"Himawari."

He caresses her name, tilting his head to give her a long, sweeping look full of appraisal, like a man assessing his property. As she crosses the room to sit beside him, his one good eye follows her. She sits on the far side of the love seat, putting as much distance as she can between them without looking too rude. He notices this with some amusement.

"I won't bite."

He holds up a cigarette expectantly. She stares at it for half a second before scrambling to grab a lighter from the table. The flame flickers to life and she holds it out for him, concentrating on the end of the stick until it glows red and smoke blooms.

"What do the two of you get up to in here?" he asks, leaning back comfortably. "Or is there some client confidentiality that will prevent you from telling me?"

She knows he's referring to Mugen.

"I probably shouldn't go around telling another customer's secrets." she mumbles. Is he even a customer? He's definitely acting like one.

"Perfect!" he exclaims, "because everything I say to you in this room is to stay in this room, understand?"

She nods.

"Good girl."

The difference between Umanosuke saying this to her and Mugen is night and day. She suppresses a shudder at the comparison. He taps the ash from his cigarette, but not over the tray like most customers, like you're supposed to, but right onto the ground. She's distracted, watching it fall into little gray piles onto the red carpet.

"What do you know about me?" he asks.

You're a gigantic creep.

"You run a loan agency." she answers quietly.

This feels like a safe assumption. According to everyone else around her he's probably up to far more and worse. He gives another tap tap onto the carpet. This little act of carelessness irks her.

"I wonder if I should be disappointed you haven't heard more?" he muses, smiling ruefully. "Then again you could be doing what a hostess does best: lie. But I have a feeling you wouldn't want to lie to me though, correct?"

"No, of course not. I always try to be honest—"

"Himawari is such an interesting name, by the way. Any special reason behind it?"

This sudden change in conversation throws her off. She purses her lips.

"Not really. All the hostesses here have a flower name. Um, hey, let me refill your drink."

She reaches for the emerald bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket on the table, but he stops her, grabbing one of her hands to examine up close. His grip is firm, his fingers clammy and cold. He admires the sunflowers Yuuka painted with a smile.

"They seem to be meaningful to you." he lets go of her hand and runs a finger from the pale yellow gauzy sleeve, down to her wrist. "You even look a little like one in that dress."

Smacking his hand away would for sure get her in some sort of trouble, but hiding her disgust is difficult bordering on impossible. It's easier to feign interest with the guy who keeps buying her shoes than him. She manages a breathy laugh, trying to appear shy rather than grossed out by his attention. He leans back again watching her.

"The more I thought about you, the more I realized your name was familiar. So, and I hope you'll forgive me for this, I did a little digging into your file the other night and guess who I was surprised to find? Kasumi Seizo ."

Fuu frowns. It's the last name she expected to come out of his mouth.

"My father?"

"Yes, I knew your father. A nice enough man, but poor with his spending habits and since you know my line of work…Do you know where I'm going with this?"

She gives her head a little shake. She wishes he would get to the point though. It almost seems like he likes toying with her. There's a gleam of cruel excitement in his eye.

"You see, he still owes me money on a loan."

It takes her a few seconds to process.

"Sorry, but he's dead." she says finally, trying to convey with her tone that there's nothing she can do about it. "He died years ago."

"Yes tragic, but here's the thing: debts don't die."

It finally comes together for her and she stares at him in disbelief.

"What, you want me to pay for them?" she asks, "Why?"

"I knew you'd catch on eventually." he says, reaching across the couch to tap her on the nose like she's just surpassed his expectations. "Why? Simple: because they're yours. Some might even say it's the honorable thing to do, settling your parents' debts."

"But I don't have anything to do with him!" she says, her voice rising. "And I didn't even before he died! Why should I have to pay for them?"

"You are Kasumi though, no? Your mother would technically be the next in line responsible to pay but—Ahh, that's right: Also dead."

It's a cruel twist to her stomach. Her hands tighten into fists in her lap, a quiver of rage making her tremble. How dare he use her like that.

"I'll speak with Mama-san about holding a portion of your earnings to go towards your father's- excuse me, your debt. I won't let you starve of course, but I recommend you try to start earning more if you want to make up for the—"

"Wait a second, so I don't have a choice here?" she cries, "No way! I'll just quit, there's no way you can make…me..."

Her voice dies off as the pleasant smile he's worn during their conversation falls from his face, replaced with a cold, ugly look of hostility. He pulls a cell phone from his pocket, showing her the screen, scrolling down to a number she doesn't recognize.

