Author's note: Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter is really, really, REALLY late. I got back to school and I've been working on different things so this was kinda pushed to the back burner for a while. But I finished, and as an apology, I wrote an extra chapter (yay me). Please enjoy!

THREE

"Well…"

"So…"

Things were not going easily. Misaki had taken Haruhiko to one of the front rooms and set to serving him tea and conversation, hoping that he could pass the next two hours with ease. However, the odds were against him—seeing that he had no formal training and he was terribly clumsy. Plus, Haruhiko Usami was not the easiest person to talk to.

It wasn't that Haruhiko wasn't nice—that was far from true. Moments after they had sat down, and Misaki had spilled some tea on the table, he expressed his understanding when Misaki scrambled to explain his error, dismissing any embarrassment the youth felt by his lack of experience by comparing this little date as a training round. Of course it wasn't said as easily, and it took a few minutes for Misaki to decipher what the man had said. Haruhiko was a very calculative man, who analyzed every word he said, as if he refused to allow simple, thoughtless idea to be uttered by his lips. To add onto this challenge, Haruhiko was the type of person who only spoke when prompted and otherwise had no input, no matter the topic. Misaki had tried just about everything, from the weather, to their hobbies, to how Haruhiko met Isaka, and at this point, he was running out of ideas.

The conversation, like freshly cut wood, refused to catch a spark, thus the barrier that separated them.

For Misaki, it was difficult to decide what to say, especially to someone who looked so modern and wealthy, especially when he spoke so eloquently—and although Misaki himself was dressed in silk, no amount of clothing could cover the hints of his humble past that manifested themselves through his conversation. He shifted awkwardly, rolling conversational questions around in his head over and over again, just to make certain they were adequate for such a setting.

"Um…so Usami-sama," Misaki started, fingers heading aimlessly toward the hem of his hakama, rubbing the fabric between the pads of his fingers nervously. "Do you live here in Kyoto?"

"Yes. Though it's a district away from here."

"Perhaps I've been there," Misaki considered conversationally, adding a little shrug for extra measure. "I've walked around Kyoto a little bit, here and there?"

"Certainly not." Haruhiko stated, flatly. "It's a car drive away at least."

"Oh…" Misaki's face fell slightly, but within a beat, a new question popped into his head. "So then you must have a car!"

"Yes. But it's nothing special."

"Ah…" Misaki stopped, uncertain of what to say next. Clasping his hands together, brows starting to curve inward with worry, Misaki was beginning to feel the tides of panic rushing in. "Umm…"

It was silent for a moment, Haruhiko diverting his eyes away from Misaki and toward his hands, as he vacantly stared at the knobs of his knuckles. This was bad. Really bad. If a man found more interest in his knuckles than your conversation, you were surely as dull as skipping stone. He wondered how Haruhiko would report this practice date to Isaka…the thought made Misaki's stomach turn, realizing if Isaka didn't see any potential in him, he'd never given another opportunity to prove himself again. Meaning, he'd never amount to anything more than a houseboy, and therefore, would never be able to pay off his father's debts for his nii-chan.

Determination rose up within him and with that, he tried again. "Umm…What is your job, Usami-sama?"

Haruhiko, who had distantly fixed his eyes on the table during lull of their conversation, glanced up at Misaki and replied, "I currently am working for my father's bank."

"Oh…so you count money?" Misaki pondered, pursing his lips as he thought of ways to supplement the conversation. He really didn't know much about banks… Then, in conversational way, Misaki exclaimed, "Wow, Usami-sama, you must be very good at math!"

Haruhiko, for the first time in their conversation, broke into a smile. Then he began to laugh—though it was tight and constricted, it was still enough to be considered a chuckle and Misaki's chest constricted in horror, realizing that perhaps he had said something terribly stupid…

"Takahashi-san, although I work for my father's bank, I do not actually work inside a bank." Haruhiko bellowed a few more chuckles before he explained: "I'd be up for weeks if I had to count the funds for the higher accounts we handle."

