventually practice yielded results. So the problem wasn't that he was clumsy or inept.

But try as he might, there were some things he just couldn't get a handle on.

"Sawamura—"

"I know already!" His feet knew the steps. He didn't even have to think about them. But the timing was all wrong, and they lagged behind the music. "A little bit faster, right? I know I'm off-beat."

"You're dead-on, actually." A smile glimmered on Kazuya's face and his drawl was rich with irony. "That's the problem, you see. You follow the music a little too well. When you're leading you should be a tiny bit off so your partner can step perfectly into the beat. Granted, that requires some thinking ahead on your part…"

"Oh, shut up. Faster it is." Stay ahead of the beat. Sounded simple enough. It was jarring, though, as he pulled ahead of the rhythm his body wanted to fall into. Like stepping off a familiar path and finding oneself utterly lost in the wilderness. He didn't forget the steps but his sense of timing went out the window completely. "I know!" Eijun snapped, preempting Kazuya's criticism.

Kazuya raised one eyebrow at him and didn't say a word. The brunt of the silence was worse than any pointed comment, and Eijun sealed his mouth against further outbursts. He slowed, retreating into his usual pace that matched the beat, and the red-hot frustration boiling inside him eased into a more sedate simmer.

"You should try practicing with a different partner," Kazuya said. "Someone experienced."

"I thought you were the expert."

"Ha! Not even close," he admitted with a wry grin. "I just know a bit more than everyone else here at Seidou." The song came to an end and Eijun lowered his hand from Kazuya's back. His other hand, he just now noticed, was gripping Kazuya's too tightly. A basic mistake. Eijun loosened his hold with a grimace while Kazuya made an amused sound. "Don't beat yourself up over it," he said, going to the phonograph to flip the record. "I'm not the best person to practice with, so it could be my fault as well."

Eijun snorted his disbelief. Kazuya may be a vexing partner, sure, but a bad dancer he was not.

The B-side started playing and they began the dance again, Eijun taking the lead. It didn't go any better than all the previous attempts. Since glancing down at his feet would only provoke a reprimand Eijun kept his eyes on Kazuya's face, trying to read into the faint smile he wore. He probably wasn't just messing with Eijun. Kazuya didn't mince words; whenever he thought Eijun was absolute shit at something he said so in exactly those terms. So whatever Eijun was doing wrong now, he wasn't a lost cause yet.

"There's nothing wrong with your instincts," Kazuya said with that uncanny ability to pick up on Eijun's thoughts, plucking them right out of his head like they were free for the taking. "And your concentration's fine. I was serious about you practicing with someone else—not one of the other boys, though. Rei-chan would be best."

"Takashima-san?" Eijun stiffened at the thought. It was… weirdly presumptuous. "But she's not… anymore…"

"Just because she's retired doesn't mean she's lost the skills. Besides, you should practice this with a woman. Men won't be the ones asking you to dance at a formal ball—not usually, anyway. At that sort of event it'll be the women who want your time. They don't often get to meet us anywhere else." In the brief second it took to mark Eijun's expression Kazuya's easy smile shrunk the way an object got smaller in the distance, more remote, and he was bland as he added, "Mrs. Anna was a rare exception. She was unusually defiant and her parents were unusually lenient. I would have suggested asking her if not for her condition."

"What condition?" Eijun found that asking Anna to be his dance partner was a much more comforting prospect. Not that Takashima wasn't an amazing person whom he deeply respected, but she could be… a little bit scary sometimes.

Kazuya was giving him a look. Not the coolly removed look he normally wore when Anna was mentioned, this one had more to do with Eijun specifically. It was an incredulous sort of 'I know you're not doing this on purpose' look. "Well, she's about five months along now, isn't she? Surely even you noticed that."

"Of course I know that!" Eijun rolled his eyes and tamped down on the urge to ball his hand into a fist and retaliate for the insult. "But so what? She's pregnant, not crippled, and the middle is the easiest period. It'll be another month or so before moving gets really difficult."

"That's…" And amazingly, for once, Kazuya swallowed his words. He gave Eijun a different look now, considering. "I suppose it's different where you're from. No, that's not a bad thing," he said before Eijun could puff up in offense. "I get it. There's work that needs doing every day, year-round, and no one can afford to sit out for nine months."

