Fuu takes her time, meticulously spreading the bills out in front of her on the rickety table. It wobbles slightly every time she sets one down. She slowly slides coins perfectly underneath, as if taking longer will add more cash to the pile. She bites her lip, delicate brow furrowed in concentration doing the math once, twice, and then again just to be absolutely sure. With rent due in two weeks, utilities, her phone bill and groceries...she'll have just enough to starve and be evicted by the end of the month.
She lays back on her futon with a huff, staring up at the dingy ceiling where a water stain has been steadily growing larger over the last week. The pan she placed underneath makes a metallic tinkling sound every time a drop lands. Drip drip drip . It reminds her of a countdown. When she sits back up she notices a cockroach skittering across the bills. She shrieks and gathers them up to stuff back into her pink coin purse with a shudder.
The life insurance money from her mother dried up long ago. Most of it went into getting her cremated. There wasn't much left over for a proper ceremony— not that there would be anyone but her attending. Her extended family has been absent her whole life and her father left them when she was a little girl. If he heard about the death of his estranged wife and abandoned daughter, he didn't care. What little money remained from the insurance was enough to get her into a tiny apartment. She started working part time immediately after.
She was able to hide the situation from friends at school. Teachers worried about her being so young and all alone. She lied, saying an aunt watched over her. She only had a few close friends and when she graduated, most went off to new jobs or university leaving her behind. It was a relief in a way. She said her goodbyes with a smile on her face because she's used to depending on herself. She liked her regulars at work and her bosses well enough. That was all the company she needed.
Her little flying squirrel, Momo, pokes his fuzzy head out from beneath the flowery covers, ears perking up as if reading her thoughts. She smiles, pressing a finger to the center of his soft head.
"Yeah, I need you too of course."
So it became a routine. School. Work. Beg for extensions on bills. Replace pots underneath leaks.
For three years she managed just fine on her own.
Her precarious position tipped over completely just one week earlier when the owners of the restaurant she's worked in since her mother passed away sat her down for a talk. Her smile stayed frozen in place as they announced they were retiring and closing up shop. They were kind to her, and very apologetic. She waved away their concerned faces and worries. She made up some lie about wanting to try something new anyway.
She walked home that night teary eyed and carrying two bulging bags full of leftover dumplings and noodles. She still had a few containers left in her fridge now that would last her another week. If she ate half-portions. Once a day. Just the thought of it made her stomach groan audibly in protest. She hated saving food more than she hated saving money. There is never enough of either for her liking.
Her phone chirps at her from the table where it lays heavily laden with an obnoxious amount of brightly colored and scuffed charms that jingle and clink as she flips it open. Her friend Yuuka's bubbly text and emoticons light up the screen.
U ready? First shift starts soon! Aren't u excited?! ⊹⋛⋋( ՞ਊ ՞)⋌⋚⊹
She grimaces.
For months her former classmate has been trying to convince her to come work with her at a hostess club.
"It's not like the nicer clubs in Ginza, but it's decent. You'll make good money!"
Yuuka put in overtime selling the idea to Fuu, showing her the flashy gifts she'd received from customers. One of her regulars even paid her rent for the next 3 months. She let Fuu know that wasn't necessarily standard, but almost anything was possible. Still, she painted her a pretty picture of a nicer apartment, no more long hours waitressing, and better food than instant noodles and old takeout. She resisted the idea at first.
It's not like she has anything against hostess clubs. She passed by a few of them on her way home from the restaurant. The not-so-inconspicuous entrances nestled in neon lit city corners. Usually she'd see a scantily dressed woman in heavy makeup outside trying to lure customers, shouting out compliments at passing men, giggling and ushering them inside. She's not sexy or alluring though. Guys largely ignored her in school and the ones who didn't were usually creeps because that's just her luck.
