Yes! I did it! I wrote more of this fic!!

And I haven't the faintest idea whether or not my Muraki is in character or not! And I don't care! XD

Chapter Four

It was late that night, while Oriya sat contemplatively in the kitchen, considering how much he hated his life and what steps he might take to remedy this, when Himiko walked in and abruptly dropped a mug of tea in front of him. "Drink that," she said sharply. "You look chilled."

Oriya sighed and accepted the cup. "You don't have to worry about me," he said absently. "I'm all right."

Himiko arched one greying eyebrow at him, then pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. "Might I remind you," she said, her voice tart, "that I have known you since you were in diapers, and you happen to be a very bad liar?"

"Himiko, I'm all right," Oriya said quietly. "I know you're worried about me, but nothing's more wrong than it's ever been."

"Did it occur to you that maybe that's why I'm worried?" Himiko asked gently. "You've known Muraki for how many years now, and you still haven't figured out what he's doing to you?"

"I know what he's doing to me," Oriya said, and it was a growing effort to keep his voice from rising. "All right? He uses me, he hurts me, he takes me for all I'm worth. Do you honestly think I'm that blind?"

"Do you honestly think that I am?" Himiko retorted. "Oriya, since I'm the closest to a mother that you have, I feel compelled to tell you something that you don't seem to have realized, and that's that Muraki is evil. And he doesn't love you. He doesn't care a shred about you, and if you had let me, I would have told him to never come back years ago."

"Evil." Oriya laughed softly.

"Don't think we don't know who and what he is, Oriya," Himiko said. "You've got a bright bunch of girls here under your wing. And please don't think that I never connected his visits with the . . . commotion that tends to happen."

Oriya rubbed his thin hands over his face. "How can we judge, Himiko? Yes, I know what Muraki does is wrong. I know that by all the laws of society, he should be in jail or executed by now. But – "

"You love him?"

"No," Oriya said. "Love doesn't excuse what he does. What I was going to say is that I'm not sure he truly realizes that it's wrong. Himiko, you know what happened to his parents. You know – "

"If love doesn't excuse it, neither does that," Himiko said sharply.

Oriya closed his eyes. "Does it matter?" he finally asked. "Maybe he is evil. I don't pretend to pass judgment on him. But I know him, and I still love him. I don't know how or why, but I do. I've tried to stop, Himiko, and I can't. I can't stop loving him."

"And he knows it," Himiko said. "He uses that against you."

Oriya shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," he said. "But you're wrong about one thing, Himiko. He does care about me. I know it's hard to see and probably harder to believe, but he does."

"And what's your proof of that?" Himiko asked, then added bitterly, "is it because he hasn't raped or killed you yet?"

"No," Oriya said quietly. "It's because he keeps coming back."

Himiko said nothing.

"He has no reason to come here," Oriya said. "All right, yes, free room and board. But he doesn't care about money; he has more than enough. Free sex, sure, but he could get that any time he likes. He's handsome enough, and doesn't care if his partners are willing, so it's not like it's trouble for him."

"Hardly a point in his favor," Himiko snapped viciously.

Oriya didn't rise to her tone of voice. "He comes here, Himiko, because there's something here that he wants, that he needs. And that's me. That's my acceptance of who he is and what he does. It's the fact that he can relax in my presence and not worry. It's because he knows there are certain lines he can't cross with me."

Himiko stood up and turned to walk away. "How long before you let him cross those lines, Oriya?" she asked quietly. "How long before the abuse turns from emotional to physical? I've seen it happen before, with so many girls. I don't want it to happen to you."

"Well, how about this," Oriya said dryly, lighting a cigarette. "If you see me with any bruises, you can kick his ass from here to China. But until then, remember that . . ." Oriya's voice faded momentarily before coming back strong. "Remember that he's my lover, and I won't have anyone speaking ill of him in my house."

Himiko bowed her head. "Hai, Oriya-san," she said softly.

Oriya suddenly felt very tired. "I'm sorry, Himiko. I – "

But she had already left the room.

He left the untouched mug of tea on the table and quietly made his way up to his room. It was past midnight, and all the geisha were asleep, except for (Oriya assumed) Reiku, who usually stayed up far past everyone else. Oriya found himself unable to care.

He opened the door to his room. It was dark, silent, and empty.

He closed the door, and went down the hall to Muraki's room. He pushed the door open without knocking and went inside. Muraki was sitting in bed in his usual shirt and pants; his tie had been lost somewhere. Oriya wasn't sure why he had continued to dress in a suit when he wasn't working, but it was something Muraki had always done.