"I could make one phone call, just one, and have someone here within moments who would snap your pretty neck without question. Your life could end just that fast. Or I could wait until you think you're safe in bed tonight and have someone break in and take you someplace so deplorable, you'll dream of a death that quick. I hope you're learning to catch on faster, little Himawari, because these aren't empty threats. You'll pay his debt. With interest. I think you'll agree the alternative is simply out of the question."

She stares at him, mute with shock.

"Am I making myself clear?" he hisses.

She nods mechanically. He brings a hand to lift her chin to look at him, but she turns away, no longer able to suppress the shudder his touch induces. He tilts his head in mock-concern.

"Now see, you made me bring up such unsavory topics on our first night together. I hope you know now not to do that again. Well, anyway." he shakes his head, lifting his glass to her with an oily smile. "To think that I might not have made that connection to your father, had Mugen not mentioned that sunflower festival. I distinctly remember your father wanting to use some of the money he borrowed to take you. According to Mugen, he didn't. That's too bad."

"He told you that?" she whispers.

This is another blow that strikes her numb. She didn't even mean to tell him about it. It was a spur of the moment sort of thing when he asked about her necklace. To think that he went and told his boss behind her back. Why?

"He tells me everything." Umanosuke says, answering her unspoken question. "Very loyal. I've known him since he was just a delinquent in high school. Bit of a troublemaker back then too. It was my connections that saved him from a life in prison, not so easy to do in this country. Especially for such a violent crime." He sets his glass back down on the table, clasping his hands together. "Which leads me to the second part of this little visit: I wouldn't want to withdraw any of that protection because he's become involved with someone he shouldn't be. I need to guard my own interests, you understand. His time with you was a gift, but now that you're under my authority, it's just money out of my pocket if he continues to see you. It could lead to him becoming distracted when I need him to be focused. In short: it's a conflict of interest. It's best if we cut that thread now."

Distracted? Then you shouldn't have paid for him to spend time with me, idiot. She thinks furiously, but wisely keeps her mouth shut this time.

"If I find out you've been giving something away that another man will pay for, and trust me a man will pay, that's more added on to your debt. Don't be careless."

He drains his drink and stands, smiling down at her. When she turns away he roughly grips her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"Fate is strange isn't it? Let's hope we build a longer relationship than the one I had with your father. Have a good night, Kasumi-chan."


Though it's probably unwise given her newly acquired debt, Fuu goes home early, using a headache as an excuse. Mama-san doesn't object. There's something in her tired, wrinkled face that tells her that she didn't want this for her either. It's not her fault, or even Yuuka's for telling her about the job. Just her luck. Wrong place, wrong time.

She walks towards the station in a daze feeling somewhat outside of her body, like she's just an observer watching herself amble through a dream. The people she passes become fuzzy blurs of color and static noise.

Above her long standing frustration with her father for causing her problems from beyond the grave there is the tiniest amount of gratitude that it's her that'll have to deal with all of this rather than her mother. At least Umanosuke hadn't tracked her mother down for money years ago. The stress probably would have ended her life quicker.

And then there's Mugen.

She wants to be angry with him for mentioning the festival, but how could he have known what that would lead to? Maybe it was just a careless comment or… could it possibly be something worse? Like he's been running back to his boss after touching her to brag about it…

No, she knows he wouldn't go that far. There's always been something about the two of them that gives her the impression that he's not a fan of his either.

She knows she'll have to listen to Umanosuke. She won't see him anymore. Not if it's unsafe for the both of them. The problem is that Mugen is hard headed and stubborn and if he knew why she was pushing him away…well, she's not sure what he'd do. She just knows that he won't let her go so easily.

Especially for such a violent crime.

What could he have done? How did he come to be under someone like Umanosuke's protection?

She wants to ask him about it, but if getting involved with him will jeopardize any agreement they have to keep him safe, she needs to put her own feelings aside.

"Hey!"

She stops, closing her eyes. She's zapped back into her body, the blare of the traffic back in her ears. Of course leaving early wouldn't stop him from coming after her. She's right outside the station, if she had left a little earlier she'd be on the train by now.

He catches up to her, turning her to face him.

"That old hag said you left sick." He looks her over as if trying to see if it's true.

"Don't call her that." she says tiredly, her voice miserable. "She's right, I don't feel good, I'm going home. Go mess around with someone else tonight."

She turns to walk away, but he grabs her wrist to stop her.

"What's your problem?"

She twists out of his grip. She hasn't thought this far ahead yet. What can she say to keep him away? She racks her brains for a second. The words come out of her mouth sounding clunky and hollow.

"I don't want to see you anymore."

"The hell're you talking about?"