"Are you kidding?" Eijun nearly yelped, appalled. "Nothing would ever get done!"

"And here in the city, where the aristocrats don't get much done anyway…"

"Mrs. Anna isn't like that. Definitely not." She still met with him every other Sunday to help him practice his Esteren. Chris had said conversing with a native would be best, and Chris had been the one to set up the arrangement, but he never went with Eijun to Anna's house. Her husband's house, technically. Anna never asked about Chris, either, but Eijun told her how he was doing anyway, and she didn't seem to mind receiving the news. Her belly was round now, and last time she'd said she was certain she was carrying a boy, and that her husband would be pleased. She was always her usual cheerful self. Whatever aches and pains she felt weren't on display and unlike the women back home she had no complaints for his ears.

"Well," Kazuya said, breaking the short-lived silence. "If you want to ask her you can, but she still shouldn't push herself too much."

"I wouldn't want her to."

"I know you wouldn't. By the way…" Amusement began to creep back onto Kazuya's features. "The dance is over now."

The song had ended; Eijun wasn't sure how long they'd been standing there, frozen in position, but he hadn't noticed at all. He didn't immediately drop his hands upon realizing, either, because Kazuya hadn't let go yet. That was Eijun's reason and he was sticking to it. Never mind that Eijun was the one that was supposed to be leading, and the old, familiar irritation jabbed under his skin. "I didn't learn a thing, did I?"

"You'll get it," Kazuya said. Nothing more and nothing less than that. Simple, matter-of-fact assurance, and the kind of bare truth that was so uncommon coming from him that Eijun flushed red from hearing it. His mouth went dry, and neither of them had yet made a move to separate.

Suddenly Eijun didn't want to have a different dance partner no matter what Kazuya's point was—and Eijun was sure Kazuya's point was valid, he should practice with Takashima or Anna or someone else—but his dance instructor was one person and one person only. "Show me," Eijun said, insistent with a murky want that was going to make itself known one way or another, sooner or later. "Show me how."

There was a perfect opening for mockery—what, you weren't paying attention during all those other lessons?—but Kazuya didn't go for it. Instead he made a minute adjustment of their positions and then pulled Eijun into the dance, without the aid of music, but that didn't seem to matter when all Eijun had to do was follow Kazuya's lead. Following Kazuya's lead was the easiest thing.

"It's about communication," Kazuya explained, not for the first time but this time was different. This time Eijun heard more than the surface of the words, was open to the echo of their depth even if he couldn't yet interpret them. "And it's about focusing on your partner. You're setting up—well, in your case you should feel where you want them to be. Whatever you think is best. You want to be aware of the beat and give them the best of it. It's a very giving role."

Oh, Eijun thought, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was realizing because after that initial burst no further enlightenment came. All he knew was that it was easy—incredibly easy—to trust Kazuya to guide him.

"You also have to give the right cues. You're not forcing anything, you're prompting and inviting."

"How?" Eijun asked, even as he stepped right where he knew Kazuya wanted him to step.

He caught the flicker of something on Kazuya's face, a furtive warning in the glint of his eyes that made Eijun's skin heat preemptively before Kazuya's palm slid against his own. Shifting, just a little, to open his fingers and close them anew. He cradled Eijun's hand with proper gentleness, ever the technical master, but there was intention in his grip as well, a sureness of touch that drew on all the sensitivity that Eijun didn't know he had in his hand. "Here," Kazuya said, gaze sweeping low and secretive for Eijun to follow.

"And here." The other hand pressed to Eijun's back was warm and firm against his shoulder blade. Kazuya didn't have the big, powerful paws that Masuko had, or the quick cleverness of Kuramochi's hands, or the fine, delicate bones shared by the two brothers. But he was steady whenever he needed to be, and precise, and Eijun didn't have to worry when that hand was supporting him.

