Kiku awoke to an outfit being tossed upon his little body, and an Englishman holding the hand of a boy standing beside him, clothed with the same fabric that was bestowed upon the Japanese child.
"Hmm?"
"It's time to get up, Kiku. I'm taking you two to class."
"C-cl-a-ass?"
"Yes. C-cl-a-ass." Arthur imitated his accent in the cruelest fashion he was capable of, his syllables even rougher than they had been from the mocked boy's mouth. Kiku, if only for a moment, seemed truly damaged.
"Don't you look at me that way, you little bastard. Get up."
The Japanese boy rose, taking the clothes from his center and wiping away the sleep that had gathered within his eyes. He began to undress, despite being in the others' presence, that bland set of fabrics they had given him covering his skin as soon as it became bare.
His night clothes lay in a pile without care before his feet, and the boy took a moment to brush off the acquired skin he found himself layered in. It almost seemed a size too big, and the scent cried of dust, having been lost in some unfortunate closet for quite the duration.
Kiku gave his gaze to Mr. Kirkland, who returned his attention in the form of a blatant stare.
"Do you have a comb?"
"No…Yao is to brush hair usu-ally."
"Alright, well it's too late for all that. Come with me."
The child stepped forward, his little fingers becoming the bristles of a determined comb, each trying to arrange those messy black locks into the pattern they were frequently found in. He stood next to Mr. Kirkland, who took one of those make-shift brushes from him for his own palm, and they began to walk.
For a moment, either youth regarded the other with curiosity, the Japanese boy lost in a well deeply full of confusion. There was no word in his vocabulary to match that terrible phrase Mr. Kirkland had used to chide him.
Class…
But as a good child, he simply followed along, knowing he would receive nothing from struggling.
They all traveled through town, all the sights they had stolen just days before offered to them a second time, whirling past them in a lovely hurricane, all the color and smells and unfamiliar faces giving them only a moment's pleasure before leaving them behind to new fascination.
Eventually, they found their feet before a door that seemed as if it once belonged to a large palace, although the actual institution resembled something completely surreal, with dirty walls and worn paper screen windows. The portal told several lies, each one of them sweet as a plum.
Arthur tugged them inside and led them along a corridor before their eyes offered the sight of several other children clothed in the same attire. Some even seemed to wear the faces of young girls, but any hair long enough was constricted into a relentless bun, and every outfit went with the very same design and hue. It was impossible to tell.
An old woman stood in front of that herd of children, her visage worn from several years and her skin yellowed with age. She spoke with Mr. Kirkland, but Kiku could not match a word of what she had said to his own handful of knowledge, although he sorted and organized each fragment several times in the past.
"Yes, yes. We'll be on time." He looked at his small collection of boys, shaking them from his fingers and pointed to places to occupy their bottoms.
Kiku and Hong took their homes and the old woman began her speech again. Her words were for the ears of all attending, although no one truly seemed to be very interested in her message. Perhaps they could not comprehend her either. And like many, Kiku simply fiddled with his ebony straw, so ruined by the awful claws of sleep.
And even though Hong could understand the words birthed from this woman's mouth, he chose to simply pick at the skin beneath his nails, only listening partially, severally involved with each little appendage.
Neither noticed that Arthur Kirkland had left.
Eventually, the old woman's orifice gave birth to a command, forcing everyone's legs to stretch and their bodies to rise. The only one who hadn't followed this order was the Japanese boy, who had become well entranced with his messy hair.
"Kiku! Stand up!"
Hong pulled at his counterpart's sleeve as a persistent bird, and he joined every other tiny body within the room, all imitating the leader's odd movements, her bones worn as ancient stone, yet her movements graceful as falling blossoms in spring.
Kiku didn't understand what all of this was…He was inside a class learning to move those tiny limbs with one of his only friends. But why had he been brought here? What was the point of knowing to move your foot a certain direction and the rest of your form the other? Would he become Yao, a god doing whatever it was those silken deities did?
And for a moment, he desired tears.
Would this be his new life? Dancing and running errands for a boar who threatened to beat him anytime they made contact?
Just why in the hell was this life granted to him, something he had not wanted; something he was forced to inhabit as clothing and wear as a firm glove?
He wasn't even certain of his location in which he lived, that obnoxious building with letters that screamed printed upon its very brow, and yet, he could not even begin to hear them. They fell upon his ears as words of adoration to a deaf man.