If he finds out why he might want to help her. Or he'd realize how powerless he is too and she doesn't want to see that either. She thinks of her own fears; the cruelest thing she could say to keep him from trying to help her, from wanting to see her anymore.

What would she hate to hear most from him?

"Listen, I need to be honest with you." she begins, trying to sound cold. "I only wanted to fool around with you because I have no experience with guys. I've just been using you to satisfy my curiosity. I don't even like you."

She expects him to blow up at her, get pissed off, offended, something. But his expression doesn't change. No hurt, no anger, not even surprise.

"Good," he says simply, "'cause' I like being used."

Alarmed, she stares up at him in shock. His eyes search hers.

"Keep using me for all I care. I don't give a shit about your feelings for me anyway."

He tugs her towards him and she grapples for another angle.

"But I-I like Jin!"

He pulls back, brows knitting together.

"Bullshit."

"I do! He's been really nice to me, he buys me food…and…and he doesn't just try to get into my pants!"

His expression goes dark.

"You begged me for it. You forget that part?"

Her face goes warm. There's no denying he can reduce her to a pathetic mess of pleading if he wants to. If nothing had changed since this evening she'd probably be in that same position now.

"I-I needed practice! You said it yourself the night we met–it's obvious I'm a virgin." She looks away from him. "I just didn't want to look stupid in front of him if we ever…I mean, I just thought he would like me better if I had a little more experience. You were just convenient."

The guilt sinks like a stone through her stomach as his hands drop from her. His face is hard, glaring down at her.

"Then you're fuckin' stupid cause he's already got a woman."

She stares up at him in surprise.

"How do you know that?"

"I know things!" He says defensively, "So where does that leave you huh? He won't want your stupid ass."

Where does that leave her? She groans, hiding her face behind her hands.

"Uhg, I don't know, but it doesn't leave me with you. So–so just go away already! Can't you take a hint?"

People passing by turn to look at them, particularly at Mugen. He stares at her, mouth shut but working furiously to stop himself from saying something. He nods a couple times, seething.

"Fine!" he bursts out. "You're so goddamned –"

He shakes his head with another irritated roar and storms off, but then abruptly stomps right back to her. She takes a step back as he gets in her face.

"Where's my jacket?"

"Huh? Oh...It's at my apartment."

"Let's go." he mutters darkly, heading into the station.

"I-I am not taking you back to my apartment!" She shouts after him.

"Then I'll take a page out of four-eyes' book and follow you. Either way I'm getting it back tonight. Start walkin'."

"Page out of— What ?"

He just glares at her expectantly. She heaves a sigh and stomps off ahead of him, feeling him close on her heels.

Given that she's supposed to be playing the part of a heartless bitch, it's pathetic how often she peeks up at him. His jaw is clenched and he won't look at her, glowering into the distance. She hates it when people are upset with her. Usually it's all she can do to keep herself from blubbering out an apology—regardless of if she's the one in the wrong. In this case she definitely is, which makes it infinitely worse.

The night is uncomfortably warm, the air thick with the promise of rain. The train ride is stuffy and crowded and at one point she's jostled against him. She glances at him nervously, thinking maybe he'll push her away or be annoyed by her closeness, but he steadies her, keeping a broad hand against her lower back so that she doesn't fall again. The gesture sends a painful ache in her heart. Please don't be nice to me right now. Not when I need to be mean to you.

He's in debt too or something like it. She wonders just what it is he did. What keeps him working for such an obvious creep? She can't help but think that it must be justified in some way. If he's gotten in trouble before, it's not because he's a bad person, it's because whatever he did, he had to do. Just like she has to do this.

They exit the station and the streets are quieter here. She's leading, listening to the sound of him walking behind her, the sound of her thoughts sloshing guiltily around her skull.

Her apartment is located on the first level of an old two story building. There's an elderly couple who live above her and the apartment next to hers is apparently infested with black mold, but at least that means it's usually quiet. As soon as it comes into view drops begin to fall slowly and then all at once in a huge sheet, pelting and soaking them through. She hastens to dig her keys from her purse with a groan.

She unlocks the door and then rolls her eyes at Mugen's stubborn attempt at trying to wait outside in the rain. She pulls him inside with her.

She searches the entrance by the door for a pair of slippers for him. It feels like such a strange gesture seeing as how he's angry with her. All she can find are her cutesy striped pink ones and a slightly larger pair for guests. She sets it down for him with an apology.

To her mortification his jacket isn't hanging up somewhere normal, it's on her bed, because she slept with it last night.

She dashes across the room to grab it, praying he didn't see it there first. She holds it out to him but pulls it back on second thought.

"Wait for the rain to stop."

"I'm not gonna melt."