"And… here." Eijun's attention zeroed in on the light press of their hips, and he could sense Kazuya about to pull away before the actual step was taken. Eijun moved in perfect accord, not a step late but in time with Kazuya, entire body drawn to maintain their connection, anchored by their points of contact. "Good," Kazuya told him, and Eijun's breath hitched on a sound that got trapped in the tight squeeze of his throat. His pulse throbbed, a tide coming and going with every move Kazuya made, and the stroke of his voice was another push and pull. "You felt that, didn't you?"

Eijun was feeling a lot of things, things that carried him round and round and every which way. Things he couldn't possibly describe, much less pinpoint, but one of them had to be what Kazuya was talking about, so Eijun nodded.

"Action and reaction," Kazuya was saying. "I started something and you followed through. We're good at that, you and I." Hearing Kazuya utter the word "we" struck a strange note. He wasn't inclusive like that, typically. We, us, you and I, together—he rarely aligned himself that way.

"So," Eijun began, start and stop, stumbling over that "we" in his head. He tried again. "So… if I start something, you'll follow?"

Kazuya grinned at him, waxing crescent-shaped and gleaming. "If you do it right, then maybe I will. Win me over, Sawamura, see what happens."

The sudden rush flooding through Eijun and filling every inch of him didn't impede his dancing. Rather the opposite. Every hint of intention moved through him, rippling from hands to heart and down the glide of his legs, absorbed under the step and sweep of his feet. Here, like this, Kazuya was an easy read. Like this, Eijun could meet him and match him.

They were good at this, the pair of them.

When Kazuya tugged Eijun into a turn he went right along, light on his feet and in his head, and he didn't think twice when he was dipped backwards—far more dramatically than the dance style called for, but that was Kazuya at his best, whimsical and daring at a glance, and calculating underneath it all. He supported Eijun with one hand and held him there, angled above the floor, asking for trust and receiving it. Eijun didn't feel even a little bit precarious. Slightly exasperated, maybe, and he lifted his hands to either side of Kazuya's neck, holding him with the same care and certainty that Kazuya exerted to hold him.

"You could trust me, too, you know," Eijun said.

"I know." His smile lost its sharpness the fuller it got, satisfied and content at its peak, and then, inevitably, it waned. "Can't be helped."

"I'll show you," Eijun promised. "I'll get it right. I'll definitely, definitely make you want to follow me."

"Will you now?"

"Just you wait."

Kazuya pulled him up until they were both standing again, facing each other, hands clasped between the close press of their bodies. Eijun's heart thudded hard enough that he imagined the vibration passing through their joined hands to echo in Kazuya's chest. "All right," Kazuya said with an air of challenge, with a smirk on his face and a suggestion of iron in his grip. "In that case I expect you to do your best."

Eijun tucked the handle of the umbrella under his arm to keep it balanced against his shoulder, freeing his hands so he could bring them close and breathe warm air into his cupped palms. A white cloud escaped through his fingers, stirring the snow flurries that slipped in under his cover. It was a light snowfall, the frozen ground only dusted with powder, but it was coming down steadily and would continue to do so the rest of the day. Not enough to impact business tonight; storms and blizzards would make for a quiet evening, but a little bit of rain or snow didn't stop most clients. It was already well into the afternoon, so whatever they were doing this far from Yugao wasn't going to take long.

Kazuya's umbrella was a bloom of crimson against the white and gray landscape, and he himself a dark-suited figure that drew stares while he strolled along the street. He kept his head down, though, anonymous to the casual passerby. Eijun could have picked him out by his walk; a self-possessed stride that was never in any hurry, with just a hint of indolent sway. He was the type that always looked like he knew what he was doing, even if he was directionless. Maybe especially then.

But that wasn't the case now. Kazuya led Eijun through the snow-swirling streets with some purpose in mind—a purpose that had made him burst in on Eijun's afternoon lessons and steal him away with barely any apology, much less an excuse. One look at Kazuya's face—bright eyes, enormous grin—and Chris had merely nodded, letting Kazuya usher Eijun into the hand-me-down suit that was the nicest thing he currently owned, and before they departed Chris remarked, "I'm glad it worked out."

Kazuya had laughed under his breath as they left Seidou. "I should have known there was no use trying to hide anything from him." And then he wouldn't explain anything else, only saying that they had better hurry.

