Kiku awoke from a world oppressed by frightening dreams and freezing palaces. His eyes filled with Yao's lovely visage at his side, its surface barren of the pearly substance that coded it only the night before, and his eyes lonely for that reddish glow. He was still beautiful, simply altered. The boy once again found his pain evaporating beneath his amazement.
One of Kiku's hands pressed softly to that cheek with sweet intent, careful not to wake the owner from his heavy peace. His flesh might as well have been silk itself, those fingers crying want for another quick grace of that wondrous surface.
A lovely smell infected his senses, and he had to wonder if it was simply the man before him or a fantastic perfume. It was flowers…So light and lovely, but still somehow lethal, as a spider luring its prey to imminent death.
Was he truly here? The boy had to think for a moment where he had come from…He could remember a street drowning in a deep rain and a sense of urgency to find those people he had misplaced. He was so small in a world overgrown, as an ant upon the palm of a deity…
He was dragged away by that horrid blond man, who had captured him as a vulture from an empty sky.
And now, he lied here, under the covers of a European object next to a gorgeous man who seemed to masquerade as a gorgeous woman.
Yao's eyes opened and witnessed several silent tears lacing those pained wells, so entranced with a sort of intelligence one rarely found in small children. His white sleeve was raised, the possession of sleeping clothes, taking the upset from that kokeshi's eyes.
"I know, little one. The first night is always the most difficult…But you'll be alright." Kiku's small form was stolen into an overwhelming embrace, his face coming close to that tempting neck and more emotion drained, as if this fantastic creature was taking an axe to a healthy dam. "We can be in a family, you and I…It's so much easier that way."
Even though Kiku's comprehension was extraordinarily low, that tone seemed to calm him, although several more tears came leaking from those broken windows, reddened by confusion and aching emotion. The speaker could utilize his voice as if he was playing an instrument wit masterful skill. Those words sitting warmly within Kiku's ear could be the foulest of profanities, yet he could only take them and pin them gently to his heart.
"It's a hard life…But it's not all so bad. You're young, so you can have an entire collection of talents, and as long as you listen to what Mr. Kirkland says, you'll be fine…"
The boy simply cried, distraught noise leaving his throat and turning his eyes to handsome buckets.
"Shh…Kiku, if Arthur hears you, you'll be in a world of trouble…"
The sobs, even though the bearer spoke no form of Chinese, grew somewhat quieter.
Yao lidded his vision again, allowing his counterpart all his distress, and procrastinating his actual awakening.
And as he relaxed, the Japanese boy loosened his muscles as well, coming closer to other's neck. It was nearly a wonderland, between the fantastic scent and the velvety touch. In a sort of distracted state, the child reached out his palm, so tiny from youth, and found a lovely crease within the elder's flesh.
There was a laugh, and a second, larger edition took residence upon Kiku's hand.
"I know…You're not the only one…" And another round of soft amusement. "You'd be surprised at how much that costs…A lot of men would consider you lucky…but we're not, are we?" The grip around Kiku's appendages became tighter, even somewhat endearing. "Maybe one day men will pay ridiculous sums to touch your neck as well…"
They were interrupted by the cry of an opening screen, and an angered Englishman standing there with a cigarette between his lips and the digits of a small boy caught within his palm.
"Yao, are you getting up?"
Hong stood at his side, his hair flowing onto his shoulders as a messy little cascade.
The lovely man didn't respond but sat up with the small boy within his arms, admitting him to the floor. Those once heavily coded eyes were wiped with skin utilized as a cloth, while the owner of that well composed set of features spoke.
"Am I ever allowed a break, Arthur? I returned this morning as the sun was rising, after another night of dancing, with drunken men touching me."
"Oh, poor darling. Do you want a cup of tea while you menstruate? Maybe I can come over and rub your back while listening to you cry."
At these hurtful comments, Hong seemed to have an uncomfortable feeling writhing within his belly.
"Come get breakfast. I don't care what you do with yourself afterwards… until you're on my clock."
The other sighed, his fingers pressing into that perfectly smooth forehead with brows breaking under the weight of what could have been several years of exhaustion. "Alright. Just don't be upset when you find me dead because you worked me like a mule."
"Mules don't die from work."
"No. But performers named Yao do."
"Quit your belly-aching! I feed you and pay you, don't I? And I've let you keep Hong here, even though at this point, he's nothing but another mouth to feed."
The boy under Arthur's observance stared a moment, with a heart missing a cardinal section. Naturally, the golden haired demon didn't pay even a mild regard, all his attention on the man across the room.
Yao walked to Arthur, stopping at his side and laying a kind touch upon his cheek and injected a stare livid with purpose into those angry jewels. Gently, his careful numbers removed the tobacco curled between his mounds and held it as a well achieved prize. "Come now, Mr. Kirkland." The voice projected was kept malleable, and softly a pair of admirable lips were pressed to the other's. "There's no need for all that…" The exchanged glances a long moment, communication knitting between stares, and finally, Yao returned the treasure to its original captor.