Misaki blushed, turning his gaze downward toward the bulbous convex of the porcelain teapot, regretting he'd even spoke up at all. Haruhiko must have noticed his sudden bashfulness—a moment later, an even voice, cleared of any amusement, said, "Takahashi-san, there's no reason to be humiliated. I wasn't clear." The brunet, blush deepening in hue at the mention of his sheepishness, forced his eyes upward so he and Haruhiko were directly looking at one another.

"I'm sorry. I clearly said something very ignorant," Misaki muttered, his voice trembling on the rocky surface of his embarrassment and defeat.

"Takahashi-san, you have in no way offended me." Then the man paused, his brow furrowing as if he wasn't quite sure of what to say next. Eventually, though his voice had lost much of its certainty, he chuckled nervously, and said, "Actually, I thought it was very…humorous of you."

Misaki flushed again, though this time it was for being so openly complimented. Seeing the boy's response color the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, Haruhiko's lips broke into another smile.

Misaki, glancing upward, studied him for a second. He examined the way Haruhiko grew uncomfortable at his expression of emotion and quickly forced his smile down by lifting his long forgotten cup to his lips. He tipped the porcelain backward, but it was clear there was no tea left in his cup—Misaki noted that the man didn't even swallow.

At this realization, the youth pointed out softly, "Ano, Haruhiko-san…it seems you would like some more tea." Misaki reached over and lifted the pot by its handle, indicating that he still had much left to share.

This time, it was Haruhiko's turn to grow embarrassed. He swallowed hard, eyes drifting downward for a beat…then, he looked back up and when he was met with Misaki's smile, he too found himself smiling.

"Certainly, Takahashi-san."

~o~

Three days later, at just after one o'clock in the afternoon, Shinobu Takatsuki was standing outside the home of his lessons teacher, which was conveniently located around the corner from the okiya. Staring up at the bamboo gate that separated the street from the front door, the youthful blond lay in wait. A bucket of arrows strapped to his back along with his bow, Shinobu rang the cowbell that dangled near the door, each clang that resonated down the crowded corridor of homes sent a jolt of excitement straight to his heart.

As he waited, the youth's grey eyes indulged in the lacquer carving of the homeowner's kanji in the wooden door, the name, "Miyagi", rolling off his tongue deliciously. Everyday for the past three years he'd read that same address name, and yet the richness of the words—which were smooth in the rough wooden grain like chocolate—was enough to leave his senses mesmerized. That is, until said man arrived at the door.

Then, the waves of a whole new sensory tempest rolled in on the boy.

"Shinobu-chin, you're early today," the man, Miyagi Yoh, commented, crossing his arms over his firm chest. Through the bars of the gate, Shinobu peered up at the man, fingers looping around the thin cylinders of bamboo—it was somewhat peculiar how such a simple action made him feel that much closer to his teacher. Thick black hair, firm jaw line, tightly roped muscle underneath the navy pinstriped kimono that cut just at the curve of the man's collarbone. Blue eyes regarded the blond, lips quirked in the slightest bit of a smile.

Miyagi Yoh. The man he'd fallen in love with nearly four years ago when he had moved into the okiya.

It took a second for Shinobu to sort his thoughts, discarding a slue of silly, kiddish responses until he formulated his answer, giving a half-committal shrug as he pulled away from the gate. "I figured I could ask you a few extra questions, if you don't mind."

"It's never a problem, Shinobu-chin. I'm always impressed by your enthusiasm to learn," Miyagi said as he made his way down to the little entryway and slid open the gate, then turning back around as he led the boy into his home. Shinobu tapped his shoes off in the outdoor genkan and followed behind the man wordlessly, taking in the essence of Miyagi's home in full. Though it was a familiar sight to the youth—the wooden walls, and tatami floors, the ornately carved desk and folding screen that religiously greeted them in the front area of the home—he always felt a sense of awe each time Miyagi led him into his household. There was something earthy about the man's residence, which filled him a sense of peace.

