Author's Note: Great big thank yous to everyone who's reviewed (and all the rest of you who are reading (and re-reading?) but not reviewing ~_^). You guys are so lucky all my other "in progress" works are caught in beta so you don't have to wait so long for a new chapter. That's not going to last much longer! *shakes a warning finger*
Anyway . . . I haven't gotten very far with the manga, so all my Oriya experience is from the anime (can you tell?), where he's kind of a window-dressing character. Oh don't look at me like that. I love him, too, but it's the truth! So! I took some liberties with his history. Huge liberties. You can tell me how screwed up I am in review if you must. :p
Warnings: Angst, invasion of the OCs, more angst, Hisoka weirdness, mild OxH. Did I mention angst? o.o
Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The only things I claim are the original characters and the plot. If I claimed a million dollars, would you give it to me? Yeah, I didn't think so either.... ~_^
Culture Notes: Eh, I could make notes here, but then it'd ruin the point of reading this so, um, just trust me? o_o Or scream in reviews and then I'll explain next time. ¬_¬
III. Empty Promises
Thursdays were usually one of our more quiet nights, so I suppose it was only natural that it was a disaster this week. I have power through the people I know, the connections I can make; if a client is dissatisfied for any reason, it falls to me to make it right. I knew this and under normal circumstances, I would never once complain. But these were hardly normal circumstances. Despite his minor triumph with the midday meal, bouya's coordination was still off. And I was, perversely enough, enjoying having to hand-feed the boy.
Unfortunately, fate was conspiring against me. Business before pleasure, though I would have rathered that I could have had it the other way around. No such luck. Bouya got a fork and I got . . . grouchy customers. To be honest, I think he got the better deal. . . .
Despite my best efforts, it was well after midnight by the time I was able to return to my apartment. By then not only was bouya sound asleep, but someone had cleaned him up and helped him to bed. There was nothing left for me to do, though I adjusted his blankets anyway. I briefly considered sleeping in my own bed - the futon was wide enough for two - but the notion passed swiftly. Somehow, I doubted he would appreciate my closeness, particularly as I had already let him sleep alone for two nights.
Another night of strange dreams and I was beginning to suspect that Muraki had done more than just disrupt bouya's magic. It would be like him to plant an obsession, though I had long thought myself protected from his magic. If he had done such a thing. . . another reason for me to remind him which of us was a master of the sword when next he came to me. Right after I made him pay for bouya's expenses, and right before I threw him out. Preferably in the rain.
The morning fog was thick, an ethereal blanket tucked over the city, washing everything with grey. I left bouya sleeping to make my way to the small shrine. This land had been my family's home for generations, though the restaurant and geisha house were relatively new. I said relatively, but my family had maintained the Ko Kaku Rou for over a hundred years. Mine was a family rich in tradition . . . if poor in members.
The years felt suddenly heavy as I entered the family shrine, though I was only in my third decade. Young enough to avoid the quiet whispers yet old enough to begin to feel the weight of expectation. Two, perhaps three more years before they would begin, those secretive whispers behind my back, the constant questioning. When would I finally settle with a woman and raise a family? In five years, those whispers wouldn't be so secretive, disapproving looks cast my way for not honoring tradition. For not conforming with expectation. All the power in the world would only stave off those expectations for so long. . . .
Having sought the aide and wisdom of the ancestors, I returned to my more normal morning rituals. Reviewing the logbook from the night before, walking through the public rooms, sending the night manager home, checking in with my staff . . . all the little things that were the normal procedure of my life. With a yawning Nyassa in tow, I returned to my rooms for a quiet breakfast with Bon. I tried not to smile as I saw him still asleep, sprawled across my bed with the blankets in disarray; I would not have guessed him to be such an energetic sleeper, particularly given his overall lack of strength.
Nyassa was giving us curious looks as I knelt beside my bed. I wasn't particularly surprised; I knew full well that the younger girls were all quite taken with my beautiful guest. Whispered sighs and shy smiles that they tried to hide amongst themselves Several rumors had already cropped up since he was very obviously sleeping in my bed . . . and just as obviously in poor health. Girls will be girls and anything I tried to do would only make the situation worse, so I pretended ignorance.
"Saa, time to wake up, bouya," I murmured, shaking his shoulder gently.
"Shimatta," he grumbled. "What happened to letting the sick sleep?"
"Sleep too much and you'll never regain your strength, Bon," I replied, smiling as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He looked up at me with bleary emeralds, then pushed himself into a sitting position. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his crossed arms on them, then let his head fall down to meet them. It was a protective posture I recognized far too well. The sooner Nyassa left, the better things would be.
