The boy simply stood in the back alley behind the club, as if he'd materialized there, a porcelain doll amongst the debris of the metropolis.
"I'm sorry I'm late. I don't really have a good excuse."
His white hair, white shirt, white schoolboy shoes - his white everything shone gold under the dim light of the back alley. Otogi simply stared at the pretty stranger, forgetting that he was holding, well, a garbage bag. "Are you..." Somehow, he knew that the boy wasn't lost - no matter how out of place he looked. "Are you looking for someone?" And even if he was, why wouldn't he try the front door, first? What business did he have getting lost in the back alleys of the red-light district?
The boy produced a carefully folded piece of paper from the front pocket of his striped shirt. Otogi watched him unfold the note, slowly, carefully, patiently. No, patience was not involved. He felt content, peaceful watching the boy at work.
"I called. Earlier this week. You said I could start tonight. Mister Ryu- Ryuji-"
"Right." The boys all expect to be remembered. As if he was the only destitute boy eager to try his luck in a male host club! Otogi tossed the forgotten bag on top of a nearby pile, then beckoned the boy in to win some time. Of all the desperate people who called this week... "What's your name again?" They stepped into the kitchen, and under the acrid fluorescent lights, the boy looked not golden, but silver.
"Bakura Ryou."
Otogi's eyes lit up. "Your voice sounds different on the phone. Very different..."
"Ah…"
"Was it your boyfriend?"
The boy hesitated. Otogi sighed. "I usually don't hire people who are attached, you know. In this line of work…" He looked at the boy's pleasant features, his gentle eyes, his slender neck laden with a gaudy gold ring that somehow made him look more fragile in comparison.
"I'm Otogi. I'll show you around."
The boy smiled sweetly, too sweetly for the occasion, and Otogi had the strange, contradictory gut feeling that he both should and should not be taking the boy in.
The Host
The boy wore the same outfit the next day. White converse, washed out, almost white jeans, and the blue and white striped shirt whose oddly plain look clashed with the gaudy golden ring.
"You can get through the front door, you know. You never know who you could run into in those back alleys."
"You never know who you could run into in the streets."
Who you could run into in the streets. Was he hiding from somebody?
It wasn't too late to call it off - to send the boy back home with his presumed problems and enemies. But Otogi would be out of staff if he fired every host who'd had problems with their dealer. Or landlord. Or ex. And he didn't have to be a Mother Teresa to the Lost Boys of Domino.
Otogi took a good look at the boy, let his eyes linger on his exposed collarbone, rising gently in time with the boy's breathing…
"I guess you're right. Come on in, I'll show you around."
"Thank you," the boy said softly.
Here is the staff room, and here are the toilets, and here is the bar, and here are the private rooms… Otogi had gone through this so many times his mind allowed itself to wander off. This wasn't the kind of job that required a resume, only the assurance that one can do the job. Here are the rags and floor cleaner, here -
" - have you done this before?"
The boy looked down, as if he was thinking, and then as if he was going to keep his thoughts to himself.
"Have you ever been with clients?"
"Um…" This time he really was mulling it over. "Yes…"
Okay, so maybe he'd had to take on a few clients on his own and preferred a formalized environment. Maybe he was even planning to maintain his own clientele. Maybe he could bring some clientele here. Otogi did not know why he dared not ask.
"I don't know if I'm ready to bartend, though."
"I'm the one behind the bar. All you have to do is to make them drink up. Think you can do that?"
"I can try."
"Well, I'm giving you one week. You're going to work with Masa, he's my best right now."
The boy nodded. He was so shy, telling him to relax would somehow have the opposite effect.
"This is real gold, isn't it?"
The boy looked at him, alert.
"I mean aren't you afraid of getting mugged? You're in a pretty rough part of town," Otogi reminded him. "And it clashes with your complexion, too, I mean you'd think that silver would suit you much better-"
"Don't worry. I'm fine," the boy assures, his voice sounding almost… contrite.
.
"Tell me about the boy," Otogi asked as tossed the empty carton of orange juice.
"He's listening. He's paying attention. He looks like the careful type, he's wise." Masa glanced back at the group of men huddled around Ryou, who seemed to have their attention while keeping them at a safe distance. "Yeah, they're really curious about him. I can barely get a word in edgewise." Masa grabbed the drinks that Otogi finished pouring, and scurried back to the group.
"New boy, huh?"
