See the heavy leaf
on the silent windless day
falls of its own will

~Nozawa Boncho (1640 – 1714)


Minori's hair was down, devoid of gold ornaments and cascading past lean shoulders. His gossamer undergarment, usually hidden beneath heavy robes, now bared every curve, every inch of his silken skin. Even then, he looked resplendent in the darkness – so bright, in fact, that Yuuri wanted nothing more than to shrink from the light. But he couldn't, and no matter how hard he prayed, Minori was still there, watching and waiting for an answer.

Yuuri wrung his hands, searching frantically for an excuse. Anything that would get him out of this mess. But his mind, ever the traitor, was a complete blank. "I, um…"

"It was me," Takasaki said firmly.

Yuuri's jaw fell, just as Minori quirked an eyebrow. "You?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I challenged Mikawa to a fight. 'cause uh, the other boys thought he'd be too much of a wimp to take me up." Takasaki's Adam's apple bobbed as Minori's eyes slanted. "Yeah, that's it. I was taunting him, you know, like, 'Mikawa that girl, he'd never have the guts'. And that's when he came out of his room. Right, Mikawa?"

It took Yuuri several seconds to process Takasaki's words; a few more to respond. "Yeah," he heard his voice say, quivering only so slightly. "Yeah, that's right. That's exactly what happened."

"A fight," said Minori, flat and unconvinced.

"Yep," said Takasaki, jutting his chin out in defiance.

Yuuri trembled in the silence that followed. He didn't know what punishments waited in store for breaking En's rules, but he was keenly aware of how careful the older boys were to avoid them. If Mari was any indication, teenagers were nigh invulnerable; the punishments had to be horrible for them to be so afraid. He could only hope to be given some leniency for his age.

Then again, he was brought to En for being old enough in the first place.

Minori cut through Yuuri's fears with a quiet hum. "Very well. Given that a fight has yet to occur, I see no reason to continue this inquiry. But I would advise against any further challenges." Narrowed eyes flickered to Yuuri. "Especially you, Mikawa. I cannot have you disgracing my name."

"Y-Yes, Big Brother." Yuuri bowed low, his heart thrumming against his ribs. Judging by the number of stories and poetry he consumed every day, his mentor had to be smart enough to see through such a blatant lie. What reason could he have to let them off the hook so easily?

When Yuuri straightened, Minori was already slipping back into his quarters.

"Fetch that kettle of water," he called over his shoulder. "My client is thirsty."


For the first time since he left home, Yuuri felt twinges of annoyance stir at his insides. Takasaki had chosen to follow him to the kitchens, ambling after him with loud footsteps that thudded against the wood floors. Yuuri wondered how he could have missed the giant's presence. He set a kettle into the sink and turned on the faucet, before whirling round on the older boy, fists clenched at his sides.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded over the hollow sounds of water filling metal.

"Nothing," Takasaki yelped, holding up both hands. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble, I swear! I just…" He trailed off and averted his gaze, rubbing his neck. "I just wanted to talk."

Yuuri drew in a slow breath. Now that he had gotten a good look at Takasaki, there was something about the other boy. Something about the way he shifted his big feet, the way his expensive kimono squeezed far too tightly around his bulky frame, the way his tongue seemed to stumble around the dialect of the great capital. The boy was awkward – far too much for a noble place like En.

"You came from a village," Yuuri said quietly.

Takasaki brightened. "Yeah. Yeah! That's why I wanted to talk. You aren't like the other boys, all proud and all mouth, so I thought, maybe you're a village kid, too. I figured it'd be easier for us to chat at night, so I went to your room. And I was just in the hallway, when you burst right out and ran off in the other direction."

As Yuuri paused, the sounds behind him doubled in volume – water had begun to overflow. Twisting, he turned off the faucet and emptied the excess water, before sealing the kettle with its lid.

"So I followed, you know, just to, uh, just to make sure you weren't doing anything stupid. Runaways get the harshest beatings," Takasaki continued, clumsily filling in the silence. "I just wasn't expecting to see you with a girl. Feels like ages since I've seen one our age."

The words escaped from Yuuri's throat before he could catch them. "She's my friend."

"Yeah? Well I was hoping we could be that, too." Takasaki gave a lopsided grin. "Us village boys have to stick together, right? I can even tell you the best hiding spots to meet your friend."

With both hands, Yuuri hauled the kettle out of the sink by the thin handle. "I'm…" He licked his lips, realizing only now how parched they were. Takasaki seemed genuine, and throughout their conversation, the instinct for fight-or-flight hadn't surfaced. Plus, it would be nice to have a friend in the teahouse. Really, really nice. "I'm Yuuri. My, um, my real name, I mean. Katsuki Yuuri."

"Cool," said Takasaki, and his grin broadened.

"I'm Takeshi. Nishigori Takeshi."


Takeshi wasn't Yuuko. He was rude, blunt, and every inch the village boy he claimed to be. At times, he made comments about Yuuri's looks, musing aloud how a real boy could possibly turn prettier as he aged; at other times, he guffawed, loud and uninhibited, at the appearance of horrifically embarrassing cracks in Yuuri's prepubescent voice.

But he was also kind. True to his word, he listed a number of meeting spots for when Yuuko returned. He ate lunch with Yuuri, protected him from the other boys, and taught him shortcuts to the various rooms around the teahouse. In exchange, Yuuri corrected Takeshi's dialect and tutored him on classic literature, forcing him to recite lines in the bath and analyze their hidden meanings.

Color returned to Yuuri's life, and he rose with eagerness at dawn, ready to begin another day with his new friend.

So when Yuuko slipped back into the teahouse several nights later—as Yuuri knew she would—he thought he ought to bring Takeshi along, because Yuuko would benefit from having another friend, too.

The introduction was brief.

"Are you one of the mean boys who bully Yuuri?" Yuuko puffed out her cheeks, rearing up to full height. She wore an orange kimono with patterns of spiral fishcakes and she barely reached Takeshi's eye level, but her aura warned of a menacing consequence if Takeshi failed to answer correctly.

"Uh," Takeshi glanced at Yuuri, his craggy face clearly beseeching him for help, "No?"

"He's a friend," Yuuri supplied. As a show of Takeshi's harmlessness, he gave the older boy an extra pat on the shoulder. "He said he'd help us find a better hiding spot."

"Oh," said Yuuko, a smile lighting up her round face. "Then it's very nice to meet you, Takeshi!"

Takeshi's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red.

And so their duo became a trio, and they met once a month in the little alcove in Yuuri's very own room, concealed by a hanging ink painting of a crane soaring over Mt. Fuji. ("It's safer for me to sneak in than for you boys to sneak out," Yuuko reasoned with great authority.) Each month, they divided Yuuri's luxurious dinners among themselves in the cramped space, exchanged tips for their various lessons, and chuckled over the silly spats among their fellow residents.

A hot, steaming meal and a shared night of conversations and laughter – just like Hasetsu; just like home.

Tonight, their stories focused on the drama in their different teahouses. Takeshi told them of a scuffle that occurred in the baths between two older boys, ending with tears, bruises, and the owner laying her fury on them with a switch. Yuuko shared about a jealous lower rank, who shrieked profanities at her Big Sister in front of the staff, before setting upon the unfortunate woman and leaving ugly, red lines with her painted nails.