Isn't that what those clubs are all about? Salary men getting drunk, trying to cop a feel on a woman 20 years his junior? The idea of having to serve some boring old businessman or fight off being manhandled makes her nervous, but Yuuka has assured her that it's mostly rare and that, in most establishments, touching is off-limits. She never mentioned if Kadan is one of them. At any rate it's not like she doesn't have any experience with handling rowdy customers. She dealt with her fair share of them at the restaurant over the years. Even on her last night at the restaurant she had to take plate after plate of dumplings to a loud group of men who ended up dining and dashing. She chased after them with a broom down the street before giving up.
She thought of her apartment slowly crumbling away. How many voicemails she's received about late payments, her mailbox stuffed with shut-off notices. She could mull over the idea only for so long. She agreed to go to an interview earlier that day.
That's when the first red flag should have popped up.
The woman who ran Kadan , affectionately referred to as 'Mama-san' by everyone they passed in a crowded, smoke-filled hallway, was a tired looking older woman with shrewd eyes. She wore a wrinkled cream-colored business suit. She brought Fuu into her cluttered office in the back and circled her at once, taking in her appearance from head to toe. She hardly seemed to be listening when Fuu listed off her qualifications and barely glanced at her resume, throwing it on a teetering stack on her desk.
Mama-san began to bark off a series of suggestions: Fuu should wear bright colors so she stands out, but nothing too revealing. Her makeup needed to be minimal, but accentuate her best feature which, according to mama-san, were her eyes.
"None of that gyraru trash." she spat, "that's not you."
This was followed by the most surprising order of all: no changing her personality.
"Be as authentically you as possible." Mama-san said, taking a long drag from a lipstick-stained cigarette. "It makes it easier when you're not trying to juggle too many lies at once."
"What do I have to lie about?" Fuu asked, mystified.
The older woman's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"You'll see. Most of the men who walk through my doors just want a pretty girl to listen to them complain about their boring job or ugly wives. Compliment them, light their cigarettes, pour their beer. Be your happy little self and they'll eat you up. There's a certain innocence to you that they'll be drawn to like flies to honey." She paused before adding. "Don't think too hard on that one."
Mama-san handed her a small envelope with a cash advance inside along with the instructions to buy some new clothes and what time to show back up that evening. She checks the time on her phone again and heaves a sigh.
She shoots back an equally chipper response.
٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶Yep! Totally ready.
Several hours later she stands outside of Kadan's entrance with a glossy stack of fliers trying to entice men into the club. Most people walking by ignore her or politely take fliers that are then promptly discarded into the nearest trash can. She sighs, and keeps trying.
A newcomer's first week, as she learned when she arrived, is spent on the street attempting to lure in new customers. A way of testing her fishing ability so to speak. She was secretly relieved that she doesn't have to dive right into entertaining right away because both mama-san and Yuuka were vague about how that works exactly. Yuuka told her a little about drinking games and such, but little else.
In between people walking by she attempts to tug self consciously at the cheap pink dress she bought earlier to keep it at a decent length. It's tighter than she's used to wearing and keeps riding up her legs. She tried to look a little more put-together than she normally is, but found herself stumped. The dress was really the only concession. She settled on keeping her hair in the same ponytail she always throws it in. Mama-san did say she should focus on being herself after all. Fastened around her neck is the same necklace she's worn most of her life: a tiny gold sunflower on a chain so short it's become more of a choker over time. It's the one memento from her father that she's too attached to to throw away. When he gave it to her he promised to take her to a sunflower festival in Akeno someday. He left before fulfilling that promise. Maybe she should hate the flower but she doesn't.
Before dashing out the door she decided to throw on a sweater too. It was an odd choice but it makes her feel a little less exposed now, so she's grateful.
It gets easier calling out to the random men who pass. She thinks of it like a game. Almost like suggesting a new specialty dish at the restaurant.
"A handsome man like you out here alone? Come on in for the cutest girls!"
"You look like you could use some company!"
"Are you feeling lonely? We can fix that here."
A few men do enter and while it's probably that they would have gone in regardless, she pretends it was her doing. One man in particular gives her a brief but encouraging smile as he steps past her to enter and she has to snap her jaw shut because she's openly staring. He's dressed like most other men, in a navy business suit, but it's his long hair that turns her head. She hardly ever sees that on men these days. It gives him an old-fashioned sort of look. He reminds her of someone too, she can't figure out from where though. He's familiar in a comforting way.