Muraki raised an eyebrow at him. Oriya knew that the other man was surprised to see him. After the argument they'd had that afternoon, Muraki probably hadn't expected to see him for days; at least, not like this.

Oriya silently closed the door. He took off his kimono and hung it on the peg on the back of the door. Muraki watched him undress, but said nothing.

Oriya walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

Oriya put out his cigarette and lay down.

"Make me forget," he said quietly, not looking at Muraki. "For just one minute . . . just one second . . . make me forget that you don't love me. Please?"

Muraki put down his book and gave Oriya a serious look. "Do you want to do that?" he asked quietly. "Do you want to live that lie? I'm a good actor. If I wanted to, I could. I could have convinced you years ago."

Oriya shook his head. "But you never acted around me, did you?"

There was a long silence.

Muraki reached out and trailed his hand through Oriya's hair. "No," he finally said. "Never to you."

Oriya lay in quiet contemplation for a few moments. "When you say that we could live that lie, do you mean it? That we could live as lovers, and pretend that none of the rest of this had happened? Pretend we didn't know better, that I didn't know you don't love me?"

"We could," Muraki said, then added, "I would. For this year. If that was what you wanted."

Oriya shook his head again. "Maybe you are that good an actor . . . but I'm not. I would know that it wasn't real, and that would be enough."

Muraki accepted this in silence.

"But for tonight . . . if you don't mind . . ." Oriya's eyes closed; he could not make himself look at Muraki. "I'd like to pretend. I'd like to live that lie. Just for tonight."

"Just for tonight," Muraki agreed, and when he kissed Oriya, it was more gentle than Oriya could remember it ever having been.

~~~~

A few days later, Oriya decided that it was definite: Muraki was getting amusement out of pretending they were any regular married couple. He left Muraki get away with it; after what he had said that night in his room, he wasn't surprised Muraki had decided to do so. Despite the fact that he had turned down Muraki's offer, the idea had clearly intrigued him.

Oriya could always tell when something interested Muraki.

The afternoon after that surreal midnight conversation, Oriya had come downstairs to find Muraki on the telephone. This didn't surprise him; the only phones in the house were the one in Oriya's office and the main restaurant phone that was used for reservations. Muraki had chosen to make his calls from the office, leaning back in Oriya's rolling desk chair.

Oriya listened for the first five minutes before growing bored. It was clear that Muraki was calling the places he usually worked and arranging for an extended vacation, securing his paycheck and whatever other benefits he received from the job.

"Don't you usually work freelance?" he asked, as Muraki hung up after the third call.

"Usually," Muraki said. "But there are some hospitals and research facilities that are, shall we say, accustomed to my presence."

Oriya decided that asking for further details might be a bad idea.

He had known that Muraki was always in the middle of any number of projects; that was part of the reason he moved so often and never stayed very long. It made sense that if he was asking Muraki to stay for longer than a week, Muraki would have to arrange someone to take over his work.

"Is that all right?" he asked, when Muraki had gotten off the phone. "To just dump everything like that? You could have brought some work here."

Muraki raised an eyebrow at him. "Here isn't the problem," he said, his tone neutral. "There are labs in Kyoto and I could certainly arrange for my projects to be transferred here. The terms of my stay here, however, are not compatible."

Oriya looked at him. "You're not doing any projects that don't involve hurting people?"

"I would give you the details," Muraki said, "but I think you might kick me in the head."

There was a long pause. Oriya heaved a sigh, then sat down on the edge of his desk, placing his feet in Muraki's lap. "No," he said firmly. "I want to hear about it. You never tell me enough, and I want to know what you've been doing in all that free time."

"You'll be sick," Muraki said. "Or kill me. I'm not sure which."

"I want to know," Oriya said stubbornly.

"No, you don't."

"Look, you already told me about the project where you were mutilating innocent people to try to figure out how to grow organs from scratch, what can be worse than that?"

Muraki just gave him an even look.

"You're right," Oriya decided, feeling ill. "I don't want to know." For good measure, he lifted his foot and gave Muraki a gentle nudge on the forehead. "Oriya kick," he proclaimed.

"Hardly worthy of the title," Muraki said, grabbing him by the ankle. "You usually mean to cause actual brain damage when you do that."

"I do not," Oriya said indignantly. "Why would I want to do that? Give you brain damage so you were all drooling and stupid and then I'd have to take care of you and feed you soup."

Muraki laughed. "If you were ever so angry that you did kick me that hard, I doubt that you'd be feeding me soup afterwards," he mentioned, his hand sliding up Oriya's calve, underneath the yukata he was wearing. "But all that aside, it's fine if I don't work for a year. I certainly have enough money to tide me over." He raised an eyebrow at Oriya. "Are you going to make me pay rent?"

"Don't be an idiot," Oriya snorted. "I resent the implication that I don't have enough money to keep you here."

"Well," Muraki said, faking an impressed tone, "we certainly know who the man of this relationship is."

Oriya blushed, then growled. "And don't you forget it," he said, easing off the desk so he was straddling Muraki's lap. "This is my house, and therefore, you have to do whatever I say."

"Oh, do I, now?" Muraki stood up abruptly, pushing Oriya off and then down onto the desk. Oriya just laughed, reaching up and putting his hand on the back of Muraki's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "I think we need to have a little refresher course in who's in charge," Muraki said, clearly amused with the situation.

"Says the man who's about to shove all my important papers onto the floor," Oriya complained. Muraki didn't reply to that, pinning Oriya's wrists down at either side of his head and kissing him hungrily. This continued in like fashion for several minutes before Oriya pulled away abruptly. "Did I lock the office door?" he wondered suddenly.

"Who cares?" Muraki asked idly, nipping at the skin of Oriya's neck. "If you make enough noise, I'm sure no one will disturb us."

"In this house?" Oriya gasped out. "You've got to be kidding. Yoshie will try to take pictures to blackmail me and Reiku will want to join in. And Itsuko might try to come in with a kitchen knife to chop off something we both find rather valuable. Lock the damn door."

There was a pause. "You do have a point," Muraki admitted. "About Itsuko, at least." He got up and went over to lock the door. Oriya sprawled out over the desk, trying to regain his breath and some measure of sanity. He was thinking about suggesting they move off his desk – desks not being too comfortable, and his paperwork rather in the way – but then Muraki walked back over and kissed him again, and he forgot how to think at all.