Eijun's mulish response softened when curiosity seeped in, and then his resistance melted away completely at the fluttering thought that he was being allowed in on something secret. Not stumbling into it accidentally, or shouldering his way in, but being led and accepted. Trusted—he hoped.

That hope hung suspended in the air when they arrived at their destination. Eijun gazed up at the familiar building, eyes going wide as he read the sign. "Here?" he squeaked out, and then regretted saying anything when Kazuya turned to him to study his reaction.

"Yes. You know the Soyokaze?"

"Well—doesn't everyone? Everyone knows it!" Eijun was pretty sure Wakana had said it was famous or something so he ran with that. "Yeah, the whole country knows about the Hayakaze!"

"Ah. I see." Kazuya stepped towards the door, lowering his umbrella and shaking the snow off while closing it. "You saw me here last time."

He didn't seem to take it badly, and Eijun closed his own umbrella while muttering, "So what if I did?"

"It's hardly the worst—wait a minute." Kazuya turned that intent look on Eijun again, searching him. "Is that it? That's what made you suspect?" He didn't have to wait for Eijun to reply, finding the answer on his face, and Kazuya shook with helpless laughter. "Seriously? You jumped to the right conclusion based on the wrong evidence! I thought you'd seen—well, something far more incriminating. I can't believe it, if not for the party I could have denied everything. You have the strangest luck, Sawamura. Or maybe it's instinct with you."

"You were plenty suspicious and obviously up to something!"

"I suppose it wasn't unrelated at least. Don't ask," he said as soon as Eijun opened his mouth, and Kazuya's hand came up to settle over the back of Eijun's neck, drawing him to his side. "Just come with me."

The restaurant should have been closed at this hour but there was someone at the front to receive them, a dignified older woman who bowed in greeting and waited for them to remove their damp coats and shoes. A younger girl came forward to collect their things, as solemn-faced as her elder until she met Kazuya's eyes and offered a smile that was briefly, politely returned. For a moment Eijun was thrown backward into a different restaurant at a different time, and in an entirely different season, being jerked to a stop by Wakana's grip on his arm, sweating under the uncomfortable, foreign fit of his shirt, and going even hotter under the collar when he straightened from his bow and saw the customer who'd just walked in.

"Sawamura," Kazuya said, and Eijun was brought back to the Soyokaze. There was a dreadfully knowing tilt to the smile on Kazuya's handsome mouth. While they both followed the older woman down a hallway he murmured for Eijun's ears, "I didn't think you'd last a week, and yet you defied my expectations by not making it through the first night."

Eijun angled his face towards Kazuya to whisper back, "How serious were you, really, when you invited me to Seidou?"

He expected a flippant non-answer, or a false show of thought, but what he got was an immediate, "Eighty percent serious." Then came the teasing grin. "You rejected me very strongly if I recall."

Eijun flushed, remembering. "Yeah, well, I showed up in the end."

"That you did."

The woman stopped in front of a door, sliding it open to reveal a room that was as traditional as the rest of the place. Low table on tatami matting, cushions for seats, walls bare of decoration save for an ink painting that hung in a lit alcove. One seat at the table was occupied, and Eijun was somehow not surprised by the presence of the man he'd seen last time in town, the mystery companion, calmly drinking tea. He was young on close inspection, but the breadth of his shoulders and the rugged, square cut of his jaw added to his years. His gaze was straightforward, and the first thing he said was, "You never change, always doing what nobody expects." He gestured with his cup at Eijun.

"This is Sawamura, from Seidou," Kazuya introduced. "He got a little bit involved, so I thought he should come, too."

Eijun dropped in a bow. "Sawamura Eijun! Nice to meet you!"

"…He's always this loud," Kazuya explained after an awkward, empty beat.

"I see." The lift of the man's eyebrows seemed to speak volumes by themselves. "Come join me, then. This won't take long, I know Seidou opens early on days like this."

Kazuya folded into one of the seats with a sigh. "Just because there's no sun to go down, some people think they can show up whenever they want."

"It's a greedy season."

"Longer nights, longer hours. Business as usual."