Maybe spending time with someone like that wouldn't be too bad. She muses. He at least didn't oggle at her.
She turns back to shout out for more customers, but several things happen at once: There's the sound of a shout coming from behind her, shortly after she's shoved aside as one of the patrons from the club rushes out to vomit in an alley nearby. She recoils in disgust from the sick splatter and stumbles backwards, dropping the fliers and nearly twists her ankle on the curb falling back straight into something, no, someone.
She feels a pair of hands gripping her waist and they both topple backwards.
"Fell right into your lap, didn't she?"
She groans, looking up to see a man that immediately sets off alarms. The type of man parents warn their children to stay away from. Almost comically villain-like. He leers down at her through one eye because the other is covered by a black patch.
Unconsciously she leans back forgetting she's leaning right into the man she stumbled into. To her horror she realizes she's landed between his legs. She hurries to her feet, scrambling to pull her skirt back down while simultaneously trying to help him to his feet. He shoves her hands aside with an irritated grunt. He has an aura to him that makes her nervous too, but less so than the other guy he's with. She tries to swat away any dirt on his dusty red jacket, letting out a string of mumbled apologies patting him down a tad too aggressively. She can't bring herself to look up at him, keeping her head bowed in apology.
Mama-san's voice calls out from behind her.
"Just what the hell is-"
The older woman stops short, her face nearly going grey with how quickly it's drained of color. She recovers quickly, however, and her voice rises several octaves as if in delight.
"Umanosuke-san, why, I hardly recognized you! You're looking more handsome than ever!"
Fuu shoots her a sideways disbelieving look. Umanosuke is far from handsome. His oily face is scarred and sallow colored. She doesn't usually judge on looks but this guy gives her the creeps . There's a sort of chaotic rage in him, as if at any moment he could let it spring forth. His left hand is busy flicking a cigarette lighter repeatedly, the flame clicking open and shut.
"What brings you by?" Mama-san continues, her eyes focused on the flame, "I wasn't expecting you for several more weeks. "
Umanosuke claps a hand on the other man's back.
"My protégé's birthday. It would be rude to not throw my best hell-hound a bone." He spreads his arms wide, gesturing towards the club. "I thought, what better than my favorite investment property to treat him to? You and I can discuss the late rent another time."
Fuu chances a glance at the other man for the first time. It's just a glance, because when she looks up, his eyes are locked onto her. Unlike the usual stream of rumpled businessmen who enter, he's much younger, with wild hair and tanned skin. There's a slightly annoyed slant to his mouth though it's currently quirked up in amusement. She can't help but feel like she sees mirth in his dark eyes, like he's laughing at her. She tugs again on her dress to make sure she's not exposing anything.
The fliers she dropped begin to flutter away in the wind and she watches him bend down to grab one, eyeing it with benign interest.
"Well, gentlemen, come right in of course!"
Mama-san bows and stands by for the men to enter. Fuu does the same, feeling a pronounced sense of relief that is sadly short-lived as she's pulled inside at once.
"Fuu!"
Mama-san's face is stricken as she pulls her around a corner.
"He always wants at least 3 girls and we're short staffed as it is. You'll need to start working inside tonight."
"But I haven't even been trained yet!" Fuu's voice is squeaky with panic. She definitely doesn't want this Umanosuke guy as her first customer. Something about him makes her feel queasy. "Please don't put me with him -"
Mama-san jams a hand over Fuu's mouth, pulling her into an empty room.
"Are you stupid ? What if he heard you?" Mama-san's voice is hushed. She continues in a hoarse whisper. "I won't throw you to him tonight, but he always needs more than one girl. I'll need you to pick up the slack for our other customers."
Fuu swallows, but nods weakly because what other choice does she have? Mama-san grabs a timer from the table and sets it for a few hours, slapping it down on the table. She warns her to stay put and slips back out into the hall.