"My Big Sister screamed so many bad words, the owner had to cover my ears," Yuuko said as Takeshi doubled over, shaking. "It's not funny! I don't think it's nice to get scratched like that. The owner at Kaguya[1]got super mad."

"I think we're not supposed to get hurt." Yuuri laid a finger on his chin, feeling the rough bit of hardness on his skin. "I nicked myself shaving the other day and our owner got really upset."

"That's only 'cause you're pretty," Takeshi snorted. "I could get punched in the face and she wouldn't even notice."

Suddenly, Yuuko grinned from ear to ear and shifted closer to Takeshi, her thigh brushing against his. The giant tensed visibly, eyebrows pulling together. "W-What?" he said, shooting his fiercest glare. Yuuri wondered if he knew that the flush creeping up his neck served only to dampen the effect.

"Let's test it," said Yuuko. And then she lunged at Takeshi, sleeves flying.

"Wait," Yuuri said over the yelp and giggles, squishing back against the wall in alarm. "Wait, you're making too much noise—"

"Mikawa." Minori's airy voice wafted through the paper doors, and instantly, the pair froze. Yuuri stopped breathing entirely. "I need more candles."

Willing his heart to calm, Yuuri released an exhale. "Right away, Big Brother," he called.

Footsteps, and then the telltale slide of a door.

"We almost got caught," Takeshi hissed after a beat. Yuuko stuck out her tongue at him.

"I have to go." Yuuri punctuated his words with a prod at his friends' shoulders. "Stay. Quiet."

"Yes, Sir," they chirped in unison.

Yuuri kept his face stern as he lifted the painting and clambered out of the alcove. The whispers started as soon as he left, and he allowed his expression to soften. He was glad that his friends got along. Takeshi was a fun new element to Yuuko's visits, and with Yuuko around, he became more civilized, watching his rough mannerisms and even toning down his digs on Yuuri's appearance. Yuuko, of course, continued to radiate light and life, teasing Takeshi's thick country accent and giving Yuuri extra food portions – the beautiful glow about her never once dimming.

Lost in thought, Yuuri soon found himself back at Minori's quarters. After handing over the candles to Minori, he hurried back into his room, careful to pull the door shut, before making a beeline for the painting.

"I'm back," he whispered, pushing back the thick parchment. "What'd I mi—"

Yuuri halted mid-sentence.

Takeshi was alone in the alcove. Alone, with his eyes damp and rosy-edged, chest rising and falling in rapid heaves.

Evidently, Yuuri had missed a lot.

"Where's Yuuko?" he asked.

"Gone." The single word came out in a voice so uncharacteristically tiny and broken that Yuuri's chest constricted, and all questions of what, how, why dashed to the ground, unspoken.

Yuuri sank to his knees, fidgeting with the silk material of his kimono, as Takeshi sniffed noisily and swiped at his eyes. He wasn't sure of how to help. Back home, he was always the one getting soothed, not the one doing the soothing. Even here, it was Yuuko who did the comforting. But Yuuko was gone, and quite possibly the reason for Takeshi's sadness.

Yuuri bit his lower lip. Think, think, think. What did his mom used to do for him when he was upset? "Do you, um…" He hesitated, then plunged ahead in a rush, "Do you want a hug?"

Takeshi looked up, breathing out heavily. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

Yuuri drew Takeshi into his arms, tugging him close, until the broad chin bumped into his shoulder. Takeshi grabbed him immediately, fingers digging into his back and clinging so hard that it hurt. But Yuuri kept silent, stroking small circles onto Takeshi's back as the older boy cried into him.

"I did something dumb, Yuuri," Takeshi sobbed. "I should never have done it. But – but she looked so happy, and so sweet, and sh– she was just, just – sitting so close that I just – I couldn't – "

Yuuri wanted to ask: what heinous crime could you have committed to make the kindest, most gentle person in the world this mad? He wanted to know what happened, get to the bottom of this horrible mess, so everything could go back to the way it was. So everyone could be happy again.

Instead, he murmured, "It'll be okay. Yuuko's nice, she'll calm down."

"You really think so?" Takeshi pulled away to meet Yuuri's eyes with his red, puffy ones. "'cause I'd hate to lose her over this."

Yuuri gazed back, steady and even.

"Yeah," he said. "I really think so."

It was the first lie he ever told – and it wasn't the last.


Yuuko returned a year later, when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, the courtyard strewn with pink petals. She was still bright-eyed and glowing with life, but she carried herself differently. Her head was raised just a smidge higher; her back, impeccably straight. And when she walked, she drifted, like the wings of a butterfly carried by a light spring breeze.

As she picked at Yuuri's dinner behind the painting, she spoke of her new duties in Kaguya. She had been promoted to the rank of shinzo, which meant that she now accompanied her Big Sister to big events and afternoon sessions with clients. With her promotion came a new name: Oseyo[2].

Yuuko revealed that she didn't like her new name; it didn't sound elegant and it had no real meaning behind it. She didn't like her new duties, either, and she was disappointed to find that the clients weren't supernatural beings at all. They were men, regular men, and some of them were "really, really old". They would also ignore her, she lamented, like she was just a vase of flowers sitting in the corner, pretty but forgotten.

She did, however, enjoy the new clothes and accessories that came with her promotion.

"See this?" Yuuko lifted her arms, exposing the long sleeves that flowed down to her ankles when she stood. Designs of flowers in various shades of pink and red trailed across the fabric, loud and vibrant and ostentatious. "It's called a 'furisode'. Isn't it pretty? You'll probably get something like this, too, when you're of age."

'Of age'. The phrase seemed to imply change that was forced upon the person who turned, like Yuuri being taken to En, and Yuuko gaining a new name and new duties she didn't like.

Yuuri was starting to hate that phrase.

"It's very pretty on you," he told Yuuko anyway.

As always, they spoke about their teahouses and traded stories; laughed and giggled about the antics of the grown-ups around them. But something was missing: the third element, the ticking time bomb that spent the last year moping about the dark corners of En so much that the elderly owner yelled at him for scaring clients. Yuuko had specifically stated that she came to see Yuuri, and only Yuuri, so he honored her unspoken plea and met with her alone.

That didn't mean they couldn't talk about him.

"He really misses you, you know," Yuuri said during a lull in their conversation.

Yuuko stiffened. "I don't know who you're talking about."

Yuuri held back a sigh. Even the nicest people like Yuuko had a stubborn streak. "What happened between you two that night? I was gone for what, two minutes?"

"Do I have to talk about it?" said Yuuko, raising her chin.

"Yeah, because Takeshi won't. He hasn't smiled since you left. Not even once." Yuuri crossed his arms into his kimono sleeves, frowning. "I think it's about time I understand why."

Yuuko swallowed. Then, something in her demeanor crumbled: her lips trembled, thin eyebrows dipping down at the corners. "Is he really that sad?"

"Really, super sad," Yuuri said with a firm nod.