"Mibu-san?"
"Thank you, Nyassa. That will be all for now."
"Hai, Owner," she murmured before quickly leaving the room. I listened to her receding footsteps for a moment before reaching out to rest a comforting hand on the curve of bouya's back. He flinched, then a ragged sigh rattled out of his thin frame.
"Why?"
"Why what, bouya?"
"Why didn't he come for me? Why is he always trying to kill me? Why am I here? Why aren't I healing? Why do you care? Why any of it. . . ? I don't understand. . . ."
"Ara . . . is that all," I replied quietly, but either the humor was lost or he had simply reached the end of his endurance. Whichever was the case, his whole body trembled with the quiet sobs he was trying to hide from me. Comfort cannot be forced, it is true, but this time I didn't think about such things. I knew only that this beautiful boy was suffering terribly and that he needed the reassurance. There would be time for him to be angry later, after he had regained his equilibrium. Until then I would hold him and be his strength.
His walls crumbled even further as my arms slipped around his too-thin frame, the sobs no longer restrained. I let him cry as long as he needed, smoothing honey-gold hair and whispering meaningless words of comfort. I had done this perhaps a dozen times for my girls, offering a supportive shoulder when memory and pain became too much, but for bouya it was different. More than just the physical difference between male and female.
Damn that man.
When his tears were exhausted, he sagged against me, surprising me even further. Not that I was objecting, but . . . I had rather been expecting him to pull away. To dash away the last remnants of his tears and try to pretend that nothing had happened.
"Gomen," he whispered weakly. "I don't mean to be such a burden. . . ."
"You don't have to apologize, bouya."
"But. . . ."
I tilted his chin up so he could see the sincerity in my eyes.
"You don't have to apologize."
Eyes the color of new leaves peered into the very depths of my soul, searching for truth no doubt. Something poked at the back of my head, a strange sensation as if someone was sifting through my mind. Feelings and memories flickered through my thoughts seemingly at random, out of my control. I tried to sort them more logically, but instead was batted away by some presence. Though I have never been a man prone to panic, for a moment I felt that crawling sensation nipping at me. Then bouya smiled, satisfied with himself, and shifted around to rest his head on my shoulder.
"He didn't tell you," bouya murmured, a hint of laughter in his tone.
"Didn't tell me what?"
"I'm an empath," he chuckled softly. "Physical contact strengthens my ability to read people; if the mind is open enough, I can even read thoughts."
"And you were just reading mine."
"Gomen," he murmured, looking down at where our hands had pooled in his lap. "But you've felt so strange. I . . . I needed to know the truth. I didn't read everything, just . . . just what you thought of me. It was enough. . . ."
"Then you may well know my mind better than I do, bouya."
"Hai. And no, I can't prove it's not his doing. But if it is . . . it worked. . . ."
"Did it?"
"You're distracted, aren't you?" he replied quietly, looking up at me then. That wasn't exactly what I meant, and I was fairly certain that he knew it. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pulled away from me to stand up and walk over to our breakfast with wobbly steps.
"You should push me more," he said as he sat down at the table. "Then I'll go home and you can beat him up for me."
"I'll take that to mean you're feeling better today," I replied, not sure how I felt about that.
"A little. At least I don't think a strong breeze is all it would take to knock me over," he said, smiling. Such a strange expression on him. Though I've barely known him, this is the most I've ever seen him smile. It looks good on him, though too much like an expression he is unused to wearing.
After such an . . . exciting morning, the dull routine of the day could almost be considered a letdown. If we could be said to have a routine. Bouya spent most of the morning sitting and watching the courtyard; despite what he had said, walking across a room was enough to tire him. I could almost feel his intense interest as he watched me give Shinji his daily lesson and silently welcomed my second student.
After the midday meal, it was time to move back inside and check his injuries. Nearly all of the bruises had disappeared, much to bouya's relief, though the long gashes on his back were another matter. To my annoyance, they had turned an angry red and though they weren't actually bleeding, they looked far from healthy.
"You could have told me these were bothering you, bouya," I muttered as I set out fresh bandages.
"It's not that bad," he lied, a slight blush rising in his cheeks.
"I'm looking at them, bouya, so don't bother lying."
"I don't want to be any trouble. . . ."
"There's a difference between not being any trouble and just making things worse," I scolded gently. Another blush appeared, deeper than before and he said nothing as I finished my ministrations.
"Next time, tell me, all right?"
"Hai."