Her stomach churns. She hasn't mentally prepared for this. She glances around the room. There's a loveseat and small table covered with magazines bearing scantily clad women on the covers peering out through seductive half-lidded eyes. One of the walls has a tacky ornamental mirror and she glances at her reflection in it briefly. Her face is flushed, her eyes overly bright from all the excitement but she's managed her composure all things considered. Compared to the faces on the magazines though, she looks plain. She gathers them up in a quick pile and turns them over.
Through the cracked door Mama-san's conversation floats in. Fuu cranes her neck to try to get a better look.
"What about the one with the huge knockers?" A gruff voice asks. "The one on the flier"
"Ah, tragically, Sumire is off tonight but Himawari , our newest girl is very—"
Sumire , whose real name is Yatsuha, is their highest earner and thus graces the cover of all promotional material for the club. This is according to Yuuka who has continued a steady stream of helpful texts throughout the day.
We're all named after flowers, isn't that cute? ✿ ‿ ✿
Fuu recognizes the slick voice of Umanosuke speaking up.
"Don't you believe in fate? Let him have the girl for the night."
"I dunno—"
Her heart drops. No, not him either!
When the door opens however, she's pleasantly surprised to get a glimpse of the handsome man with long hair from earlier. She smiles eagerly, standing aside to welcome him in. If it's him, this won't be so bad! But her dreams are dashed at once when the man she ran into from before shoves past him.
"Move it pal."
He slams the door behind him.
"Wait. You're my customer?" She asks, confused.
He throws himself down on the leather couch, his face glum.
"Looks like it."
They lapse into an uncomfortable silence. She stands there awkwardly for a moment before sitting on the edge of the coffee table. There's only the one seat and while it's probably customary to get cozy with customers, she's not about to get any closer to this guy than she has to. Not when he's already in a bad mood.
She clasps her hands in her lap, trying to think of what to say to break the tension. She can't help but stare at him now. If he wasn't such an obvious jerk she might find him...okay-looking? Maybe ? Like the longer haired man, he too seems familiar especially now that they're alone together. He's also got the dangerous look of someone who loses their temper easily.
Catching one of her glances, he growls at her.
"The fuck you lookin' at?"
Unfortunately, her own temper has never been exactly tame.
"Let's get this out of the way." She begins, leveling him with a glare. "Sorry I'm not the bimbo with huge knockers you dreamed about, but you could be a little nicer. I didn't exactly choose you either."
He chuckles darkly, "Yeah, you wanted the sissy out there in the glasses."
"How did you-"
"You were starin' at him like an idiot when we showed up. Probably gay anyway."
Her mouth falls open but she closes it.
"Why would he be here if he's gay?"
"I dunno. A cover? Enough about him though, how're you gonna replace this?"
He sticks a finger through a hole in his red jacket and wiggles it at her suggestively.
His jacket looks old and well worn with several holes in it that she definitely had nothing to do with. She sighs and then mumbles.
"I said sorry."
He removes something from behind him, laying it on the couch beside him.
It takes her a moment to register what it is and she stares at him in disbelief, her voice becoming shrill.
"Is that a sword?"
He scoffs.
"What else would it be?"
She blinks at him.
"Uh, sorry, I just didn't expect any customers to come in here with a freaking sword."
"I'm a bodyguard." He says, as if this explains anything.
"Don't bodyguards use, I don't know, guns or something?"
He grins and leans towards her, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I've got one of those too, wanna see?"
She shakes her head emphatically and he smirks, reaching past the stack of magazines for a menu lying on the table beside her. He flips through it carelessly for a few moments before tossing it at her. She fumbles with it.
"Get me some booze. And food. I'm starving."
She agrees, eager to do anything besides just sit there. Whatever he orders goes towards his debt anyway and she hopes this night bankrupts this audacious jerk. She has a hard time figuring out which numbers to press on the phone to order, but finally manages to place an order to the kitchen. He rattles off a list of snacks and alcohol that she relays.
"So, how's this deal work?" he asks as soon as she hangs up.
"You've never been to a hostess club?" she asks.