At first, Yuuko didn't respond. Shoulders hunched, she ducked her head and fisted the material at her knees, clenching and unclenching, as if she was fighting some desperate inner turmoil. Just when Yuuri was almost on the verge of losing his resolve for an answer, she finally spoke. Half-yelled it, more like.

"He kissed me, okay?" she blurted out, so sudden and vehement that it nearly bowled Yuuri over. "He kissed me, and I didn't know what to do, so I panicked, and I ran. And now I don't know how to face him because I have no idea how I feel about him, and… and now I feel really bad for making him this sad."

Ah, kisses and feelings and love. This was bordering on grown-up territory and Yuuri didn't know what to tell her. He has had moments when he felt his stomach flutter around Yuuko, but he was pretty sure it had more to do with the kindness of her words than any of the romantic love depicted in classic literature. But Yuuko was looking at him expectantly, as though hoping for miracle guidance of some sort, so he went with a piece of advice that his father once gave him when he was in a cold war with Mari.

"Go talk to him," Yuuri suggested. "You won't solve anything by not talking."

Yuuko dropped her head back to gaze at the ceiling. "But what would I say to him?"

"Tell him what you told me." Yuuri shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, maybe he'd be happier knowing that you're not totally rejecting him."

Slowly, and to Yuuri's relief, Yuuko bobbed her head. "That… that makes sense. It's not like I don't like him. I just don't know if I like-like him."

"Great," Yuuri said, unsure of what else to say. He was tapped out of sagely words. "Want me to go get him?"

"No, I'll go. I'm way better at this stealth thing than you boys are." Yuuko laid a hand on his knee, her eyes soft. "And your Big Brother might want you."

"Okay," said Yuuri. He knew she was right: after a year and half, she had yet to be caught for sneaking out of her teahouse, and Minori, well – Minori had proven to be unpredictable. Carefully, he described the layout of the teahouse and pointed to the hallway Takeshi's room was located.

"Got it," Yuuko said, brushing aside the painting, but not before she leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. "Thank you."

Yuuri flushed.

Just like that, things went back to normal. Yuuko returned every month, and Takeshi rejoined them, with far greater spirits than Yuuri ever remembered seeing him. The topic of love was never brought up again, but Yuuri didn't miss the pink dusting of their cheeks, or the shy glances exchanged when they thought he wasn't looking. There was always a pang of unease in Yuuri's chest—of the trio becoming a duo, of being neglected and left out—but a larger part of him was excited for his friends. If anything, their blossoming love was a beacon of hope:

Happiness was within reach in Yoshiwara – one just had to find it.


"How old are you this year?"

Startled, Yuuri hastened to gather his thoughts. It was the first time Minori had spoken to him during his readings. "I will turn thirteen in November."

"Hn." Minori gestured his pipe at Yuuri, smoke curling in random patterns around him. "I hear you're performing remarkably well in your lessons."

Yuuri dipped his head slightly. "I do the best I can."

"How modest." Ruby lips lifted in a crooked smile, before wrapping languidly around the tail end of the pipe. Yuuri sat stock-still as Minori's piercing gaze lingered on him, hooded eyes searching for something under the terse silence.

"Deep silence," Minori said abruptly in a quiet exhale, grey wisps rising into the air. "The shrill of cicadas; seeps into rocks." He paused then, tilting his head, ornaments swaying. His motions were gentle as a sweep of falling petals, but his eyes glinted like a blade drawn from its scabbard.

Yuuri took the cue. "A haiku," he said, "By Master Matsuo Basho[3]."

"Excellent." Minori's teeth clacked against the pipe. "And your thoughts?"

Yuuri inhaled. The scent of jasmine sweetened his senses as he recalled the words he wrote for his literature teacher, letting them roll off his tongue. "I believe the Master is conveying the essence of pure silence. A silence so deep that even the intense noise of summer cicadas is lost, unheard and buried in rock."

Minori chuckled. "A model student, indeed."

"Thank you, Big Brother," Yuuri replied dutifully.

Minori took a moment, bowing his head and pressing his lips together in contemplation. Then he began to speak, quiet and deliberate and without waste, delivering his message with such artful eloquence that Yuuri hung onto his every word.

"You will find, Mikawa, that many in En mistake words as the way to a client's heart. Words have their use. But keep your words spare and few, and they take on more meaning, more power."

"Use your body to speak instead: your eyes, your lips, your hands, your hips. Be an enigma, a mystery, a force to be broken. If there's one thing men desire, it's the exultation of a victorious battle that was fought hard and long. Give too easily, and they will lose interest. Hold back too far, and they will find you contemptuous. So you will hold back with your silence, , a silence as deep and pure as Master Basho portrayed, but give with your movements and unspoken flirtation."

Again, Minori paused, setting the pipe back between his teeth. "Do you understand?"

No, thought Yuuri. He understood the words but not the meaning behind them.

Out loud, he said, "Yes, Big Brother."

Minori gave a sharp bark of laughter. "No, you don't, but you know when to please. A useful skill, nonetheless." His expression remained amused as he leaned back, breathing out another cloud of grey. "I will inform the old woman that you are ready."

"Ready for wh—" Yuuri choked on the rest of his sentence when Minori arched a fine eyebrow, mirth dissipating from the exquisite features like the smoke of his red pipe. He had broken one of the rules; the words had slipped out before he could stop them. "I, I'm sorry—"

"Clients, Mikawa," Minori interjected. He was smiling again, fine and razor-sharp. "Starting tomorrow afternoon, you will join me in my sessions with clients."

Yuuri sucked in a breath. That's right, Yuuko began seeing clients with her Big Sister when she turned thirteen two years ago.

He was of age[4].


It was odd for Yuuri to be in his room at this hour of the day, dressed in nothing but his undergarments.

It was odder, still, to have the female servants flit around him like bees, buzzing in complete silence.

One dabbed paint on his eyes and rouge on his lips; another tugged and pulled at his hair, shaping it into an elegant bun atop his head. There was even a third: she set about laying furisode of assorted designs across the mats, taking great care to line the long sleeves at a perfect right angle.

They were soon joined by the elderly teahouse owner, who swept into the room to a chorus of good morning and made a quick inspection of Yuuri's appearance, jerking his chin this way and that.

"Good, good," she said approvingly, before releasing him to examine the furisode. "Minori has chosen a design of fall leaves. Make sure you give Mikawa something autumn themed as well. Perhaps that one on the side over there."

As the third servant started slipping Yuuri into the furisode—a rich, navy blue, covered with an embroidery of flowers that resembled red spiders—the owner turned her full attention on him. "My dear Mikawa," she said, her voice so honeyed and saccharine that Yuuri barely repressed a shiver. It sounded nothing like her usual impatient growl, as if the very act of speaking was beneath her. "How are you feeling about your debut?"

"I feel that I am ready," Yuuri lied.

"Indeed," the owner tittered, pleased with his response. "To receive the blessing of Minori is no mean feat. You have done extremely well, Mikawa." She rested a wrinkled hand on Yuuri's cheek. "I have every faith that you will be a great asset to En, just like your Big Brother."

"Thank you," Yuuri murmured.

"Such a good boy," the owner purred, as deft fingers secured the sash tightly against his back. "Come, I will take you to Minori myself."