~~~~

As much as it amazed Oriya, the first week of Muraki's visit went without incident. Muraki seemed to honestly want to hold true to their deal, and was certainly amused by playing husband. Oriya knew that it wouldn't keep him occupied longer than a month, but for the month it was going to last, it was quite enjoyable.

He caught Muraki giving his geisha some questionable looks once or twice, but a quick boot to the head always solved that problem. Itsuko still seemed to hate him as much as ever, but the others had started to relax in his presence and get used to him being among them. The only exceptions besides Itsuko were Asawe, who continued to watch him with her perpetually thoughtfully gaze, and Reiku.

Reiku and Muraki had taken to flirting with each other.

Oriya thought he might have to kill them both.

On his less charitable days, he was tempted to just let Muraki do what he liked with Reiku – to teach the younger man a lesson if nothing else. He was sure that one evening with Muraki would cease the flirting. However, even if he had, Muraki couldn't do anything until the year was over. So for now, he had to put up with their annoying behavior.

Muraki spent most of his time around the house. He would do chores if Oriya asked him to, but Oriya found the lack of activity and movement rather unsettling. He knew that Muraki had been hit hard – harder than he would ever understand – by the destruction of his lab.

At times, Oriya felt guilty about keeping him here, tying him down so he couldn't go find work or occupy himself as he used to. Then Oriya remembered that Muraki's idea of keeping himself occupied usually involved the death or torture of others, so his guilt abated.

He wondered sometimes what Muraki would have done if he had left.

Gone back to his work, maybe? Stem cell research or organ transplants or whatever else caught his attention? His near-obsessive search for the elusive secret to saving peoples' lives that had eventually driven him insane?

Gone to do something so horrific that the Shinigami would have finally taken care of him for good?

Or just gone?

More importantly, since Muraki had stayed, what would he do now? This game of playing husband and doing chores was not going to keep him amused forever. Oriya stared down at the table and wondered how long it would be before Muraki got bored with their deal and went back to his usual ways.

And then, would he leave?

Oriya suppressed a shiver. He didn't want to think of Muraki leaving again, about that emptiness that always seemed to fill his life when the other man disappeared, as he always did, from their door.

Muraki always came back.

But what about the one time when he finally didn't? What was Oriya going to do then?

"Oriya-san?"