Plus, he enjoyed the raw masculinity that exuded itself throughout the décor of the home, knowing that there was no wife or girlfriend around to be imposing her feminine input. Shinobu naturally knew this, seeing that he spent a great deal of his time taking archery lessons from Miyagi—five days a week, every week, so certainly the boy had gathered quite the bit of knowledge about the man through casual conversation alone. He knew of a failed marriage and a few past girlfriends—Miyagi was always jabbering his rueful advice about staying from women, warning grimly, "They will plot against you, my friend."

Psh, if only Miyagi would notice Shinobu pined only for his attentions…

Miyagi's voice drifted over his shoulder as he walked, though his tone grew wary, slightly dubious. "I'm not quite certain what questions you could possibly ask me at this point, though. Your archery skill levels have long exceeded my own."

This was a reoccurring conversation between the teacher and student—Shinobu had already had his answer formulated. "I need to work on my mechanics," he replied simply, speaking to the man's back. He threw in, "You're the one that always says no matter how much training someone can receive, they will never succeed without a strong grasp of the fundamentals," just to kill any extra argument the older would have had. Miyagi puffed his cheeks out at the sound of his words being used against him, and he muttered something about teen brats and their damn memories.

The house itself was two stories high and broken into two different buildings. The building they were currently in which housed Miyagi's entertaining rooms, led to the courtyard through a paper screen door. Open wooden corridors looped around the courtyard, connecting the second structure that acted as Miyagi's main living quarters, to the rest of the home. The courtyard itself was a grassy area where a few shoots of bamboo and grasses rooted themselves. This was where Miyagi had designated their lessons to be, a target at one side of the property, a bucket of arrows at the other.

Once the two men were situated, Miyagi clapped his hands together and said, "Alright kid, show me what you've got. I'll look for any problems in your form."

And with that Shinobu raised his bow, easing his shoulder downward, and breathed in—and in a swift, fluid motion, the arrow burst from the string, and moments later the sound of the sharp tip piercing the wooden target revealed that the arrow had reached its destination. A bull's eye; just like always.

"Well, well, Shinobu-chin," Miyagi said, making his way over to the youth, hands clasped together pensively, expression conveying a mix of impression and bewilderment. "It's curious how you claim you need to continue improving, and yet, you hit bull's eye every time."

Shinobu, who was still lowering his bow as he examined the results of his shot, glanced over his shoulder at Miyagi and frowned, saying, "Just because I'm good doesn't mean I'm perfect."

The man fixed him with a patient look. "Kid. You're never going to reach perfection underneath my training." He turned at this heading over to hand Shinobu his next arrow, as he added, "The sad reality is my archery days are long over."

"But clearly you haven't forgotten much," Shinobu protested, even as he prepared himself for his next shot, lining up the arrow and the bow in unison. But before he got himself into the proper stance, bow still limp in his hands, he glanced over at the man and said, "It's a matter of muscle memory and no amount of time in the military will make you forget that." And with that the blond fired off his second shot. Once again, the arrow hit the center circle with calculated precision.

Miyagi had been enlisted when he had turned eighteen years old leaving behind his dreams of studying archery and literature, like a samurai, behind. However as a young officer in the Japanese military, Miyagi had gotten into a terrible knife fight during an attack outside of Shanghai, and ended up losing a lot of blood in the battle after being brutally stabbed twice in the stomach. During his healing time, the man had announced his dismissal from the military, to much surprise and disappointment of his unit. Although the man had become well respected and revered in his position, the day of that battle had left an impression on Miyagi—more than just the scars that slashed his arm and roped down his abdomen, where two vicious gashes lied. He never spoke of it directly to Shinobu, but the blond understood that something about the face-to-face combat, perhaps realizing that war was more than just numbers but rather, people, bothered the man very deeply. Miyagi tried to play off the scars whenever the youth inquired, but during the summer months, when the man wore no more than a tank top and trousers, the blond couldn't help but take in the man's wounds with a curious glance.