Obediently, Yuuri trailed after her. He wondered how Minori could possibly tolerate a full face of make-up every single day. Already the colored paint rested heavy on his eyelids, making him acutely aware of every blink and crinkle of his eyes, while the rouge left a strange taste, thick and pasty, when he made the mistake of drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. No doubt Takeshi would have lots to say if he could see Yuuri right now.

"Here we are." The owner stopped before a door that was etched with the painting of a cherry tree, its pink buds scattered, dark branches sprouting across the white paper. Sliding the door open, she swept him through without ceremony. "Go on. Minori's waiting for you."

The room was similar to Minori's quarters, but larger and more spacious. Lined near the door were three dinner trays topped with extravagant dishes, one tray set at a perpendicular angle from the rest. Minori sat regally behind the tray closest to the open window, clad in robes of cream, golden-red maple leaves dancing across the thick garment. A sash pillowed on his lap, full and black – a contrast to his snow-white face, framed by silvery ornaments that hung like the leaves of a willow tree.

After staring at Minori for so many evenings, Yuuri had forgotten how bewitching a visage the man presented.

"Higanbana[5]," Minori noted, his eyes settling on Yuuri's furisode. "An interesting choice."

"The owner wanted something autumn themed to match your kimono," said Yuuri, clasping his hands in front of him.

"I see." Minori's lips curled ever so slightly, before he gestured to the tray on the side. "Your place is there. And remember," he added, as Yuuri sank onto the cushion, smoothing out the long trail of sleeves behind him, "My rules apply in the presence of clients."

"Yes, Big Brother."

The client arrived soon after – announced by the owner, who slipped out the door unnoticed. Yuuko was fairly accurate in her descriptions of clients: old, stout, and dressed in clothes that screamed of wealth and status. This one practically fell to his knees to embrace Minori upon his entry, as though Minori were the spring to his raging thirst.

"Oh my Minori, how I've missed you," he sighed gustily, nuzzling his cheek into Minori's shoulder. "Did you miss me?"

Minori's eyelashes fanned over dark eyes. "Always."

"You're just saying that to make me happy," the client pouted.

Minori let out a soft huff of laughter, but said nothing more.

As Yuuri watched Minori's interactions with the client, the meaning behind Minori's unexpected spiel gradually took form.

His Big Brother's words were spare and few, conveying his thoughts and feelings with a subtle dip of eyelashes, the slight curve of his lips. Now and then he laid fleeting touches on the client: fingers fluttering across an arm, a knee, and sometimes resting, briefly, on the client's thigh. And, indeed, the client seemed to grow more intoxicated with each motion, curling round Minori and uttering heated praises, paying no heed to the geisha that crossed into the empty space and began their dance to the resonate sounds of the shamisen.

Unspoken flirtation.

Heat rose to Yuuri's cheeks. There was no doubt Minori was a master at his craft, but what did that bode for him? Was he, too, expected to flirt, to touch, to take another man's kisses, like he was the concubine of an emperor?

"Who's this?" the client said without warning, his gaze shifting to Yuuri.

Yuuri straightened at once, eyes widening. This was new; Yuuko always said they would ignore her.

"That is my attendant," said Minori. "Mikawa, give your greetings to Lord Hirata."

Sliding back, Yuuri bowed, lowering his head to the ground. "It brings me great pleasure, Lord Hirata."

"Of course, of course." The client broke away from Minori to hold up his sake cup, which Minori wordlessly filled with a tip of the kettle. "Tell me, Mikawa," he grinned over the edge of his cup, "What are your thoughts on autumn?"

"Autumn?" Yuuri shot a glance at Minori, only to be met with an impassive gaze. Clearly, no help was coming forth. "I, um… I think autumn is… a sad season."

"A sad season? One doesn't hear that often," the client hummed in surprise. "Say more."

Yuuri took a deep breath, as he always had when his teachers asked for further elaboration. "I think autumn is beautiful, with its foliage of red, brown, and gold. Yet, it is also the sign of a world that is dying, when the trees lose their leaves and the earth loses its warmth."

The strums of the shamisen filtered into a pregnant pause.

Then the client laughed, sloshing sake all over his dinner tray. "What poetic insight!" Yuuri released the tension in his shoulders as the client's chortles continued, loud and hearty. "You have a gem, Minori, a real gem!"

"Mm, yes." Minori's cocked his head toward the window, lips twitching at the corners, sunlight reflected in his glimmering eyes. "I am fully aware."

And so the parade of clients went on, and Yuuri soon grew accustomed to the paint on his face. It wasn't always a rich man, Yuuri discovered. Sometimes it was a rich lady; other times, an artist, who would then spend the entire afternoon dipping and sliding his brush in delicate motions, capturing Minori's image onto a white canvas. Once, just once—much to the elderly owner's chagrin—it was a man dressed in a humble yukata with off-color patches, claiming in a tremulous voice that he had given his life's savings to meet the finest beauty in Yoshiwara and he was ever so grateful for the opportunity.

Most didn't acknowledge Yuuri's presence, while some, like the friendly Lord Hirata, engaged Yuuri in conversation about the seasons, poetry, or classic literature. Regardless, with each and every client, Minori enchanted them so much that they would stay for the night, scampering like eager puppies to Minori's quarters.

Yuuri was fourteen when he met Lord Sugimoto.

The man had arrived early for his afternoon session with Minori, so the teahouse owner, flustered and frantic, shoved Yuuri through the cherry tree door with hissed instructions to keep him entertained.

Sugimoto's eyes flickered to Yuuri and narrowed, his words coming out crisp and precise. "You're not Minori."

Heart pounding in his ears, Yuuri fought the instinct to bolt for the door. Sugimoto's somber outfit reeked of power, the white circles on his chest and sleeves indicative of an official of the Tokugawa shogunate[6]. One mistake, and Yuuri was in deep, deep trouble. "Minori is unavailable." He sank his forehead to the wood floor. "I am his attendant, Mikawa, and it will be my privilege to serve you until Minori arrives."

Sugimoto exhaled through his nose, tucking his arms into his sleeves. "I have no interest in fledglings."

Yuuri's teeth drove into his bottom lip until the thick taste of rouge rolled against his tongue. He had to do something. 'The client didn't want me around' was surely not an acceptable excuse in a place like En. Rising to a sitting position, he spoke, strong and unwavering.

"I am a trained fledging."

Sugimoto's eyebrows shot upwards, seconds before his face twisted into a dark grin. "Are you now," he breathed. "Show me your training then, boy."

Yuuri felt his nerve dissolve in his boiling stomach; he had expected a little more resistance. "I can dance. I can dance," he repeated with emphasis, as though a second affirmation would give him a boost of confidence. (It didn't.) "But the accompaniment…"

"A true professional should be able to do without," Sugimoto said sharply.

Right. There was no turning back. He had sown the seeds and it was time to reap the harvest of his own self-destruction.

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri spun around and took the starting pose for the 'Evening Song of Autumn'[7]. Short and melancholic, the song conveyed the sorrow of a woman awaiting her lover's visit through the lonely autumn nights. Nasal vocals surfaced in Yuuri's mind and he stood, pivoting round to take his first, shaky step. As he moved, slow and deliberate, he allowed his muscles to take over, soaking in the imagined music and trusting in the memory of a dance he had performed a hundred – no, a thousand times.