She's relieved he doesn't sound as angry as before.

"I know. Just wait, please."

Bringing him inside is a huge mistake. Enormous. His presence seems to fill up the tiny space. Which she realizes now that she probably should keep cleaner, because the entire room is in total disarray. When she gets home from work the first thing she does is tear everything off and it's obvious; her clothes are scattered everywhere, draped over the end of her bed and on the floor. There are old instant ramen cups on the countertop and a sink full of dishes she's been too lazy to do. She throws away some of the trash, muttering more apologies and kicking one of her bras under her bed.

The sound of dripping gets her attention and she turns back to see that his shirt is soaked from the rain, the dark fabric clinging to his chest. There's a small puddle forming beneath him.

He's just watching her.

"Um, you can use the shower if you want! I have extra towels." She pulls one down from a cabinet near the entrance along with a washcloth. Both are fluffy and pink. She presses them into his hands without meeting his eye.

"There's plenty of soap and stuff um— I'll hang your shirt to dry."

His shorts aren't as soaked and she's grateful that he doesn't suggest walking around naked, though she half wishes he would crack a bad joke right about now. That would be better than the microscope she feels like she's under.

He sighs and out of the corner of her eye she watches him pull his wet shirt off and toss it at her. She yelps as it hits her with a wet slap and catches a glimpse of his tattooed back as he disappears into her bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Her shoulders slump in relief when she hears the shower turn on. She wrings his shirt out over the sink and digs around for a hanger to put it on, hanging it to dry. Taking a look around the apartment, she decides she really needs to straighten it up some more. How she manages to get such a small space so disorganized she has no idea. She sweeps crumbs from her kitchen counter into the trash can and ties it up for good measure. Momo is probably hiding somewhere like he always does when strangers are over. She bites her lip, looking around for more to do. There's only one place to sit, her bed, and she hasn't made it yet. She also doesn't have anything to offer him to drink…

She stops. This is a mistake.

She's going about this whole thing all wrong and she can feel it. She's busy worrying about being a good host when she's supposed to be kicking him to the curb, for both of their sakes. I don't want to see you anymore, but come home with me. She must be giving him whiplash.

It's not his fault that she's in this position. Not really. They just met at the wrong place, wrong time. If they hadn't then maybe her father's debt would have never come up. If she hadn't taken this stupid job she wouldn't have met him at all. That thought is depressing, regardless of the situation. She likes him. She really likes him and if none of this happened maybe she could explore something more with him, a thought she's been scared of this whole time, but now it's not even an option. At least she won't have to worry about him rejecting her.

She doesn't notice the sound of the water shutting off and jumps in alarm when she feels hands slide around her waist from behind.

"What're you doing?"

"Just givin' you more practice." he murmurs, reaching under her dress. His skin is soft, warmed from the shower and it feels so unbelievably good against her chilled skin. He smells like her fruity shampoo. "Told ya' I like bein' used. If that's all you want from me then I'll take it." at this his grip on her becomes tight. "But you're out of your fuckin' mind if you think I'm gonna let some other bastard have you now."

"Mugen—"

"You're all wet." He points out, peeling her dress down her shoulders, pressing hot kisses against her cold skin. She shivers.

"Why did you hurt me?"

He stops abruptly.

"What?"

"The night we met. I can't get it out of my head. You were decent to me until you knew your boss was going to come in, I think you hurt me so I'd cry out. Is it because he's a bad person? He expects you to be like him?"

"What are you talking about?"

She turns around to look up at him. She needs to see it on his face, any sign that he's trapped there too. That he's stuck like her.

"Has he hurt you?"

He frowns down at her, his expression becoming more furrowed in concern.

"What's goin' on with you?"

Against everything she told herself was wrong she reaches up to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He responds right away, like she knew he would. She's grateful that he's so physical, so easy to distract. He kisses her backwards towards her bed. She lets him. She lets him lay her back, pull her wet dress down and toss it aside, leaving her in her bra and underwear, also grateful that she actually took the time to match them today. He covers her, his broad chest warm, chasing away the chill.

This time she's the one who can't get enough, somehow momentarily free of nervousness, unworried about her inexperience holding her back. She pulls him against her, wrapping her legs around his waist, running her hands up his chest, over his back trying to draw him closer to her. Her kisses are wet and clumsy, but he doesn't seem to mind, responding as usual with enthusiasm, obvious to the turmoil she's in.

She ends up on top of him, his hands glide up her stomach towards her chest, trying to grope her through the lace and padding. She pulls back from his lips and gasps in surprise when she accidentally rubs against the not-so-inconspicuous bulge. She does it again, almost experimentally and lets out a shaky exhale.

