When Taichi saw Yamato, he thought, I've been here before, because, in truth, he has, just with different characters. But essentially, it was the same. Taichi was the prostitute, Takeru (or Seiji or Sakura or Kinji) was the rebelling son (or daughter), and Yamato was the family member that found out first and, usually, the one who disapproved the strongest. He looked down at them, eyes sharp and clear like two handfuls of water.

Taichi was in his boxers, and he pulled himself out of bed, the sheets rustling like dead leaves, and put on his pants. Takeru stirred in the bed, his eyes blinking slowly, and he began mumbling something to Taichi, but Yamato was there, the same golden hair, the same pale skin, the same small, lithe figure as his, and his words and his heartbeat tangled up inside his chest.

"Yamato—"

"A car's outside waiting for you. Mother was worried about you last night and wants to see you." Takeru fumbled out of bed, searching for his clothes.

"I don't want to go through this again, Takeru," Yamato said.

"I'm sorry, I just-- Taichi has--"

Yamato looked at Taichi. "He seems like he's used to this."

Takeru walked to the door. "This won't happen again," he said. "I can deal with this, Yamato. Let me deal with this."

"No."

Takeru made a motion to touch Yamato, a small jerk of his arms, a step forward, but Yamato looked determined and focused, and they both knew nothing would change the outcome. Taichi watched Takeru shut the door behind him; he was sitting comfortably on the couch, a notepad in one hand, and a pen in the other. Yamato walked across to him and sat down. It was a business transaction. Taichi would keep his mouth shut for money.

"Stay away from my brother," Yamato said clearly, each word curt and sharp; he had a simple, relaxed form of elegance, like the contrast between black and white, a pair of gloves sliding up to a girl's elbow, bare shoulders, or the vision of a smooth, arching neck. Taichi believed in being reasonable.

"I want ten thousand dollars every month," he said. Yamato expected this. He knew the price of being rich and careless, of owning a three-syllable word that tied him down to everyone else's consequences. He twisted his lips. "Fine."

Taichi's new apartment was snuggled between two larger brick buildings near a busy street. The walls were firm and dark green, smooth underneath his fingers. He bought a couch and a new mattress, which the movers had brought in last night. He felt the thickness of his pillow after breaking through its plastic wrapping, and spent thirty minutes in his shower until the water ran cold. Next month, he was going to buy a T.V. Taichi looked at the sturdy lock on his door, and wondered if this was what it felt to be home.

In truth, nothing had really changed, except that Taichi found himself a more stable job at a local bookstore across the street. It was a quaint little shop, owned by an old man. It had its regular customers, and a few other people dropped by now and then after they've rummaged through the city, the internet, and was still left empty-handed. There, they finally found what they had been looking for. Taichi didn't know where all the books came from; the old man kept it a secret. He said it would be like teaching a kid how to whistle. Taichi didn't mind not knowing all the secrets. He was content with pressing the numbers on the cash register, the process of a box full of money flinging open, a paper bag, and a face looking at him relieved and grateful; it was a nice change. But sometimes, Taichi returned, winking at Joe and laughing at Mimi, just for fun.

It was in that bookstore, Taichi met Izzy.

"There's a reason why I come here every day, you know," Izzy said to him. It was the ninth time he came over, a coffee in one hand, pockets full of money in the other.

"I thought it was just a personal mission of yours to empty out the bookstore, so that by the time your mid-life crisis comes around, you won't be tempted to buy a sizzling red Porsche. You'll be too busy sipping tea in your library while boasting to your dog about your self control."

"What about wooing a certain employee of the said bookstore?"

"Are you trying to hire me as a librarian?" Taichi squinted at him suspiciously; Izzy laughed.

"What will it take for you to go out with me?"

"You just need to be made out of money," Taichi said. He wasn't sure if it was pure jest or not, but to Izzy, it did not matter. He flung out five hundred dollar bills on the table.

"You do know that I take this thing seriously, right?" Taichi asked. The red glow of the lamp flickered suddenly.

"Prostitution or the money or, if I'm lucky, me?"

"Earning my money," Taichi replied.

"Then I'll see you tonight. Dress well; I'm going to a business gathering."

"The others might know."

"Then let them hang their head in shame for knowing such a thing. If they don't, I have my ways."

"Six hundred for the night, and a hundred for each hour after midnight."

"I'll see you at seven."

When Izzy left, Taichi wondered how some things never changed.

Izzy was sharp business suits and strict features when he arrived. Taichi did not expect any less, because even in the dim light of the bookstore, he could tell Izzy did not belong there the same way the books did not belong there, shrouded underneath the heavy dust. They both needed the glint of the sun, striking their edges in a painfully clear way that was different from the wavering shadows of the bookstore.

As they drove, Taichi could see the subtle changes in scenery, the grimy, city streets melting into a richer neighborhood with clean pavement and larger houses that were not just made up of random stones placed on top of each other. He could see the orange lights off in the distance.

He vaguely knew how to act in a gathering like this; he had been to a couple. Izzy led the way, smiling and greeting. He was familiar with many people in a subtle, condescending way that they accepted easily as a part of his charm. Taichi was courteous, and he answered charmingly to all the questions that they asked:

'Where did you meet?'

'In a bookstore,' he replied. 'We both went for the same book.'

'How come I haven't seen you before?'

'I was a bit nervous. I wanted to make a good impression, because he talks about you so frequently with great respect.'

Izzy tugged his arm, and slowly, he guided them out of the circle. They turned a corner, laughing and bumping into someone. They pulled themselves up, ready to apologize, but it was the same blonde hair that Taichi had seen before, the same blue eyes, and pale features.

"Oh Yamato!" Izzy said. "Yamato, this is Taichi. Taichi, this is Yamato." They shook hands and Taichi bowed. Yamato had a peculiar glint in his eyes, and he smiled, charming and graceful.

"Pleased to meet you."

Everything was one more secret, and Taichi laughed to keep it all shut.

"My pleasure."