Each movement told a story, an emotion. A wide sweep of his arms suggested the opening of a window; a lift of his sleeve to red lips and a slight tilt of his head meant a coy gesture of contemplation. A gathering of his long sleeves and two steps forward: the pacing of a woman impatient for her lover's return. The minute gesture of bringing his hands together, only to open them and dab one to his face: the same woman painting her face with the anticipation of her lover's arrival.

Motions must be elegant, intricate, and precise[8]. His teacher once spent an entire lesson correcting one particular flick of his wrist, because his hand had to be curved just so, and all his fingers had to point in that one exact angle. And point he did, mindful of his teacher's instructions, as he raised his gaze to the ceiling, as though he were praying to the full moon that hung among the stars.

Finally, the woman, sad and exhausted, went to sleep, and Yuuri, with another sweep of his arms, ended the dance with a bow, touching his forehead to the floor once more.

With his mind now as silent as the cherry tree room, he became painfully aware of Sugimoto's stare prickling the back of his neck. Had he made a mistake? Had he brought shame and embarrassment to his Big Brother and the teahouse? The official was probably finding ways to communicate his dissatisfaction to the teahouse owner—

"Has anyone claimed you for your first night?" Sugimoto asked quietly.

—what?

Yuuri lifted his head, eyebrows knotting in bewilderment. "Um, I—"

The door rattled open with a sharp crack, a faint scent of jasmine wafting into the room.

"He is too young for a bid, Lord Sugimoto."

Yuuri snapped up, back rigid as a plank. Minori stood at the door, towering imperiously in a black kimono with embroidered flower patterns and a gold-yellow sash covered in white chrysanthemum prints.

"Ah, Minori." Sugimoto's features softened instantaneously. "You are a vision."

Minori dipped his head as he floated to the official's side. "I see Mikawa has filled your time," he said, settling gracefully on the cushion.

"Indeed, he has." Sugimoto turned back to Yuuri, who had remained in his spot, too scared to move. "I admit to being skeptical at first, but he is more than deserving to be your attendant." He smiled in a way that had Yuuri's heart drum uncomfortably in his chest. "And most certainly deserving of a reliable man for his first night."

"We are honored, my lord," Minori said smoothly. "But it will be another two years before Mikawa is ready."

"Well," Sugimoto chuckled, "I waited years for your approval. What is another two?"

After Yuuri scurried over to his seat, the rest of the afternoon went by without a hitch. Sugimoto remarked on Yuuri's dancing skills when the geisha began their performance, but he otherwise kept his attention solely on Minori.

Yuuri barely listened to the conversation, the exorbitant dishes of eel and matsutake mushrooms sticking in his throat. Something about the way Sugimoto looked at him had unnerved him. On top of that, Minori, despite all appearances, was angry. Yuuri could see it in the flat, bone-hard press of his lips, the edged gleam in his eyes even at half-mast. He had heard Yuuko speak of the jealousy among the grown-ups; of the women who stole clients from one another, heedless of rank and status. Minori must be displeased with him for piquing Sugimoto's interest and Yuuri found himself hating the very thought.

So when Minori took Yuuri with him to change and wait for Sugimoto in his quarters, Yuuri opened his mouth to apologize – but Minori spoke first.

"Did he touch you?" he demanded, whirling round, eyes simmering deep into Yuuri's.

Yuuri gaped. "I, I don't—"

"Did he touch you?"

When Yuuri shook his head vigorously, Minori breathed out a long sigh, shoulders collapsing as though a crippling weight had lifted from them. "If a client makes a move on you, you will report them straight to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Big Brother," Yuuri murmured.

"Good. The staff should arrive with your dinner soon." Minori paused, before dropping a light hand on Yuuri's head, carefully avoiding his flowered hair ornament. "You did well, Mikawa."

Warmth flooded through Yuuri's being. Minori was worried about him. Him. No other grown-up in En had shown a drop of kindness, concerned only about his appearance and the result of his lessons. Filled with gratitude, he bowed, keeping his head low until Minori closed the door behind him. There was more to his seemingly apathetic Big Brother than the man would care to reveal.


"I've had a couple of clients ask the same question," Yuuko said, wrinkling her nose. "My Big Sister didn't explain anything, though. Just told me to leave it to her."

"I don't like the sound of this 'first night' business," Takeshi grumbled. "The owner's been prattling on to me about my first night too, going on and on about how she thought a woman would suit me better. Dunno why, but I felt vaguely insulted."

"Would you rather entertain a man like Yuuri and me?" Yuuko teased, wiping sauce off the side of Takeshi's mouth with the pad of her thumb.

Takeshi scowled, even as he laid a gentle hand on Yuuko's knee. "Hell no. I'd rather die than laugh at some old man's stupid jokes."

Yuuri watched his friends with enough fondness to make his heart burst. Over the last year, their casual touches had grown more frequent: a soft caress of shoulders as they squeezed into the alcove, a brush of hair off the other's face. He knew they were being careful of their newfound relationship out of consideration for his feelings, and he couldn't adore them more.

"It sounds like your Big Brother cares for you," Yuuko pointed out, cutting into Yuuri's reverie. "My Big Sister's more worried about her own reputation."

"I never thought Minori had the capacity to care for anyone," Takeshi snorted.

"He does," Yuuri said firmly. "He's just… just…."

"Stuck up?" Takeshi supplied. "Haughty? Proud?"

"Misunderstood," Yuuri finished with a frown, while Yuuko smacked Takeshi across the back of his head.

They closed their meeting with a discussion about the unprecedented arrival of foreign ships in Edo's port[9] – a shift in topic tactfully conducted by none other than Yuuko. All three were curious about the adults' reactions to the news: it was a particularly heated topic that mentors, teahouse owners, and clients tended to bring up these days, lamenting about the audacity and foolhardiness of 'foreign dogs'.

"I think it'd be nice to learn more about the outside world," Yuuko said in a hushed voice as Yuuri led them out of his room.

"Why learn more if we're comfortable with what we already know," Takeshi huffed.

"You're like the frog in the well[10]," Yuuko giggled. "Blissfully ignorant."

"Are you calling me dumb?"

"—ah."

They stopped in the hallway, startled by the sudden sound. It fluttered in the air, soft and hitched, like the utterance of a person in pain.

"Ah, hahh…"

"Yuuri," Yuuko murmured, nudging him in the arm. The door to Minori's quarters was slightly ajar, candlelight filtering through the tiny gap.

As one, they crept toward the light and pressed their faces against the wooden frame.

There was skin. So much skin, flushed and bare and exposed. And the sounds; the sounds that led them there—whispers and rasps—they filled the room to the brim, raking up walls and down gold screens. There, right there. Sugimoto's hips rose from the bedding, and the line of Minori's back curved as he arched, rising, lips parted in the vestige of a sigh.