However, the scars never scared Shinobu away—in fact, he felt each cut told the story of rugged kind of heroism and strength, something that Shinobu found very intriguing and handsome.

Shinobu, as he imagined the powerful image of Miyagi dressed in uniform, gold buttons glittering proudly against the heavy canvas of his hunter green jacket, lost track of his body's precision and his next shot ended up dangling near the edge of the target board. He blinked, shaken from his fantasy, as he gaped at the poor performance.

"Ah, you were too tense that time," Miyagi's disheartened voice drifted over from his stance on Shinobu's side, and the blond felt his competitive side cringe as the man came forward to correct him. Shinobu glanced over at the approaching man, with a little quirk of annoyance in his brow. Nothing was worse than being called out by the man he was trying to impress…

There was a beat, where all Shinobu could hear was footsteps as they made their way through the crunchy grass, and suddenly Miyagi was standing close behind Shinobu. The new proximity between them unraveled the boy's irritation as a flustered chill caused every muscle in his body to tense for a second. Miyagi must have noticed this, because he chuckled slightly, and as embarrassing as it was, Shinobu reveled in the sound of the man's amusement. Miyagi's voice picked up a huskier hue during the winter months that exuded an intoxicating level of masculinity over the young blond.

"I've been noticing," the man said, his voice dipping into a low hum, as his hands came forward, touching the blonde's shoulders, "that your shoulder is dipping down when you release the arrow. It's because you tense up right before you release." Shinobu, even through the fabric of his jacket, felt Miyagi firm but gentle fingers as they guided his arm. His voice was low and smooth and it practically sounded like a purr as he instructed, "Now relax."

Shinobu had no idea what Miyagi's face looked like, because he was staring off at the target with wide eyes, nodding at Miyagi's words. He knew what to do—he'd done it 100 times before, but Miyagi's instructions gave the youth new determination to strive for perfection. "A-alright, Miyagi."

He felt the man take a step backward, away from him, and he shivered at the loss of the warmth, the scent, the handsome voice. Taking a deep breath, Shinobu prepared himself again, eyes locked on the target, breathing even, bow and arrow raised.

"Remember," Miyagi kindly reminded, and Shinobu took a second to glance over at the man, his raven hair being tussled by a particularly strong gust of winter air," Keep relaxed." Shinobu nodded, snapping his attention back to the target, to keep from holding his gaze too long. He didn't want to seem desperate. Though he'd admit that he much rather be staring at Miyagi than the weather worn target that had been battered from years of arrows splintering the wood.

Actually, he much rather be inside Miyagi's home discussing literature, or politics, or whatever the man desired, where the two of them could look at each other eye to eye for hours on end, without any restraints or distractions. He'd been yearning for such a day for quite some time now, and although he had managed to convince Miyagi to show him around his extensive library one afternoon after lessons, their pesky teacher and student relationship kept the man from expressing himself as fully as Shinobu would have hoped. If only he could strip his image of a student in Miyagi's eyes…

Luckily, he had one great opportunity for show casing his mature image: in a few months, he'd be eighteen, which meant he'd begin his hosting career. His plan was to prove himself as an adult to Miyagi by hosting for him—in his most lofty fantasies he pictured himself seducing the ex-officer with a single evening together. However, Shinobu preferred to be realistic and decided that it would probably take a few times for Miyagi to truly develop a romantic interest in him. Not that he minded much. He wanted the man to fall in love, not lust.

And most importantly, he wanted Miyagi to understand that he was soon to be in the market for a patron…and if he were truly in love, he'd certainly pay a fair dividend to bind himself to the youth for life. It was destiny's calling, Shinobu decided, and he refused to ignore her so blatantly. But first, he'd have to figure out a way to keep nurturing his growing relationship with Miyagi—and their shared interest in archery was the perfect means of doing so.

He fired once: two inches off from perfection. The second time he hit dead center.

He was consumed in his own thoughts, remotely staring off at the target though his success hadn't quite registered. From behind him, he heard the distant sound of clapping and Miyagi's voice, calling out, "Great shot, kid!"