I watched him settle in with his book, obviously taking care with his injured back. The book was one from my library, likely retrieved for him by one of the geisha, not that I minded. He needed something to keep himself occupied, certainly. I didn't mind watching over him . . . but I wasn't his babysitter.
We spent much of the afternoon in my enclosed sitting room, he with his book and I with a week's worth of mail and paperwork. I caught him watching me a handful of times, though he tried to pretend like he didn't care. His curiosity was only natural, the drive to know what sort of man could love his murderer. I knew better than to even try to explain that Muraki hadn't always been as he was now. . . .
"Mibu-san?"
"Aa," I offered distractedly; bills were coming due again and I was required to authorize all expenditures.
"Are you really that worried that Cheisa-san would kick me out?"
"Aa, not really. She knows better than to try, now that I've made it clear that you are to stay."
"Then. . . ?"
"Because," I said with a wry smile as I looked up from a sheaf of invoices, "my girls seem quite taken with you, the gorgeous boy with eyes like spring grass and hair of honey gold. In your current condition, I'm not sure you could survive them."
His blush crept all the way up to his hairline and he quickly went back to his reading, though, as I watched him, I could see that he wasn't actually reading. To be made shinigami at such a young age, forever sixteen. I could see in him the suggestions of the man he would have become, had he not been slain. Bouya would have made a fine gentleman. . . .
I had once more lost myself in a sea of numbers when his quiet voice reached me again.
"Mibu-san?"
"Aa?"
"Do you . . . do you like what you do?"
It was such an unexpected question that, for a minute, all I could do was gaze at him in bewilderment, my mind wandering off on a host of irrelevancies. I needed to ask Sonashi what she needed with ten pounds of truffles. It had to be fairly late in the afternoon, from the way the sunlight had captured bouya and tinted his hair ruddy wheat. Muraki had far too much time on his hands if he was able to plot up a ridiculous gift like this for me. Tonaka and Seishu were both likely to quit if I didn't put in at least a few hours later tonight. Why hadn't the other shinigami found bouya yet?
"I . . . gomennasai," he stammered. "It's none of my business. I just . . . you're not at all what I expected for . . . for someone in your business."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I snapped, wincing inwardly at the harshness of my tone.
"Aa . . . anou . . . it's . . . nothing. Nothing. Gomennasai."
"Bon. . . ."
"Gomen. I spoke out of turn. . . ."
I watched the red that tinged his cheeks as he tried to hide in his reading once more. It had seemed such a random question, but perhaps I had misjudged. From his reaction, it seemed to be something he had been thinking about for some time. And in hind sight, I supposed that was only natural; again, the quest to understand his appointed caretaker.
"Not always, but most days."
"Huh?"
"It's like any other job, bouya - some days are better than others."
"How . . . how can you say that? You sell people's bodies!"
"I take girls in off the street, see they are educated, provide them with food, shelter, a safe work environment, and even a paycheck. As they earn enough money, they can move on with the skills they've learned, perhaps even marry and raise families. Or they can choose to stay here, to continue working for me."
"You can make it sound pretty, but you run a brothel."
"I manage a geisha house," I corrected sharply. "My girls are educated companions, not cheap whores. There is no shame in being a geisha!"
". . . I'm sorry I ever brought it up. . . ."
Had we become so westernized that our children were forgetting their own heritage? Or was bouya's ignorance merely his own. Somehow, I suspected the former. . . . I pushed his indignation from my mind and went back to my paperwork.
Heavy footsteps were all the warning we received before Sonashi charged into the room, dragging Kintaru in by his ear. That boded no good. Kintaru's presence was a bit of a lark, though Sonashi would have likely termed it a grave mistake. I had run into him, figuratively speaking, during one of my shopping trips, selling himself for drug money. A momentary weakness and I found myself bringing him home with me. With Muraki's unwitting help - I quietly "forgot" to tell him the employee he was helping was male - I got him off the drugs and into a healthy lifestyle. He had cleaned up rather well, gladly accepting a job as a general maintenance worker and occasional companion for those whose tastes ran his way. Unfortunately, Kintaru had yet to shake his tendancy to have sticky fingers; more than one client had offered to have him beaten for me.
"What did he take now?" I asked, making no effort to hide my annoyance as I set aside the last of my paperwork. Bouya was wisely trying to make himself as small as possible, casting wary glances at the study in lividity that was Sonashi's face.
"What hasn't he taken?! Stealing from the house is one thing, but taking from the girls. . . ."