His hands settle on her hips, coaxing her to grind against him again and again. She gets lost in the hard feel of him, hands splayed on his bare chest, delicious friction causing her to whine and shudder. His breathing hitches every time she slides back. His fingers clutch her roughly, digging into her skin, urging her to go faster, harder. She obliges, feeling another hot throb of desire when the curse he mutters melts into a groan.

He reaches a hand forward, using his thumb to rub the tender aching spot between her legs. She's soaked through, letting out small, desperate noises. With every roll of her hips her heart beats harder, her breathing dissolves into panting.

His chest begins to rise and fall faster, the muscles across the hard, tanned plane of his stomach going taut, his eyes intensely focused on her, flitting from her face to where she grinds against him.

"One phone call…I'll have someone here to snap your pretty neck."

Her hips slow.

"Or I could wait until you think you're safe in bed tonight…"

She stops.

This shouldn't be about her at all, she should be doing this for him . Just one small thing to make up for lying, for telling him that she's just using him. Just one small thing before she pushes him away completely.

She slides back and with weak hands fumbles to unbutton his shorts, breathing heavy and hot and getting frustrated because her fingers are shaking too badly to undo it.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm fine." she insists, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're shivering."

"So?" She says dismissively, finally succeeding in getting it unbuttoned, but he stops her, grabbing her wrist. His breathing is still heavy, but he frowns up at her, sitting up on his elbows.

"There's somethin' going on with you. You're actin' weird."

"I'm fine! "

That's when her stomach decides to grumble loudly. She groans. Everything is going wrong. All of her desire fizzles out into nothing, just cold anxiety that twists her stomach. She slides off of him.

He lets out a long, tired sigh, sitting up beside her. She crosses her arms over her chest, feeling like a failure. He reaches over and grabs his jacket, tossing it over her. He's probably disappointed. She's ruined the mood. She's ruining everything . He'll probably be grateful to be rid of her, to find someone else who knows how to please him, who isn't actively putting him in danger by having him in her apartment.

He cuts through her self-pity with a grunt.

"What kinda' food you got?"

She sighs, gesturing towards the kitchen.

"Help yourself."

He gets up and wanders over to her tiny kitchen, rooting around her fridge and cabinets.

"You got the worst shit here." he grumbles out to her.

"Sorry, I didn't know I'd have guests to feed." she mutters flatly.

She needs to think of a way to get him out of here now before he eats her out of house and home. Before she does something else stupid. She hears her stove kicking on with several loud clicks. She sighs again, laying on her side curling up in his jacket, thinking about how weird this situation is. How unfair.

So much for staying away from him. Why don't I do the exact opposite and invite him inside? Let him use my shower, make out on my bed, eat all my food?

This would be a lot easier if he was just a perverted creep, if he didn't have moments of kindness or patience with her. Or if her own hormones would stop getting in the way. That would be especially helpful.

She hears him chopping something, still muttering to himself about her bad selection. The sound reminds her of her mom making her food. She was the best . She spoiled Fuu with cute handmade bento boxes everyday, staying up late the night before to make them. She'd cut seaweed strips into little hearts and faces to stick onto her omelets and rice balls. All of her friends were jealous of her lunches, begging to trade. No one ever had anything that could come close.

Her mother tried teaching her to cook as she got older, but Fuu insisted that she was better at eating food than making it. Nothing ever turns out as good as her mom made it, no matter how hard she practices at it. Especially after she died. Food just tastes better when someone else makes it.

She keeps green onions in her fridge even though she hardly ever cooks these days. They're probably withered and old by now. She has a depressing routine where she buys them with good intentions at the beginning of the week, promising to herself that this time she'll do something with them and then a week later they just become a garnish for her trash can. She feels guilty about it because it's a waste of money, but can never stop herself; it's tradition at this point.

"Where do you keep your spoons?"

She gives a start, not realizing that she had been nodding off. She sits up, rubbing her aching temple and closing his jacket tighter around herself.

"Second drawer by the stove."

She hears him rummaging around again and then coming back with his bowl of food, but instead of digging in he puts it down on her rickety table, setting a spoon beside it.

"What's that for?" she asks.

"You, stupid. You're hungry."

She stares up at him and then down at the steaming bowl of soup. He wasn't eating her out of house and home at all; he was cooking for her.

He clears his throat.

"I can't make anything better with the crap you got here. The miso paste you buy sucks ." and when she hasn't made a move, he gestures to it, annoyed, "It's gonna get cold."

Obediently, she slides off of her bed and in front of the table, staring down at the soup, where sprinkled on top are her withered green onions.

She bursts into tears.