As the youngest, Eijun poured the tea for the other two. He was uncomfortably aware of eyes on him, even while the small talk happened over his head. It wasn't like he'd never served drinks back home, and he was taught the full ceremony at Seidou, but this wasn't in front of Chris or just Kazuya alone, this was in front of a client. The man had to be a client. Kazuya had broken another rule and brought Eijun before a client.

"Thank you," the man said after Eijun refilled his cup. "I apologize, I should have introduced myself sooner. Harada Masatoshi. Kazuya and I were schoolmates."

"Eh?" Eijun said while Kazuya made a short, abortive sound that switched to an exasperated, "Masatoshi-san."

"You were the one who brought him," Harada pointed out. "This won't make sense without that much background at least."

"Understood, but please allow me to preserve some of my mystery."

Eijun snorted outright, but he relaxed a little inside. A friend was different from a client—or, okay, they didn't seem like close friends, but it was probably enough of a loophole for Kazuya to slip through. Plus, now Eijun's curiosity was up. He jerked a thumb to his side. "Has this guy always been such a tanuki bastard?"

"Sawamura."

"More or less," Harada answered without blinking.

Kazuya made a show of being under great duress as he agreed, "Yes, yes, my character has always been this way. Putting that aside, let's move on to the main topic."

"You're not being very courteous," Eijun observed.

"I'm not being paid for it," Kazuya said tartly. "Not that you're one to talk about courtesy, brat. Be quiet and listen."

"Yes, sir!"

Kazuya arranged himself more comfortably in his seat, taking his time about it despite his rush to start. He patted over his jacket pocket where his cigarettes were kept but didn't move to take one out, reaching for his tea instead and blowing over it. "All right. To begin with, as Masatoshi-san said, we're old acquaintances. Harada Coal Mining is a business that's partly owned by—"

"The Inashiro Group. Chris-sensei explained to me." Learning the who's who of the business world and key government officials was a new addition to Eijun's training—mainly, Eijun assumed, so he'd know just how much trouble he was in if he ever offended someone important. Although now he wondered if there was more to it than that.

"Of course Chris-senpai did." Kazuya sighed with a twitch of his lips and an avoidant, sideways glance. "Well then. You know Inashiro has footholds across several industries. Banking, trading, medicine…"

"Steel production," Harada added, taking a measured sip from his cup.

"…Right." Kazuya replaced on his own cup on the table without drinking from it and took a deep breath. "That would be Miyuki Steel Company, of which my father is chairman. The company is relatively young, but the family is, well, I'm sure you know."

"Wait," Eijun said, holding up a hand with his eyes fixed on nothing in particular as he tried to digest the info, but it was like trying to digest a bomb. When it went off the explosion pulverized everything in his gut. "Miyuki as in—that Miyuki? The—are you telling me—doesn't that make you royalty?" He didn't know whether to choke or laugh, or choke on his laughter.

"No, no, no." Kazuya shifted around, restless, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Pay more attention to your lessons, will you? Yes, the head of the family holds the title of prince, but isn't at all related to the imperial house. The rank was a reward for past services in ancient times, and applies only for the head of the main family. My father is from a lesser branch family that originally held no title, but he was just recently raised to viscount for immense contributions to the national rail project."

"Oh, okay. So you're only the son of a viscount."

"There are several hundred peers in this country, and a good many of them are customers at Seidou. Get used to being around nobility." Kazuya picked up his tea and downed it like he was drinking sake, setting the cup on the table again with a firm clack. "And officially, I'm not a member of that family anymore. I barely was to start with. But it's a somewhat delicate matter regardless, so do exercise discretion with the information. In fact, never speak of it outside this room." He moved to grab the teapot but Eijun got to it first and refilled the cup.

"Okay," he said, slightly surprised by the steadiness of his own hands. His head was a mess but the rest of him had done quiet and still. "I won't tell, I swear—" If he was a samurai he could swear on his honor like they did in the stories and plays, but Eijun didn't have anything grand like that to offer. "You can trust me," he appealed instead.

"Wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't," Kazuya said, a little tiredly. His posture opened, knee brushing against Eijun's leg. "Anyway, that was my old life. For the most part it stays in the past. Unfortunately, when I crossed paths with Endou-san again, he decided to bring it into the present."