"I didn't steal it! Seiya said I could have it!" he shouted in his defense. For reward, Sonashi twisted his ear until he yelped in pain.
"And why would Seiya give you anything?"
"Why shouldn't she, onibaba!"
Sonashi's face grew even angrier and for a moment I thought she was going to strangle him right there in front of me. As I had little interest in allowing that, I freed the teen from her grasp, being sure he understood that I was not pleased with him either.
"All right, enough. Sonashi, I assume you have whatever he took. . . ."
"Hai, Owner," she replied, fishing a watch out of her apron pocket. A man's watch with a plain face and a black leather band. It didn't look particularly valuable, but it was a strange thing for Seiya to have. Especially since I didn't remember Seiya thinking all that highly of Kintaru.
"All this fuss over a watch?"
"It's the principle of the thing!" she asserted defensively.
"All right, all right. I'll deal with this. Tell Seiya I want to see her."
"Hai, Owner."
I was beginning to regret ever thinking it had been a quiet day. Something about the watch was tickling a memory, but I couldn't get it to surface. The way Kintaru was sulking, I was inclined to believe his story; when he actually stole things, he was more accepting of his punishment.
"Mibu-san. . . ."
Bouya. I'd all but forgotten he was still in the room. He had apparently succeeded in making himself invisible, given the way Kintaru nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. Bouya was holding out his hand, as if he expected me to give him something. The watch. Well, why not. Crossing the room, I dropped the watch into his outstretched hand, surprised to see recognition almost immediately lighting his emerald eyes. His hands closed around the watch and he clutched it tight to his chest, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, though he refused to let them fall.
"Tsuzuki. . . ."
Was that why it had seemed familiar?
"Kintaru, the truth. Where did you get that watch?"
"I told you," he sulked, "Seiya gave it to me. You know I would never lie to you, sensei."
I knew better than to believe he would never lie to me . . . but I knew he wouldn't lie and call me sensei at the same time. Nodding, I dismissed him. For a moment, he looked like he meant to ask about the watch, but it didn't take any great amount of intellect to see that he wasn't going to get it back.
Once the teen was gone, bouya relaxed his restraint, silent tears running down his cheeks. I sat beside him, there if he needed me, but I wasn't about to make any assumptions. Not when he was thinking about Tsuzuki-san. I am not that great a fool.
"I . . . I thought. . . . Tsuzuki gave it to me after . . . after the fire. He said it was so I could always have a . . . a part of him near me. I never took it off. When I woke up here without it . . . I was sure Muraki had it and that I'd never get it back again."
"Then it is good you have the watch again. But . . . you already carry a peice of him with you, here," I murmured, brushing my fingers over his heart. Why did I feel like something precious had been lost to me?
"Mibu-san, I --"
"You wished to see me, Owner?"
"Yes. I did."
Before Seiya had taken more than three steps, I had recrossed the room to tower over her in obvious anger, holding her by the hair. Dark eyes immediately went wide with fear.
"From Kintaru I tolerate more than I should because he's only been here a few months. But you . . . how dare you steal from my guest?"
"From. . . ? Sensei, I swear, I didn't steal it! Muraki-san gave it to me! He . . . he told me to sell it, that I could keep the money. But . . . but Kin was moaning about wanting a watch so . . . so I gave it to him. I swear, sensei! Onegai . . . you must believe me, sensei!"
"Let her go, Mibu-san. Onegai . . . she's telling the truth. . . ."
The choked rasp in bouya's voice was more than enough to squelch my anger and I released the girl. Her story sounded terribly convienent, but if he believed her. . . .
"Gomen," she said to bouya, tears quivering in her voice. "If I'd known it was yours . . . gomennasai, oniisan."
"It's . . . it's okay. Really."
"Go on back, Seiya," I said, trying to calm her. "Tell Tonaka I'll try to give him a couple of hours tonight."
"Hai, Owner," she said quietly, bowing to each of us before hurrying out of the room.
I am a man of my word and so, after an early dinner and helping bouya with his bath, I went up to the restaurant. One hour became two and I could tell that I would be needed even later than I had been the night before. Excusing myself momentarily, I went back to explain to the boy, surprised to find him half asleep.
"Saa, bedtime, bouya," I said as a picked him up and started for my bedroom.
"You too?" he asked with a yawn.
"Gomen, but I have to work, Bon. But you'll be all right on your own for a few hours, hai?"
"Hai. Lonely, but . . . business first."
I was rather surprised at that, not entirely sure what to make of it. Writing it off as him simply being tired, I settled him into my bed and thought nothing more of it.