The man pushed his glass towards Otogi, meaning to ask for a refill even though he had been handed a shaker. Otogi obliged him; he was an opening customer.
"Yeah."
"They say it's bad luck."
"Huh?"
"White hair. Bad luck."
"Right." Otogi shook out the last drop and proceeded to dismantle, then rinse the apparatus in the sink. He wasn't really interested to listen to the old man's ramblings; he let him jabber away. Otogi's mind was focused on the heap of white hair gleaming even under the dim lights, on the boy's exotic white skin and slender neck, laden with the strangely clashing piece of golden jewelry that somehow exacerbated his delicate, doll-like built.
Otogi saw himself tune into the sound of the boy's voice, to the rhythm at which he was addressing each overbearing client in turn, laughing then smiling, then nodding, then laughing. He was the center of attention of this group without having to utter a single word. Otogi felt his heart pound a little firmly, observed himself move to the edge of his seat, hold his glass a little too firmly and smile, even, in time with Ryou's timely performances of candid delight and ease.
.
The boy's first night went by too slowly yet too fast. Otogi had had to give away a few drinks to upset customers because of the mistakes he'd made when mixing. The solitary clients at the bar politely teased Otogi; even Masa made a comment in that regard.
The crowd in the club had thinned down to a critical mass of regulars, undecided as to whether they were going to spend the remainder of the night in a capsule or in a love hotel. Otogi didn't know himself how he wanted to spend the rest of the night. He wasn't tired.
He could call up some friends, see who felt like going for drinks - most of them were awake at this hours for being in the same business - but was in no mood for being social. He could wander the streets and eat a bite but he wasn't hungry. He could go home and watch some tv or listen to some music… or even put himself to sleep… He wasn't tired, though.
He was bored.
Maybe he'd take a client home, just for kicks; more than one of them regularly lamented Otogi's 'retiring' from the 'people' side of the business. He secretly suspected that was the reason they complained about his drinks; Otogi knew he was a good mixologist, it's just that the clients were trying to discourage him.
Maybe Otogi could go play some pachinko. That surely would chase the boredom out of him.
But then he saw porcelain boy emerge from the staff room with his 'civilian' shirt on - only a creature so thin could afford wearing such thick horizontal stripes - and suddenly there were no other options as to how Otogi wanted to be spending the rest of his time until the sun rose again.
"Hey, um-"
"Ryou," the boy diligently reminded him.
"Yeah, Ryou," Otogi repeated, embarrassed that his hesitance had been mistaken for poor name memory. "So, um, how was your night?"
"I learned a lot from Masa-san."
"But I mean, are you enjoying it?" Otogi stopped short; what kind of question was that? "I mean, erm, you're from Kyoto, aren't you?"
"I did live in Kyoto, yes." He blinked a few times, perhaps a habit of nervousness, and offered a mild-mannered smile. "Before moving here. What about you, Ryuji?"
"I'm from -" He bowed to a customer who was approaching them, looking at Ryou with great intent. "Thank you for coming, Kujirou-san. Have a great night. We'll see you next week, yes?"
The man's face fell from having his attempts at securing the new flesh thwarted, and gracefully took his leave. The last client went out the door. Masa emerged from the staff room in turn, and bowed before Otogi, then waved Ryou amicably. "See you Wednesday, Ryou!"
And then he was out the door.
And then Otogi and Ryou were alone.
And then Ryou began shifting his weight nervously.
And then Otogi forgot what he was saying previously.
Ryou was patiently standing before Ryuji, evidently waiting to be thanked in turn. Otogi saw himself feel… selfish.
"Do you… Where is home?"
"Namura-cho."
"That's far. You know you can always sleep on my couch if you need." Otogi was surprised to hear himself make an offer he swore he'd never make after things became sweet, then sour with Maro-chan (about a year ago).
"I'm fine," Ryou said rapidly.
"Or we could walk together, I live somewhere on the way there."
"Really, I'm fine," Ryou said, now playing with one of the dangling appendices of his jewelry. "I… I really should get going," he said in a soft, low voice, looking away as he did.
"Right. You have other things to do - a boyfriend? To go back to?"
Ryou hesitated. "Something like that, yes."
"It's complicated," Ryuji supplied.
"Yes. Something like that, yes."
And then silence. An eerie silence, given that the music was off, but the lights were on, and the deserted tables were littered with empty glasses and fluids of all sorts.
"Right. I'm not going to keep you any longer, then. I'll see you on Wednesday?"