Yuuri's throat went hard, clenching over a gasp that threatened to escape. A hot wave surged through him, thick and winding, when Minori rose again, head falling back with a strained cry. Beside him, Yuuko made a noise that sounded like a whimper. Some part of Yuuri told him to leave. Avert his eyes and close the door. But he wouldn't move. Couldn't move. He was drawn to the intimate scene like a moth to the flame, his mouth going dry, fingernails digging into his palm deep enough to rip through skin.

It was Takeshi who slammed the door shut.

It was Takeshi who grabbed him and Yuuko by the arms, and heaved them both into Yuuri's room.

And it was Takeshi who voiced the thought that crawled into Yuuri's mind, like black vines up the side of an old, dilapidated house.

"I hate this fucking teahouse."


Yuuko stared at the walls, the ceiling, the hanging painting, the floor. Anywhere but them. Generally everything but them.

Yuuri understood: she was in shock. They were all in shock. Nothing had prepared them for this truth – not the daily rituals and certainly not the lessons. Still, he really wished Yuuko would talk. He needed her to babble right now. Chatter on like all was right with the world and she was confident of her faith in that belief. But she didn't. She was pale and drawn and she was silent. So silent that Yuuri's thoughts echoed, pulling him deeper into a pit of anxiety and gut-clenching fear.

"Okay, look." Takeshi's rumbling voice hurtled against the silence. "Maybe – maybe it's just how Minori entertains. Maybe that's his choice. The other adults… they probably do other stuff with their clients, like… like play go or something."

"But," Yuuri started at the croak, realizing belatedly that it was the sound of his voice, "But it makes sense. Like how my Big Brother's always in his undergarments when he summons me. Or why Yuuko's Big Sister doesn't want to be bothered at night. Or… or the whole thing about the 'first night'…"

At that, Yuuko flinched. "We – we wouldn't have to do that, would we?" she mumbled wetly, her eyes wide and glistening in the darkness.

"No you don't." Takeshi whipped to Yuuri. "Right, Yuuri? You don't have to do anything like that. Tell her you don't have to do anything like that."

Yuuri felt sick. There was a kind of desperate hope in Takeshi's expression that tore into his ribs and curdled his heart. "I…" He swallowed, a stone forming in his throat. "I…"

"Yuuri, come on," Takeshi pleaded. "You have to say it. You have to. It'd mean nothing coming from me."

Yuuri shook. He couldn't say it; he couldn't. Not when they were empty words, serving no purpose other than to blind and deceive themselves into hoping for a future that didn't exist.

Yuuko began to sob then, lost and unrestrained. Her shoulders crumbled and her eyes screwed shut, tears swelling down reddened cheeks. Takeshi reached her in two strides, snaking both arms around her in an instant and tugging her close. She clung to him, trembling, hands fisting into the material of his kimono as she buried her quiet wails into his chest.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri choked out. Yuuko was crying, and all because he couldn't tell a pretty lie. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry—"

"It's not you," Takeshi snapped hoarsely. "It's the stupid teahouses and their stupid, perverted old bastards. It's Yoshiwara. This whole place is evil, and – and I think…" He tightened his embrace around Yuuko. "I think it's time we leave."

"But you said…" Yuuri rubbed at his raw eyes. "You said that runaways get the harshest beatings…"

"Yeah," said Takeshi. "The ones who get caught."

A beat, then Yuuko looked up. "I've snuck out of my teahouse this many times already," she muttered, face hardening as she drew in a wobbly breath. "Count me in."

Patting her back with great tenderness, Takeshi jerked his chin at Yuuri. "So? You're not gonna let some old geezer have his way with you, are you?"

Yuuri stared at Takeshi, then Yuuko, and then Takeshi again. Escape had crossed his mind when he was alone and awake at night – a dangerous, fleeting thought that he suppressed as soon as it surfaced. But Yuuko was in trouble now. Yuuko needed their help. And the only way they could do that was to get her far away from Yoshiwara, to a place where she could be at her brightest, shining her innocence upon those who actually deserved it.

He had to stop being so afraid. For Yuuko.

"All right," said Yuuri, clenching his jaw so tight that his teeth ached. "Let's get out of Yoshiwara."


They were running.

Yuuri tripped once, his wooden geta falling with a dull clunk, but he kept going. Tossed his other geta aside and ignored the jab of pebbles into the soles of his feet. While they were asleep on the side of a road, men with swords[11] had sprung upon them, creeping up with the first rays of the morning sun. The teahouse owners must have discovered their absence.

How did everything go so wrong, so fast?

The men were hollering now. Roars. Shouts. Yuuri couldn't make out their words over his pants, the pounding of his heart and feet. The meager diet and sedentary lifestyle had reduced him to a weak, wheezing mess, and by the pained look on Yuuko's face, she wasn't faring any better. Even Takeshi was slowing down, his chest heaving with exertion.

Yuuko screamed; someone had tackled Takeshi to the dirt.

"Stop," Yuuri gasped, as a man lifted Yuuko by the waist, and she kicked and howled enough bad words to make her Big Sister blush. "Let her go—"

"Yuuri," Yuuko cried, reaching out for him.

He ran forward, stretching for her, seconds before rough hands grabbed his sash, and another snagged his collar.

It was over in a span of minutes.

"Don't you dare hurt my friends," Takeshi snarled, spitting out mud and blood.

The man sitting on him cuffed him heavily across the head. "I'd worry more about yourself, you big lump. How'd a hulk like you get sold to a teahouse anyway?"

"It's time to go home, y'little brats," another man declared above Takeshi's swearing.


Silence.

Minori had stood by the window in silence for the past half-hour, gazing at the barren tree in the courtyard outside. Half his face was shrouded in shadow, the other half lit red by the glow of lanterns in the street. Sounds of merriment carried on beyond the walls, unaware of the tension within the teahouse.

Yuuri's head hung low, too tired to be afraid, and too afraid to fall asleep. Dirt caked down to the roots of his hair and fingernails, and guilt stabbed at him for trekking grime across Minori's mats with his filthy, blackened socks.

The elderly owner was furious, unleashing a lecture upon them that rang in Yuuri's ears like a long, drawn-out screech, the words too garbled and strung together in her rage. Even then, she managed to impress upon them the foulness of their crime, the hideousness of their disrespect, and their utter and appalling lack of appreciation for the teahouse and its many years of care. Takeshi was then dragged away to be 'dealt with in a proper manner', while Yuuri was sent straight to Minori for his punishment.

"Why did you do it?" Minori asked at last.

Yuuri winced. Memories of Minori's naked body curling and rising with a sigh, like a dragon into the clouds. "Because… because…"

"Because?" Minori prompted.

"Be—" Ah – there, right there – "Because I saw you having sex with Lord Sugimoto," Yuuri yelped suddenly, before he clapped his hands over his mouth, stunned by his own admission.

For a moment, Minori said nothing. Then, he astonished Yuuri by bursting into ripping cracks of laughter, a smile twitching across his porcelain features. "Is that all?" he said, still chuckling.

Yuuri bristled at the amusement in Minori's words. "I-It's not all," he muttered. "It's a big deal to us."