At this he puffs his chest up, trying and failing to look impressive.
"I don't need places like this, I can pull any chick I want girly, remember that."
She begins to snort at this, but stops. I'm supposed to be acting nice, remember? He's a customer! If she imagined her first night working here, she saw herself being quiet and polite, maybe being a little flattering, not firing back sarcastic comments, especially not at someone carrying around weapons in the open. For some reason this guy just brings it out in her. And for how rude he's acting, he isn't demanding a refund or asking for a different girl so she's lucky in that regard.
"Well, um, you spend time with people here." She tries to explain, sounding incredibly lame to her own ears. She tries remembering everything Yuuka told her about it. "We can play drinking games, order food um, there's other stuff too. I think."
"You think?"
She nods, her face feeling warm.
"You're my first customer. I don't really know everything about it yet."
She waits for another snarky remark to fly her way, but it never comes. When she looks up at him through her lashes he's staring at her blankly.
A knock at the door signals the arrival of his food. She scoots aside as a waiter sets a plate of steaming dumplings and a couple emerald bottles of beer on the table along with another platter of assorted snacks and alcohol. She grabs a pair of chopsticks, eager to dig in.
"Whoa who said you could have any?"
She pauses, a soft dumpling just a tantalizing bite away, held so close to her lips it would be practically criminal to pull it away now. She can taste the steam on her lips.
There's no way this guy is that cruel.
"What?"
He must hear the heartbreak in her voice the way his face lights up with a wicked smile.
"This is for me, remember? My birthday and all that. You're supposed to sit there and look pretty. As pretty as you can anyway." He adds, snatching the morsel from her chopsticks.
"W-wait isn't it uh, lonely to eat alone?" she tries, desperate to change his mind.
"Nah." he says through a mouthful, "I'll survive."
And so she watches him devour every last bite. Every groan of satisfaction sends a savage urge through her to throw the table at him. She hasn't eaten since breakfast and her stomach rumbles ominously.
At long last he lays back on the couch, hand laying over his full belly, practically glowing with contentment as his eyes drift closed.
"Let's play a drinking game." She suggests suddenly and begins to pour the golden liquid from one of the beers into a tall glass. One for him and for herself. The last thing she needs is for Mama-san to walk in and see her first client so bored he's falling asleep.
"Fine." he says, sitting up with a grunt, "Nothin' too crazy though I don't feel like thinking too hard."
"I'll try to keep that in mind." she mutters.
Yuuka once suggested the raunchier games were the most popular. The pocky one, which is essentially chicken, revolves around two players holding a piece between their mouths biting closer. The first one to stop has to drink. The idea of playing it with this guy, however, is embarrassing. She spots a box nearby and shakes her head. She rattles off a few other suggestions.
"Kiku no hana is fun I think, though that might be better with more people...um Osama gemu?...wait, that needs more people too. Uh…"
She feels herself growing warm trying to think of something. The silence stretches on.
"Twenty questions." He says, sitting up and to her surprise he pushes the beers aside, instead pouring a shot of clear liquor in a tiny shot glass. "If you don't answer, you drink."
"Okay…"
"Good." he says, sliding the glass towards her. "What's your real name?"
Her mouth falls open.
"I'm not allowed to say that!"
He gives her a toothy grin.
"I know."
"You said you didn't know about hostess clubs!"
Mama-san called her Himawari based on her necklace. Just by luck really. All the girls working there had nicknames, something she only learned recently.
He shrugs.
"I lied. You could always tell me."
So much for not needing places like this. She glares at him, not wanting to appear weak, and throws the glass back. It burns down her throat to land in her empty stomach. Her eyes water.
"My turn." She coughs, pouring some for him in the same cup.
"What's your name?"
He goes to grab the shot but pauses.
"Mugen."
"Oh." she deflates. For some reason she imagined he wouldn't tell her.
"Mugen what?"
"Just Mugen."
He nudges the cup back towards her.
"Where do you live?"
She lets out a groan, throwing her hands up in defeat.
"No fair! There's no way I'm gonna tell you that!"