"Fine. Go eat breakfast." The Englishman's hand secured Hong's a little more tightly, and all his fiery attention was radiated into Kiku's miniscule, helpless form. "Just what the hell are you looking at? Are you hungry or are just going to stand there and stare at me like a dead fish?"
"I can't understand you…" The boy explained in soft tones, utilizing the only tongue he kept within that suddenly dry orifice. "I don't speak Chinese."
The thickly browed man released a sigh built of frustration, turning his back to the chamber and leaving.
Desperate for an answer or perhaps something more than a room livid with emptiness, Kiku followed as a mutt in desperation for an owner.
In the light of day, this strange building seemed completely different, almost beautiful. The walls were dyed in pleasant colors and several pleasing calligraphy paintings hung about them, sometimes the picture of a gorgeous man occupying a shining scroll hung upon the wall.
As they reached the bottom floor and descended into the kitchen, Kiku was greeted with the sight of enumerable attractive men, all dressed pleasantly with long hair tied upon their crowns in perfect little buns. The room was filled with that unknown tongue while bowls of congee occupied barren mouths.
Again, the Japanese boy found himself captivated, never before witnessing so many beautiful people in one area. Was this some sort of dream palace? It seemed impossible to have such a brilliant collection.
For a moment, everyone stopped to take in Yao and his small procession of children, some saying quick hellos, other simply returning to their bowls at the sight of the British demon named Mr. Kirkland.
Yao, followed by Kiku and Hong placed themselves at one of the empty tables waiting at the back of the space, a child at either side of the adult. Almost immediately, bowls were placed before them by a young servant boy, and without a single instance of hesitation or spoken word, the eldest began to eat.
Kiku stared at the contents of the bowl, a miniature vat full of all sorts of nutrients, yet his stomach seemed to churn. Not because of the ingredients warmed within the soup's innards, but because he was surrounded by an entire new life, and that upset his barren middle far more than any sort of food ever could. It was as if he was thrown into another universe through some kind of terrible mirror, and even though his fists threatened to break the glass, there would be no chance of return.
The boy's finger dipped into the substance inhabiting his bowl and as it exited with a light coding, he placed it in between his lips, unsure of what his opinion should be. He decided not to wonder upon such trivial pursuits and returned all his attention to the situation tossed before him, rather, the situation he was tossed into. Again, he was choking back a throat full of upset.
"Yao…Will you comb my hair after breakfast?"
"Yes…Of course…" The man answered with a tone full of sleep. "Thank you for watching Kiku last night…Did everything go well?"
"Yes. After a while, he just fell asleep."
"Good…Can I ask you another favor?"
Hong offered him a nod.
"Can you show him around today, or just keep him company?" That pretty figure had taken notice of the new child's sorrow, even though he was ready to fall head first into his wondrous breakfast and have bits of rice tangled within those tresses. "I have another busy night to look forward to, so…What little sleep I can get would be nice…"
The younger sibling nodded, ready to assist his darling brother in any way he possibly could.
"Thank you, Hong." Yao's fingers placed a few of those ink colored strands behind the boy's ear and wondered back to his meal, other thoughts occupying his mind as fresh water occupying a thirsty mouth, most of these droplets containing the notion of dreams.
After the three had finished their bowls, they returned to Yao's chamber, the Japanese boy submerged in dejection as well as thick confusion, and Hong in anticipation to have those itchy little bristles taken from his collar.
The moment they entered, Hong was adopted into kind arms and set upon that oddly located European bed.
Kiku watched as the other child's hair was brushed through with a loving and careful comb; then secured into that little knot with a piece of scarlet cloth. Yao's fingers modeled the hair around his face and offered his counterpart a grin alive with exhaustion.
"Thank you, Yao."
Instead of an answer, the boy was handed response in the form of a pat upon the head.
Hong inched himself from the plateau's edge and landed upon the floor, his feet making a small amount of noise upon impact. His gaze immediately regarded Kiku, who seemed somewhat distracted by the condition of his own hair, follicles out of place and begging to be secured into their proper assignments, while knots screamed against his ears in blatant anger. Fingers tried to quell that awful picture, but to no avail.
Instead of calling the boy to his side, Yao kneeled before Kiku, the comb's sweet bristles falling into that messy wave of unadulterated darkness and immediately turning hay into the finest of silks.
Kiku's face seemed to illuminate, having those elegant hands applied to his scalp so gently. That heavenly figure was so cautious, paying heed to each little stubborn tough, trying with such diligence not to tear away section from the poor boy's head with those fatal teeth.
Kiku looked into those tired eyes as his hair was combed, and tried so hard not to begin sobbing. The words of thanks he was looking for so desperately seemed miscarry within his throat, even though he paged through his mind in an active search for those syllables without the intent of giving up.
He was uncertain as to why this simple act brought him to such emotion, but it didn't seem to matter.
As a tear descended from his bleeding wells, he nodded and was given a nod in return, as well as a sad, torn sort of smile.
And Kiku and Hong left Yao alone to sleep.