"Oh? That's a big deal to you?" Minori straightened his shoulders. "I ran away seven times before I was your age. Seven. Because I wouldn't believe that my own mother could sell me to this wretched place. Because my own name, Seung-gil, a powerful name meant to take me on a path to victory – even that was taken away from me. Because I was determined not to let some old hag in strange clothes dictate the remains of my life. Each time, I was caught, beaten, and made to scrub mold out of the baths for days. Forced into accepting my fate. So by the time I found out about my real duties to En, it just didn't seem like such a big deal anymore." He laughed again, two short barks of mirth. "And you? You're only running now because the sex is your breaking point? There are worse things, Mikawa. Far worse."

Yuuri exhaled shakily. With the rumors about Minori as a 'Korean half-breed bastard', it shouldn't surprise him that Minori had a tragic past. Or that the older man had seen and done things that Yuuri couldn't even begin to imagine. "Even so, my friends and I… we're not ready."

"Takasaki and the girl you were found with," Minori surmised.

"Yes."

"I know you are not ready." Minori arched an eyebrow. "You have another two years, and we would have had ample time to discuss the issue."

"Yes, but," Yuuri returned his gaze to the floor, "My friends don't have that luxury."

Minori considered Yuuri for a great deal of time, before he stepped closer to Yuuri, the red glow lighting up his eyes like the spark of flint before a fire. "A word of advice," he said softly. "Forget everything. Forget your past, your future, and most of all, forget your friends. Having a bond of any kind will only ruin you, or worse, give you hope."

"If you believe that then… then why did you let Take–" Yuuri bit his cheek, correcting quickly, "Takasaki and I go when you caught us together that one time?"

"The teahouse has a way of giving us a hard lesson, regardless of my interference." Minori's lips curled at the corners. "As I believe you have learned today." Returning his gaze to the open window, he flicked his wrist dismissively in the air. "Get yourself cleaned. We have a client later in the afternoon."

Yuuri rose to his feet and hobbled to the door. There, he hesitated, chewing at cracked lips, before turning back. "Um, Big Brother…"

Minori's only movement was to slant his eyes warningly. "I may have forgiven a lapse or two, but my rules still apply."

Yuuri cringed. "I'm sorry, but… but may I just ask what will happen to Takasaki?"

Minori tilted his head. "Takasaki will have the pleasure of feeling the owner's switch. As for what happens after, that will depend on the old woman's mood and her belief in his potential."

"Potential?" Yuuri asked, blanching.

"Judging by your expression," said Minori, "You already know the answer."


Yuuko stopped visiting.

Takeshi avoided Yuuri's gaze in the hallways and disappeared during their scheduled times for lunch and baths.

So Yuuri threw himself into his new routine: chores and preparations in the morning, clients or lessons in the afternoon, and a night of reading, reading, and more reading. Yuuri devoured every scroll he came across, finding solace in Himegimi's fairytale escape from her abusive step-mother in The Tale of Sumiyoshi, or vicariously living through the vivid tales of Nakatada's adventures in Tale of the Hollow Tree. He never allowed rest, not even for a moment, for he knew that the only way to stop the free-fall of pain and loneliness was to occupy his mind until the gears were too weary to turn.

A part of him wondered if, perhaps, this was why Minori spent his hours engrossed in the written word.

Yuuri was almost fifteen when Takeshi suddenly pulled him aside into the kitchens in the middle of the night.

"So uh…" Takeshi scuffed his foot against the floor. "How've you been?"

"All right," said Yuuri, gaze trained on his socks. He had never noticed how white they looked in the dark.

"Yuuri, it's…" Takeshi stumbled on his words, a string of bumps and stutters, like he always did when he was nervous, or afraid, or cracking apart. "It's not like – like I didn't want to talk to you, it's, just – t-the old hag said she'd punish you too if I… if I tried, so…"

"It's okay," Yuuri murmured, blinking rapidly to rid of the burning sensation in his eyes. Of the immense relief that surged up his throat. "I get it."

"I, I hope so 'cause I um… I just really wanted to see you again. Talk to you again. And let you know that, I, you know, really liked having you as my friend. 'cause uh…" Takeshi rubbed at his neck. "'cause I have my 'first night' coming up in a couple of days."

Yuuri's head snapped up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Takeshi murmured. "Yeah, really. The old hag found… a man. Even though I told her I don't, you know. I don't do that with guys. I can't do that with guys." He slouched forward, running a hand over his face. "And then there's Yuuko but, well. Not like the old hag would care about that, right?"

Yuuri swallowed, his throat dry and hard. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, don't be. I mean, I've had a decent life. Sucks that my family sold me to this shitty place, but I fell in love with the best girl ever. And she loved me back. And uh… and I met you." Takeshi crooked an embarrassed grin. "I'd say that's pretty darn good."

His words struck Yuuri's heart like a gong, loud and reverberating and driving tremors down his spine.

"Takeshi," he whispered, tears spilling, before he was pulled against a strong chest, thick arms winding round, tight and warm.

"I missed you, too," Takeshi said fiercely.

They stayed that way for as long as they could, until Yuuri remembered that Minori was waiting on more candles, and Takeshi remembered that he had an early morning tomorrow.

"Got to scrub that mold in the baths before the others wake up," he explained.

"Okay," Yuuri hiccupped, wiping his eyes with the back of his head. Beatings and bath mold seemed to be the standard punishment for most runaways. "Will I… will I get to talk to you again? Like tonight? It's – It's the closest thing to love I have in this place…"

Something flickered across Takeshi's face, too quick to catch. "Yeah," he said. "Let's do that."

Sniffing, Yuuri gave him another swift hug, before padding quietly to the door.

"Hey Mikawa!"

Yuuri turned, eyes wide, unused to the sound of that name from Takeshi's lips.

The rugged features lit up in a teasing laugh. "Maybe if you smiled a little more, someone might love that ugly mug of yours."


Murmurs. Whispers. Tongues clucking. Crowds of people lingering around the open door to the cherry tree room.

A rank, metallic smell in the hallway.

"Slit his own throat."

"Too much pressure."

"Couldn't handle being taken by a man."

In that instant, Yuuri knew – something had happened, something that would twist his gut and shred all that was left of his heart and sanity. Without thinking, without pausing, he hitched up his kimono and ran, pushing past the female servants, the boys, the older men; wishing, praying, hoping

As soon as he reached the front of the crowd, Yuuri's knees gave at the sight before him, his entire body slumping to the ground like a puppet cut from its strings.

Takeshi.

Takeshi.

Lying in the corner of the room, looking for all the world like he was sleeping.

Yuuri's vision pulsed and blurred. There was red; red everywhere. Red on the walls, the mats, on the screens, paintings, and lamps. Red on Takeshi's face and neck and pale blue kimono – dark splatters of sickening purple.

Takeshi was alive last night. Warm and open and alive.

And… and I met you.

I'd say that' s pretty darn good.

A noise clawed out of Yuuri's throat like a wounded animal—a piteous, keening whine—and he wanted nothing more than for time to turn back; to the colored days of secret meetings behind a painting – of Takeshi with his thick accent and awkward charms, of Yuuko with her beautiful, bright irises so full of hope and light.

Oh god, Yuuko.

Horror curled round Yuuri's lungs in a shuddering grip that had him hyperventilate to the point of choking.

What was he going to tell Yuuko?