He shrugs. "Not my problem, you agreed to play. Ya' scared I'm gonna come after you? Don't flatter yourself, girly."
She keeps the glare on face as she throws back the drink, just like before it burns and she winces.
The questions go on like this for some time. His first penalty shot comes when she asks what his favorite color is. He reaches over at once and gulps it down.
She laughs.
"Over a favorite color?"
"What can I say? Too personal."
Despite finding that too personal he says he really is a bodyguard for the man he came there with. He's casual about the whole thing, though he doesn't go into detail about why a man like that would even need one, becoming evasive when she asked what he does for a living. Maybe she doesn't want to know.
"Your boss gives me the creeps no offense." She thinks of Umanosuke again, the way he looked down at her. His weird mention of fate. "I don't like him."
"Yeah well, better than that old hag of yours." he shoots back, picking at his teeth. "She hired you and you look like you're still in high school." He then sits up and his face suspicious. "You're not right? How old are you?"
"Wha-no! I'm way past high school!"
A month is way past right?
"I'm not part of some weird illegal scheme." She says and he sits back, relaxing somewhat, "We're short handed, they needed me to take a customer tonight."
"And you get stuck with me." He gives her a wolfish grin that causes a fluttery feeling in her stomach. "Sucks for you huh?"
"Well you could try to make the experience better by being nice."
"Too bad I ain't nice."
Surprisingly, she finds she's actually having something of a good time with him. Softened from his initial hostility, Mugen becomes almost pleasant to be around. It doesn't feel like work at all. They settle into a routine throwing sarcasm back and forth, sometimes she forgets to drink, but he doesn't hold it against her. Sometimes he takes a drink that he doesn't need to.
"Why do you carry around a sword?"
"Told you. I'm a bodyguard."
"Okay but why a sword?"
He grabs it from beside him and unsheathes it. She lets out a gasp, sitting up straight to watch. It's strange looking, not like a katana. It's flat and ancient, but obviously well cared for. He skims the side of his thumb along the length. The action makes her mouth go strangely dry.
"It's more intimidating." he answers finally, sheathing it back with a sharp snap that makes her jump. He lays it across his lap and then smirks up at her, his voice going low. "Wanna touch it?"
Her face flushes red. More red, anyway, since most of the drinking has been done by her. She has no doubt she's probably pink all over now. This is the part where she's supposed to smack him playfully or roll her eyes, but all she can focus on is how warm she feels. She's been toying with her sweater all evening and it currently sags over one shoulder. The shots he's taken seem to have little effect on him besides warming his dark complexion some. It's probably just the alcohol but she decides that she likes it. Sort of. She won't tell him this though. No way. All night he's told her how popular he is with women. He's got them hanging all over him, blah blah blah … It annoys her to imagine him slung around some bimbo. She remembers him talking to Mama-san. He wanted Yatsuha, the woman on the flier, not Fuu. She scowls inwardly at this. No, she definitely doesn't need to inflate his ego by letting him know she's attracted to him.
Wait, am I?
His overall lack of shot-taking annoys her because she's feeling just so warm. Too warm. At least all of her earlier anxieties have dulled beneath the haze. In fact, she can't remember why she felt anxious about this job at all. It's nice. She sits there for a long moment before she remembers he just asked her something. What did he ask me?
She searches his face for a moment. He's relaxed, leaning back.
Yeah, in this light he's really—
Her eyes find the sword that lays slung across his lap. She swallows.
Do I wanna…touch it?
"No—wait." she shakes her head. "Actually, I do."
She reaches over to stroke the hilt in his lap, but misses when he yanks back in surprise, the sword falls, knocking the timer that's been ticking away on the table to the ground with it. His eyes follow it as it rolls across the floor.
"The hell are you doing?" he says, his voice hitching.
"I don't want to take another shot!" she says annoyed, suppressing a hiccup, "So, I'll touch it. That counts as a question right? Touching your-your sword?"
"My— oh. Oh yeah."
His shoulders sag. She can't read his expression. Disappointment? Relief ?