The mention of that name made Eijun's hands clench into fists, knuckles turning white in his lap. "That creep," he growled. "Isn't there a way to deal with him? I get why I can't kick his ass, or report him, but there's gotta be something…"

"Why is it always violence with you?" Kazuya clicked his tongue in reproach, but a faint smile was returning to his face. "That night when you were fired, I told you there had to be a better way."

"You're never going to let me forget about that, are you?"

"I will if it stops being amusing, but only if. Now pay attention." He manifested a full-blown grin now, leaning towards Eijun with a conspiratorial air. "Violence will get you thrown out on your ass, as you've learned. In this business, connections are everything, which is where Masatoshi-san comes in."

Harada inclined his head as if he'd been waiting for the invitation. "I, too, am familiar with Endou-san. He works for Kamiya Trading, whom we have very close ties with, so as a personal favor I suggested to a friend that he be sent overseas to evaluate and monitor a project in Kiers. It's in a rather remote location, I'm told. The duration of the project is estimated to be at least a couple years."

"Such responsibility," Kazuya drawled. "I'm sure he's quite honored to be chosen."

Eijun looked from Kazuya to Harada—one brimming with barely contained delight, the other radiating a quiet satisfaction—and chased the implications spinning circles in his head. "So… he's gone? Just like that? Wait, he won't suspect anything, will he?"

Harada was the one who answered. "He hasn't departed yet, but the decision has been made. The job is similar to others he's been assigned in the past so it shouldn't raise any suspicions."

"And," Kazuya added, "as far as he knows I haven't maintained contact with anyone else through old family connections. I tend to avoid the lot of them, present company excluded. Speaking of which, I'm in your debt, Masatoshi-san."

"It's Carlos you owe, but I'll accept in his place given the circumstances. You're fortunate he's not one to pry, and he has little regard for Endou-san as well."

"Who in their right mind would like that creep?" Eijun drained his tea swiftly and declared, "The sooner he gets shipped off, the better!" If he recalled his lessons correctly Kiers was infamous for its harsh winters, and the thought of Endou being planted there in the middle of Wolf Moon helped lighten his mood. Hadn't that country also been recently embroiled in a civil war? Eijun spared half a second wondering if he'd lose any sleep at night knowing Endou was being sent to a place that unstable, but as Eijun's grandpa used to say, suffering built character.

"I told you, didn't I?" Kazuya nudged him with his shoulder. "I had everything handled."

"It seems Harada-san did all the handling."

"That's how the game works." Eijun was ready for the arm Kazuya slung over him, had been anticipating it the moment Kazuya insinuated himself into Eijun's space, and the weight and warmth of him was a cozy, familiar feeling. "We have the privilege of being acquainted with some of this country's most influential people. You'll have to be careful, but you can use those connections if there's ever a need. If I'd gone to Rei-chan for help the basic method and end result would have been the same, only with unnecessary fuss. That's probably why Chris-senpai let me get away with doing it nice and quiet."

Kazuya sounded far too reassuring. There had to be more he wasn't explaining, things he wasn't going to explain even if Eijun asked. "You are the most secretive, sneaky bastard I know," Eijun told him.

"Why, thank you."

Eijun glared, but it was halfhearted. "That wasn't a compliment! And I almost don't want to say this…" In spite of himself he leaned into Kazuya's side, just a bit, for a brief moment. It was a mystery how such an aggravating individual could be soothing in any way, but Eijun was comfortable like this. He could stay like this if he was allowed. "Thanks," he said, grudging but sincere, "for telling me."

"Well, it's only fair." Kazuya was first to pull away, adopting a breezy tone. "I asked you to keep quiet and you did. You deserve to know the outcome."

"You shouldn't let your guard down until Endou-san has left the country," Harada warned. "Given the season it wasn't easy to push for an immediate departure, so there's still a chance he'll remain here until spring."

Eijun stiffened—that better not happen!—but all Kazuya did was shrug. "Let's hope luck is on our side. You know I'm always careful anyway."

"You can't avoid everything forever," Harada said. "This incident should make that clear at least."

"Of course I realize that, but worrying about the future won't do me much good. I'll deal with that when I get there, and until then—what's that look for?"