Behind him came a bloodcurdling shriek, and Yuuri just barely registered the owner's next words, muffled and numbed by the sounds of his own gasps, his own heartbeat.

"Oh! Oh! He just had to do it in our largest room, didn't he? Ooh, the expenses it will cost me to change these mats – and he didn't even have a mentor I could charge it to! Disgraceful, just dis—"

"Enough."

The voice cracked like a whip, stunning the owner into silence.

Then, an overwhelming fragrance of jasmine enveloped Yuuri as silk fabric pressed against his cheek, cold and soft and comforting.

"Come," said the same voice, commanding but gentle.

Instinctively, Yuuri obeyed.


Yuuri wasn't sure how long he had slept. He couldn't even remember how he got to Minori's quarters, or why he was lying on the man's bedding. But he could remember the fevered dreams: of the throbbing in his ears and the smell of blood; of a boy propped up against the wall in a wide, wide smile, red lines between his teeth and dark liquid gushing out his neck, like running water from an open tap.

He shoved the balls of his palms against his eyes until he saw spots. No, no, no. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. None of it was real. He was going to wake up to his mother's voice, and his sister's insults, and his father's light chuckles in the corner of the room. And Yuuko, yes, Yuuko would be there too, giggling at his laziness and his messy bedhead. And, and Takeshi –

Hey Mikawa! Maybe if you smiled a little more, someone might love that ugly mug of yours.

Takeshi

"Mikawa."

Yuuri's eyes flew open as he jolted up, straight into Minori's calm, penetrating gaze.

"It is close to midnight," Minori said quietly. "You must be hungry."

Mutely, Yuuri shook his head. He didn't think he could stomach any food right now. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing properly.

"Very well." Minori brushed a lock of hair off Yuuri's face in a gesture so unlike him that Yuuri felt his stomach clench. "There is a plate of senbei on the cosmetics counter when you feel up to it."

He was rising to his feet when Yuuri, without thinking, grasped his wrist in a bruising grip.

"Why," Yuuri rasped. "Why would he do that?"

Minori said nothing.

"He promised we'd meet again. He promised. And – And he has a girl…" Yuuri's voice cracked, and he swallowed, hating the sticky, sour feeling in his dry throat. "He has a girl he loves so, so much—"

"That is why."

Yuuri reeled as though Minori's words had struck a blow across his cheek. "W-What do you—"

"Love has no place in Yoshiwara. When you love, the floating world will go out of its way to destroy it – ruin it until nothing remains but shattered hopes and dreams." Long, slender fingers gripped Yuuri's chin, tilting it upwards to meet smoldering eyes that turned his insides molten. "This charade of a life… it's all a game, Mikawa. A simple, foolish game with simple, foolish rules. Don't think, don't trust, don't fall in love. Play the game well, and you will survive."

As Minori released him, Yuuri dropped his head to his chest, pulling in a deep, shuddering breath. A game. A game. Like rock-paper-scissors and onigokko and hide-and-seek. He was never really good at games; he always let the other children win, because they cried when they didn't win, and he hated being the source of their distress. But that loser was Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri, who cried into his mother's apron strings, who built sandcastles on the beach with young, naïve innocence, who believed in love and hope and the bonds of friendship.

Mikawa was different. Mikawa impressed his teachers and ingratiated himself to the teahouse owner. Captured the kindness and attention of the cold, impassive Minori. Drew the interest of an official from the Tokugawa shogunate.

Mikawa didn't know love. Mikawa didn't know sadness, or guilt, or the strong, burgeoning wish to die.

Mikawa would survive.

Minori's voice fluttered around the edge of Yuuri's awareness.

"—rest. Lord Sugimoto is visiting tomorrow afternoon, but I will inform the old woman that you are weary from your—"

"I will join you," Yuuri cut in.

Minori raised an eyebrow questioningly.

When Yuuri lifted his chin, he felt the unshed tears drain from him until there was nothing but grey winter skies, bleak and endless and glacial. Until the mask slid on fully and Yuuri was gone, replaced – never to return.

He met Minori's piercing gaze with Mikawa's eyes, hard as steel. "I will join you."

A pause.

Then Minori smiled, slow and languid, like a beast on the prowl.

"As you wish."


On Yuuri's sixteenth birthday, Lord Sugimoto won the bid with Minori's approval, much to the owner's swooning elation.

On Yuuri's sixteenth birthday, Mikawa became a full-fledged courtesan.


Notes

Adabana: 徒花, a beautiful flower that never bears fruit. Or, a flower that dies as soon as it blossoms.

General notes: WE HAVE GORGEOUS ART thanks to the amazing, talented Quel, tosquinha on tumblr - post/164382304559/an-absolutely-gorgeous-commission-by-the-talented

I also want to take this opportunity to thank every single of you for your lovely kudos, comments, and Asks! My weeks have been busy and exhausting, but you all have lit up my days and kept me going. So, thank you, for real. 3 And without further ado, the historical notes!

[1] Kaguya: かぐや, named after Princess Kaguya from the old Japanese folktale, The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter.

[2] Oseyo: おせよ, no real meaning. Shinzo gain names that start with "O", such as Osen, Orin, Ohisa. It gives them a pure, girlish image. Many women in the Edo period were given similar short names starting with "O".

[3] Matsuo Basho: 松尾 芭蕉, 1644–1694. A famous poet of the Edo period. The poem Minori recites is one of his most well-known verses.

[4] Of age: Shinzo were typically between the ages of 13 and 23 years old. As the exact hierarchy of male prostitutes is not known, I've refrained from giving names to the ranks, but tried to adhere to the ages for female courtesans. It's not clear when they start seeing clients at night, but I've made that to be 16 years old, as you've seen in this chapter.

[5] Higanbana: 彼岸花, or red spider lily. An autumn flower that symbolizes death, it is often used in funerals. It can also refer to reincarnation/rebirth.

[6] Tokugawa shogunate: 徳川幕府, Tokugawa bakufu. The feudal Japanese military government of the Edo period, led by the Tokugawa clan.

[7] Evening Song of Autumn: 秋の夜歌, a piece for the shamisen, by Utazawa Toraemon.

[8] This is not the same song that Yuuri dances to, but a wonderful example: watch?v=VTNdHCPfM9w

Japanese performance arts are all about precise movements and subtle gestures, all of which contain meaning. I myself learned the art of tea ceremony, so I have some familiarity with the importance of motion and their hidden depths. My teacher spent an entire lesson making me redo the way I walked into a room with the tray of tea materials, because I stepped out on the wrong foot, or because I stepped out on the right foot but pointed my toes in the wrong direction. (There was a lot of frustration that day lol.)

[9] In 1846, Commodore James Biddle sailed two American warships into Edo bay, hoping to open Japan to trade with the United States. His attempt ended in failure.

[10] The frog in the well: 井の中の蛙大海を知らず (i no naka no kawa; taikai wo shirazu), a Japanese proverb that says, 'a frog in a well knows nothing of the great ocean'. I think you can infer its meaning on your own. ;)

[11] Teahouses would send local police after their runaway courtesans. In the Edo period, these were essentially samurai, now employed by the shogunate as their new police force.