She goes to pick it up for him.
"New game." he announces.
She tries to suppress a groan. She can't possibly drink anymore. Rather, she really shouldn't drink anymore. She's not black out drunk but she's farther along than she'd like to be at work on her first night.
"Mugen says."
"Mugen says?" she repeats dubiously, "Like Simon says?"
"Named after me." He says offhandedly. "You have to play. It's my birthday after all."
"Fine. But I'm not going to take another shot. I'm going to win this time."
She crosses her arms over her chest and waits patiently for him to give his first command. Whatever it is she's determined to do, no matter how crazy.
The room is quiet for several long seconds and she senses a shift in his demeanor. His eyes slide up from her face down her body.
His voice becomes husky.
"Sit in my lap."
Her heart thumps so loudly in her chest, he can probably hear it. She can say no. Even in this buzzed state she knows this. She knows he won't hold it against her. He'll give her an out. He'll probably be annoyingly smug about it. But there's a challenge in his eyes and she wants to meet it, for whatever reason she needs to show him that she can meet it.
She stands, legs wobbly and numb and somehow, she ends up sliding into his lap. His hands circle her waist for the second time that night. There's a chorus of muffled voices she can't understand screaming at her from somewhere in her brain. Some are probably lecturing her about sitting in strangers laps or for accepting a job where you might just end up in a strangers lap. Tomorrow maybe they'll be more clear, but for right now she's in a semi-tipsy state that's allowing her to have a little more courage. Or stupidity.
"Take off your sweater," he adds. She does as he asks, tugging it from her arms, feeling it fall somewhere beside them. It feels good to be free from it.
The skirt of her dress has risen up but she doesn't pull it back down. She feels her blush threatening to set her ablaze. Dangerous considering all the booze.
"Have you ever done this before?" he asks suddenly, his voice serious. "With a customer?"
"What? I-I told you already, you're my first one!"
This close he smells like a mix of cinnamon and alcohol, not bad for how scruffy he comes off. Stormy, slate colored eyes watch her as she gets a better look at him. There's a faint scar peeking out from beneath the scruff on his jaw. She reaches absentmindedly to stroke it but freezes when she feels a warm hand run up her thigh.
Through the alcohol she feels her nerves rising again. She's not ready for this, whatever he has in mind, not even close. She's never even kissed anyone before, let alone be put in a situation like this. He might have calmed down since he came in but he's still a stranger. A stranger who walks around with a sword, who does that?
Her mind begins to break through the haze to re-evaluate just how weird this situation is. This isn't like her at all, she's never done anything this shocking or careless. She thinks of her mother, what would she think of her sitting on the lap of a man she's just met? She feels a wave of shame envelop her.
"M-Mugen I don't know about this—"
His hand on her thigh pauses, the pads of his fingers making soft indentations into her flesh. His eyes meet hers.
"You've been trying to act tough all night," he says. His voice is dangerously soft and low. "But you're not cut out for this job. Make me your last customer."
She sits back as far as his grip will allow to look at him in confusion.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Do I look like I'm making a fucking joke?"
What he looks like is a man trying to hold himself back. She can see a line of taut muscle in his neck stiff and coiled tight. She watches him swallow back whatever else he wanted to say and just stare at her. There's half menace, half something else she doesn't have a word for in his glare. The hand on her thigh grips her again, this time a little rougher and she squeaks out in protest. She tries to gather up the right words to tell him what an asshole he's being but he cuts her thinking short again.
"You a virgin?"
She's shocked again but shakes her head a little, mumbling about that not being any of his business. She won't let him have the satisfaction of being right.
He sees through the lie at once.
"Bullshit. You're shivering."
"Well, you made me take off my sweater." she mumbles.
"It's June." he says, his voice becoming a growl. "You're the only one around here wearin' a fuckin' sweater. There's no one even like you in a place like this. You've got the wrong idea about what guys like me are after here and it's not drinking games girly."