Harada was smiling, eyes cast downward and cup cradled serenely in his hand. "You know who you sound like."

Kazuya stared at him with a blank expression, then blinked and let out a small, contained laugh through his nose. "What, is he still being stubborn? In that case you should be more concerned about Mei instead of me."

"We're all plenty concerned about Mei, I assure you. Especially since he'll be graduating and returning home this year. Good luck avoiding him when that happens."

"He's not still mad, is he?"

"What do you think?"

"Ah, right. It's Mei after all." Kazuya leaned back on his hands, head tipping back to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling. "If he's going to be on the warpath maybe I'll retire early and make a trip out to Ester."

He was probably joking. He was almost certainly joking. That didn't stop a fissure of alarm from cracking straight down Eijun's center and he blurted out, "You can't!" The way his outburst drew Kazuya's attention glued him back together enough to add, "You still have a lot to teach me, so you definitely aren't going anywhere!"

"Oh? Beholden to you, am I?" Then before Eijun could give an answer he may or may not have regretted Kazuya said in a plaintive lament, "Masatoshi-san, see what I have to deal with?"

"I do see," Harada said with another one of those mild smiles. "And you should be a responsible senpai and teach him well."

"Maybe he should actually call me senpai, then."

"Maybe you should earn it," Eijun retorted, and the pressure in him eased when Kazuya conceded a laugh that was full-bodied and content.

"Sa-wa-mu-ra."

"Whadaya—oof." Eijun staggered under a heavy weight being deposited across his back. Arms were thrown around his shoulders and his cheek met with dampness when he twisted his head towards Kazuya. "You're dripping on me!"

"Better you than the floor, right?"

"Just dry yourself properly in the first place!" Eijun craned his neck some more and frowned his disapproval. "And you're barely dressed! Do you want to catch a cold?"

"Not particularly." Kazuya lolled on him, ragdoll limp, body giving off little heat under the thin layer of his juban. His skin smelled freshly washed, though a lingering, persistent sourness remained on his breath.

Eijun grumbled, trying to shift Kazuya's weight so it wasn't bearing down so much, eventually getting him to lean against Eijun's side instead of on top of his back. Kazuya was compliant with being manhandled, and stayed suspiciously steady on his feet afterward with little need for support. Eijun just rolled his eyes. "How much did you have to drink?"

"No more than usual," he confessed, and made no move to leave. A push might be all that was needed to send him away—if Eijun wanted—and Eijun decided Kazuya wasn't being that much of a bother yet. He had one arm resting along the line of Eijun's shoulders, and his other hand lifted the corner of a towel slung around his neck to rub over his wet hair. "I'm done for the evening, though."

"It's still early, isn't it?" Early for Yugao at least; just a bit past midnight when Eijun last checked.

"Sent my last client to heaven already and I don't have any other appointments lined up. I can call it an early night if I want."

"Are you sure you're not just being lazy?"

"Hey, now. Give me a break." A turn of his face and Kazuya's cheek tapped against Eijun's, voice dropping low to continue, "A certain ship is leaving port first thing tomorrow morning, and I don't mind saying I'll sleep easier because of it."

Eijun sucked in a breath. "So that means…?"

The ends of Kazuya's hair left damp traces on Eijun's skin after he pulled away, arm falling from Eijun's shoulders and opening up an empty space by his side. "Yes. That's all there is to it. Now I, for one, am going to get a good night's rest." He took one step down the hall. Two steps. Three.

"R-right! Of course. Then, good—"

"Sawamura." Kazuya stopped. Turned a little. He said nothing else, just stood there, gazing a little bit past Eijun. Waiting.