Oriya jumped nearly a foot in the air. He had let his mind wander; he had been sitting at the kitchen table with his stone cold tea for nearly an hour. He'd had no idea how late it had gotten. "Ah, Asawe-chan," he said, trying to regain his ruffled dignity.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she said in her usual quiet tone, going into the kitchen and reaching for the teapot. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't worry about it," he said. "I wasn't really paying attention. I didn't realize how late it was." He watched her as she put water on to boil and started making preparations for tea. "Could you not sleep?"

"Hai," she said. "Normally when I can't, Chisa and I talk, but . . . she fell asleep so quickly, I didn't want to wake her. She must be very tired."

Oriya nodded slightly. It had been a busy Friday night; all the geisha had served at least three or four customers. After one of Itsuko's had turned surprisingly violent, Asawe had been taken off shift and left to tend her. He wasn't surprised Chisa had been so exhausted – nor was he surprised that Asawe couldn't sleep.

"He helped me, you know," Asawe said, turning to look at him seriously. "Muraki-sensei. With Itsuko."

Oriya raised an eyebrow. "She allowed that?"

Asawe smiled; a thin, tight little smile. "She passed out. I got very worried, but . . . Muraki-sensei helped me. He said she had hit her head too hard."

"And she's all right?"

Asawe nodded, leaning against the counter as she waited for the water to boil. "Hai. Mitsu and Yoshie helped me get her up to her room. Reiku tried to help, but he wasn't in very good shape either."

Oriya felt a headache coming on. Where had he been when Reiku had been injured? It had been a busy night, but all the geisha were supposed to tell him immediately if anything untoward had happened. He needed to know which customers to let back in, for one thing. "He was hurt, too?"

Asawe smiled again. "He was helping Himiko in the kitchen and he tripped and fell. It was after everyone else had gone. You were closing up, and he didn't want to bother you."

"And he wanted a chance to be 'doctored' by Muraki, I'll bet," Oriya said dryly, and Asawe blushed faintly. "Never mind, never mind. Itsuko's all right, and that's the important thing."

"Hai." Asawe turned as the kettle began to whistle. "Would you like some tea, Oriya-san?"

"I still have plenty," Oriya said, scowling at his nearly full cup.

She nodded slightly and filled her own cup, then sat down at the table across from him.

Oriya smiled at her. "What do you want to ask? I can tell that you're burning with curiosity. Even you aren't as subtle as you'd like to think."

Asawe smiled back, although it was faint, and studied the table. "It just seems funny, given what an uproar everything was in after Muraki-sensei first arrived," she said. "It's so quiet now, except for tonight. Is he . . ." Asawe faltered slightly, then looked up and met Oriya's gaze. "Is he really going to stay?"

"I don't know," Oriya said. "What are the others saying?"

"They're all very indecisive," Asawe informed him. "Chisa and Namika think he will. Yoshie is convinced he won't. Mitsu thinks he won't but wishes he would; Suzumi thinks he will but wishes he wouldn't. Reiku won't tell me what he thinks, and Itsuko just wants him dead."

Oriya couldn't help but laugh. "And you, Asawe-chan? What do you think?"

"I think that you want him to stay," Asawe said, "but you don't think he's going to."

Oriya smiled dryly. "Call me a realist."

"That's what Mitsu says," Asawe said, with a sad nod. "That she wants to believe that he'll stay, but since he never has, she can't. I think she tries to like him, but doesn't do very well at it."

"No one here seems to," Oriya said with a sigh.

"That's because everyone here cares so much about you," Asawe said. "And everyone here knows that he hurts you. That makes it hard to like him."

Silence.

"I like him, though," Asawe said suddenly, and Oriya nearly fell off his chair.

"Why?" he asked, at length.

"Because . . . hm . . ." Asawe gave this due consideration, blowing on the top of her tea and waiting for it to cool. "Because if Oriya-san loves him, then he must have good points. So I've decided that I like him. He was very gentle with Itsuko, even though I know he doesn't like her. He's a doctor. Doesn't he save lives?"

"If only it were that simple," Oriya said.

"Why do you love him, Oriya-san?"

Silence fell for a few long, unbroken seconds.

"Because," Oriya said softly, "when I met him, he was worth loving. And I know that's still there somewhere inside him. I know the man I met in high school is still there somewhere, and . . ."

His voice trailed off, into silence.

"Do you want to save him?" Asawe asked.

"No," Oriya said. "I want him to save himself."

~~~~

I'll try, very hard, to not have another six-month hiatus. I swear.