She feels a flare of resentment at this. She's not a child and she isn't stupid. She chose this. She chose to crawl into his lap to prove a point. Maybe she's not experienced or ready for anything further…and she wouldn't do this with just anyone. Plenty of guys have hit on her before. No one like him, sure, but if she had wanted to she could have. He's just the first guy who has ever sparked this sort of…curiosity in her.
She tries to put the words together to say this to him but she flounders, her mind going blank.
She's stressed, she's had a crazy day and life and…all she wanted was to forget that for a few hours. Is it so bad that she likes it? That she wants to see what 'guys like him' are capable of? No, not guys like him. Just him.
"My name is Fuu." she says staring him dead on, "stop calling me girly ."
A fire seems to ignite behind the gray of his eyes. He pulls her closer, his mouth hovering by the shell of her ear.
"You wanna know how I know you're a virgin, Fuu ?" he whispers and once again she's frozen, eyes wide, "because if you weren't you would have sat down a little different on my lap."
She stops breathing, staring at nothing, feeling him trail a lazy hand up and down her thighs.
"You would have spread your legs for me."
She barely catches his next words as they send a wave of warm breath down her neck, eliciting another small shiver.
"Sorry bout' this."
Before she can question what he's apologizing for, the timer on the floor begins to ring shrilly just as his other hand travels to her backside where she realizes too late, her dress is no longer covering her at all, and pinches her, hard. She cries out in pain just as the door opens. She whips her head to the side.
Umanosuke chuckles at the sight of them. She tries to scramble off of Mugen's lap but his arms are firm, keeping her planted to him.
"Good. Sounds like you're getting my money's worth in here."
"Just breaking her in." Mugen says with a grin, his voice is cruel even if his arms are strangely secure. "Needs more experience though. Might not be my type."
"Ah, well. There's always next time."
The two men laugh and her breathing becomes shallow. She feels a flood of embarrassment rising to her cheeks and up to her eyes in unshed tears. She wants nothing more than to be off of him, away from him as fast as possible. She wants to go back to a few hours ago before she decided to act stupid, drinking too much, offering too much to this absolute asshole.
Mugen lifts her from his lap easily, depositing her carelessly onto the couch with a soft bump, causing her to nearly roll off of it. She scrambles back, giving him a mutinous glare, mute with rage.
He crouches down, first silencing the still-ringing alarm and then reaching into his jacket pocket, producing a wad of cash. She watches him, confused as he pulls several dozen bills out, holding them up at eye level for her to see.
"Find another job." There's still a smirk on his lips but his eyes look dead, devoid of light, "and don't let me catch you here again girly."
He tosses the bills at her before reaching for his sword and leaving without a backwards glance.
She sits there for a long moment afterwards, heart still pounding. She gets to her feet, unsteady and still shaking, and gathers the money along with her sweater. She puts it on inside out but that doesn't matter. She wants to chase after him, maybe throw it all back at him dramatically and tell him off.
Just as she makes it to the hall Mama-san stops her.
"What on earth happened in there?"
Fuu flushes.
"He told me to quit! He was such a—"
"Quit? You can't quit!" Mama-san laughs, sounding delighted, "His boss just paid in advance for your company for the next 3 weeks! I see he tipped generously too. You may become my highest earner."
Fuu blinks, trying to process. Mama-san says something else, but all she can wonder is if he paid in advance for Mugen or for himself. Neither prospect appeals to her. Only one thing appeals to her right now.
She stops a waiter passing by carrying a tray of food. She ignores his outraged protests that this food is for a customer by shoving one the bills Mugen gave her at him. It's probably way too much, but if she's being reckless already, might as well do it for some food. She takes a bowl of noodles from the tray and stuffs her face.
That night she returns home, her purse heavier than when she left. She flicks the lightswitch several times before she realizes it's been turned off. She doesn't care. She'll take care of it tomorrow. She throws herself face down on her futon in the dark, ignoring the indignant squeak from Momo as he wriggles out from beneath her.
Her phone dings and she reaches over for it blindly, squinting in the dark as another text from Yuuka lights up the screen:
Congrats on ur first night! Here's to many more ～('▽^人)
She snaps it shut with a groan.