Eijun's body was accustomed to certain things now—accustomed to following a rhythm, to moving on cue, and when a point of contact was misaligned he felt the loss and adjusted to correct. His feet moved on their own, and the only thing faster was his mouth. "Do you want—"

That wasn't how to do it. But Eijun still wasn't sure how he was supposed to do it, so he did whatever he could. Drawing even with Kazuya, Eijun reached up to grip the ends of the towel and flip the cloth over Kazuya's head, drying his hair briskly until it spiked everywhere when Eijun was done. "You're hopeless," he declared to Kazuya's nonplussed face. "You drink too much and smoke too much and get into all kinds of trouble on your own. You're supposed to take better care of yourself! What sort of example do you think you're setting for your kouhai, geez…"

He tugged on Kazuya's hand, and when Eijun led him down the hall Kazuya followed with sarcasm and sideways smiles. When they reached his room he didn't say stay this time, and he didn't say go, so Eijun did as he pleased and burrowed under the futon with more boldness than he'd had last time he'd been in Kazuya's bed. "Because you'll catch a cold otherwise, you dumb bastard."

"Rude brat," Kazuya said, not without amusement. He was propped on his side, close enough that Eijun couldn't help but be keenly aware of every minute shift and slide of his body, down to the faint rise and fall of his breathing. They weren't touching, but there wasn't much of a gap to bridge. If either of them chose to bridge it.

"Shut up, go to sleep." Eijun turned as much of his face into his pillow as he could, smothering the heat that had risen to his cheeks. What was I expecting? he asked himself. Of course I can't crawl into bed with him and be perfectly fine! I'm an idiot. Somehow he thought it'd be different this time. And it was, a little. Kazuya was a whole lot less drunk for one thing. That should have been reassuring but it was strangely the opposite; Kazuya was his usual self, perceptive and guarded and weirdly unmoving when he reached a certain point. Unreadable at this range. Not that he was easy to interpret any other time, but this—this should have been simple, right? He was making it difficult. He always made things more difficult.

"Sawamura," Kazuya said, careful and deliberate. "You don't have to stay."

This conversation again. Eijun was tired of it already. "I know that!" His head popped up so he could look Kazuya straight in the eye, facing him across the minimal distance that separated them. "I want to be here. So unless you're kicking me out, you're stuck with me. Get used to it."

There was no immediate answer, just a strain of silence that tightened around Eijun's throat and stopped him from adding or detracting any part of what he'd said.

And then, finally, "Okay."

Eijun let out the breath he'd been holding. "Really?"

"Well, with an ultimatum like that…"

"Just be honest, you—"

"Okay. I get it." The cover rustled, Kazuya's arm lifting it. "Come here."

It was such a small matter for Eijun to scoot closer and line up against Kazuya's front, letting Kazuya's arm drop around him in a loose embrace. Eijun's hand flattened over the solid flesh and muscle of Kazuya's body and paused there, soaking in the warmth and gentle motions of his breathing, and then slowly, tentatively, Eijun's touch molded to the curve of his side and around to the slope of his back, holding him close and comfortable. Not to make a point and not because he had to; there was no other reason except Eijun wanted it.

In return, the fold of Kazuya's arm drew inward, fitting around Eijun in a secure press. "Better?" Kazuya asked, voice sounding deeper when Eijun was this close to the vibration in his throat.

It was better like this; relaxed and easy and not complicated or strange at all. Eijun let his eyes drift partway closed, inhaling the clean scent of Kazuya's skin, stripped of the heavy, cloying fragrances that always indicated work. He smelled like plain soap and laundered cotton. Eijun buried his nose against Kazuya's chest, near his beating heart like there were secrets to be uncovered there if he listened hard enough.

What he eventually heard was Kazuya's quiet, "Goodnight, Sawamura," accompanied by a shivery-good stroke of fingers over the base of his neck. Eijun's skin rippled all over in goosebumps, blood racing, and after seconds ticked into minutes, and minutes yielded nothing, his pulse went slow and extra sluggish with what he strongly suspected was disappointment.

What was I expecting? Eijun asked himself again, and then immediately realized: stupid question.

He gave his head a tiny shake, trying not to jostle Kazuya whose breathing had evened out into long, deep draws. Complicated thoughts were rising up again. Not now, Eijun mentally huffed and shoved them aside. Who cares about that? What was important was this, right here. The strong, steady beat locked inside Kazuya's chest and the warmth wherever Eijun could touch. The things Eijun was allowed to know and keep safe.

His fingers curled against Kazuya's back. "Goodnight, senpai," Eijun said. "You've worked hard lately, so rest as much as you need. Everything's fine now. And thanks, as always."