"Yes," Ryou muttered before bowing, "thank you very much," and he dashed to the door and the wonderfully strange looking porcelain doll was gone, leaving Otogi behind with the leftover evidence of man's loneliness and greed.
He turned off the lights and left.
.
Otogi came in early the next day to clear up the mess he'd abandoned the day before. Really, he should have stayed an extra half-hour to clean and rinse and wipe everything while he could, because sweeping made his back cringe, his poor back sore feel from having watched hours of porn before falling asleep on the couch, with his laptop strategically placed on his lap… and on his, in the end, unmanned organ.
When was the last time he'd made love? Not had sex. Not gotten blown by a pretty boy who wanted to settle a debt. Making love.
This was an unusual thought to be having when taking out the trash.
When he opened the door to the back alley, the boy was there, in his white converse and striped t-shirt, intently focused on the condensed life happening on the tiny screen of his smartphone.
"How long have you been there? We're closed today, did you forget?"
The boy jumped, looked up. The foundation was expertly applied, but the lump above his lip was hard to dissimulate. Otogi knew a bruise when he saw one.
"I'm sorry to break it to you, but you won't be able come to work like this."
Ryou swallowed audibly.
"People will ask questions. It doesn't look good," Otogi explained.
"I'm fine," Ryou said. "Really, I'm fine."
Otogi gave him a disbelieving look.
"It's - It's safe," Ryou said precipitately, as if he was letting Otogi onto a secret. "It's… It's safe when I'm around people." He made his delusion sound like a confession. A visibly alleviating confession.
Otogi considered this - the boy's lying to himself - and whether or not he should call the boy on it - for a while.
Then:
"Just because he acts nice when you're around people doesn't mean he won't lose it someday."
Ryou's face fell.
"Look," Otogi now regretted he might have ventured into too private a terrain; at least the newfound closeness felt positively awkward - "what you're going to do is give it a few days, to heal-" Otogi had to stop and remind himself he didn't have to deal with this. He could easily let his rational side, who saw the boy as trouble, take over and tell off his emotional side, who inexplicably felt for the boy. It wasn't too late. You're the boss. You do what you want.
And he wanted to - he wanted the boy. The boy's presence. To be around the boy… just a bit more. And to wipe the anguish off his angelic face.
"Are you busy right now?" Otogi asked rhetorically.
.
They walked idly without caring where they were heading at, and Otogi was so engrossed with Ryou's telling silences and monosyllabic replies, that he realized too late that they had arrived, well, in front of his home. They went into a convenience store, just because Otogi was hungry but a restaurant would make the whole thing feel like a date, and climbed up the stairs to his apartment hands full of bentos and snacks. And, well, some drinks.
The boy seemed to be unfazed by the mess and the porn magazines lying around in the living.
"Wow. It's so big," was the first thing he said.
"Sometimes it feels too big, when you're alone in it. Ah, erm, can I offer you something to drink? I can make you a drink, or..."
Ryou simply pointed to the cans of sweet plum wine in his plastic bag.
"Right. Well, erm," Otogi unceremoniously cleared the coffee table, "here you go. You can put your stuff there." He sat on the floor and set out to unpack his lunch, wondering how on Earth he'd managed to take an employee home on the second day.
Ryou joined him, sat on his kneels with unmatched elegance, at the opposite side of the table, and proceeded to unpack his bento as well.
"So, you have a boyfriend, if you don't mind my asking. Mind you, I don't have one. Full disclosure. I… Yeah." Stop rambling.
"It's complicated," the boy reasserted.
"Right. Sorry - you told me earlier. We don't have to talk about this."
Ryou took a sip of his drink, slowly. "It's okay."
"If you want to talk about it…"
"I'm fine."
Otogi put down his chopsticks. He'd heard it too many times.
"You don't have to be."
Ryou looked up. He looked as if though he was considering that possibility for the first time.
"You don't have to accept this," Otogi risked. After all, and even though he had a pretty good idea what was going on, he didn't know for sure, and couldn't assume. But these stories are so classic - and the victims always turn out to be wrong in their assumptions… "Really. You look like a nice boy. You don't have to endure whatever's going on - besides, no one would have to endure anything."
The boy paled even more than Otogi thought possible. He clutched the ring around his neck -
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Otogi asked between two mouthfuls of rice. "Did I say something wrong?"
The boy - Ryou Bakura - grinned.
.