So, Kiku made his way throughout these procedures awkwardly, so many incoherent thoughts wreaking havoc upon his mind as bandits through a peaceful village, shattering everything and making his heart flood with mixed sadness and anger.
…He was so tired of being lost.
What was this?
But as soon as a question arose, it was killed by the movement within his limbs, ripped into sections and divided between emotion and dance.
An hour passed, and the entire room was given their time back to do as they pleased, all the tired children congregating to the exit.
Kiku walked outside with Hong, finding Mr. Kirkland propped against the wall with a cigarette nourishing his lips, a box tucked securely within his palm. The blond required a long drag before even allowing his glance to affect the two children.
"How was it?"
"It was fine Mr. Kirkland." Hong was the first to speak.
"Well good." His tone remained indifferent, flat as smooth fabric. "You'll be taking music lessons as well, but not today." Those awful jewels shifted to Kiku, who had a slight mist marking barriers around his eyes. "What's the matter with you?"
"No-thing, Mr. Arthur Kirkland." A single tear proceeded upon his cheek and lost its life in a small burst.
The British man smirked, amusement feeding his very hunger for satisfaction, all coming from the boy's poor language skills. "Good. We're going back now."
And the blond rose, brushing the dirt from his misplaced English style clothing and regarding his children. A sigh drifted from his lips and sat healthily within the air. Kiku was taken into his arms while Hong was given his usually set of fingers.
"Come on."
Tiny numerals curved around those numerals and the three began to move, Kiku a bit shocked at the monster's sudden regard.
The Japanese child's hands captured his neck by gentle means and a few voiceless tears took life upon his skin. The lesson of crying silently had been stored in rich memory. Arthur pretended not to notice the boy's upset.
The walk back seemed to be the longest trip they had taken yet, the carried child allowing his broken emotion to impregnate his eyes, giving birth to that crystalline pain as sniffles, stifled by concern and bearing their presence in quiet solitude.
Mr. Kirkland wondered why he had become so tolerant.
As soon as they returned home, Hong released the adult's hand and went off along his own path while Kiku was set before the open mouth of Yao's chamber, his body and mind left to rot in confinement.
"Arthur Kirkland, what did you do to him?"
An answer did not begin or end.
"Kiku, what did he do? Has he hurt you?"
"No…I just feeling sad."
Yao immediately took the boy into an embrace draped in silk.
"Yao…What this place is?"
"…You don't need to worry about that right now." The gorgeous man's stomach turned to a pit of ugly disturbance.
"No…I want to know. Please tell me."
"Kiku…"
"Please, Yao..."
The child stared at that man with little intensity, placing his breaking heart within those elegant fingers.
"It's um…It's a whore house, Kiku."
"A-a what?" A small sleeve brushed past that nose, wiping away little bits of discharge. "What that is?"
A hand rested upon the golden one's cheek, and the boy was given a considerate kiss upon the forehead. "You'll understand more when you're older…" Yao's eyes moved to the floor supporting his feet. "…I'm a whore…And I'm sold every night." Those very syllables seemed to slash the bearer's throat as they were given to the listener's ear.
"A…whore?"
"…Please don't think anything less of me."
"But what that is?" The boy's pain was replaced by insatiable curiosity.
"You'll know soon enough…"
"I being a…whore?"
"I truly hope that you'll never have to be."
Kiku sniffled, even more lost then previously before, a few final tears descending as he stared at his idol, newly classified as a whore.
"Please don't look at me that way, Kiku…" Those few droplets were erased. "Do you hate me?"
"No! I love Yao!" Emotions of a new breed were born into the representation of sorrow. "I love you…" He spoke in Japanese, truly meaning each syllable.
Yao smiled and took him into another embrace. "Thank you, little one…I love you too." The man walked closer to his bed, stopping at the window with robes gently drifting upon the floor, light filtering onto either of their frames and turning them to handsome paintings. "You know, I never wanted this life for myself. I truly hope you don't grow to hate me…And I truly hope you can find a way out before you become like me."
"I can-not hate you…Because I love you…" Kiku managed, his little hands gripping tighter, as if he released that gorgeous figure, he would be gone forever, existing only in his dreams.
"Thank you, Kiku…"
The broken child rested within the whore's arms.