Shinobu smiled slightly, nibbling at his lower lip, the warmth of a blush working its way across his nose and cheeks. As he regarded Miyagi, who was sitting on second stair that led up to the walkway, hair tousled, eyes bright, Shinobu decided he had never wanted something so passionately before in his entire life.

Certainly, he'd do anything for him.

~o~

Miyagi Yoh, with his chin cupped in his palm, lips pursed slightly, was carefully examining the gait of his archery student. Part of him was amazed that the young blond was so skilled with a bow; his other half was then perturbed as to why someone as talented as him was taking lessons from a washed up military officer who hardly picked up a bow and arrow in the last ten years.

He knew Shinobu had taken quite the liking to him, which he was honestly glad for. He could only imagine the struggles that the youth faced on a daily basis working for a male hosting okiya. Miyagi was personally against the idea of bargaining off the innocence of teenage boys to wealthy businessmen in order to make a profit, and at first he was wary moving into the home next door to such an institution. However now, he found a sense of moral relief knowing that he was making some kind of positive influence on one of the residents, even if Shinobu was…rather difficult sometimes.

Moody teenage boys, he thought with a helpless shrug, watching the blond march over toward the target to reclaim his arrows.

"Ah, Shinobu-chin, it seems the student has outgrown his master," Miyagi pointed out amiably, though he really meant his words. He wondered how much longer these "lessons" would continue at this rate. Not that he minded teaching the boy per se, but rather he was growing anxious at realization that he'd reached the extent of his advice and was currently bullshitting his way through.

"No, no," Shinobu replied quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "You're just fine at archery. Certainly better than me." Although this was proper politeness, Miyagi sensed the ulterior motive behind the words and his brow furrowed slightly.

"Let's face it Shinobu-chin," Miyagi huffed as he pushed himself up from his seat on the stair, "I'm better suited with a gun nowadays."

Shinobu shoot Miyagi a look. "But a bow and arrow is more romantic."

"I'm not trying to be price charming, Shinobu-chin."

"You don't have to be price charming to be impressive," Shinobu pointed out, dryly. "Anyone can shoot a gun." Miyagi flicked a cool glance over, met Shinobu's earnest grey eyes, a measuring cast to them as he regarded him.

"Really?" Miyagi questioned, conversationally. "I'd beg to differ."

Realizing that he'd backed himself into a corner in this argument, the blond swiftly changed the subject. "Anyway," he reasoned, looking away to focus on the target, trying to visualize the problematic gait of his arm as he followed through his shots. "I thought you preferred archery because it's an art."

Miyagi sighed apprehensively, caught once again in his own words. "Well, yes, I do appreciate archery more as a form of historical sport—however, after all those years using guns and knives, I consider archery something to watch and enjoy rather than torture myself and others by pretending I'm some kind of archer."

"I don't understand that," Shinobu replied stubbornly. "There's no reason to discredit yourself for something you're good at.

"Its just…" He paused, plunging his hand into his pocket to dig around for a cigarette, unsure of quite how to respond. He ended up redirecting his student's attention by sighing, "Shinobu-chin, just focus on the target right now."

The blond whipped away and he didn't have to look to tell that the kid rolled his eyes. Shinobu shot off a few more successful arrows, before lowering his bow to his hip to say, "Did you know that my birthday is coming up soon?"

Miyagi, puffing away on his newly lit cigarette, stopped and raised his brows. "Really?" He wasn't quite certain what made the boy bring such a random topic up, but he assumed it had purpose, seeing that Shinobu was a rather pointed young man. "I honestly had no idea."

"You know, when I turn eighteen," the boy continued from over his shoulder, making his way toward the target once more to recollect his arrows, "I have to begin looking for a danna."

"Really now," Miyagi inquired, in a noncommittal way. "Seems a little young."

"No, I'm just fine." Shinobu reached to the target, yanking the arrows free one by one by their shafts. "But, I thought you should know that."

Miyagi cocked a brow. "…Why is that?"

"Well, I'm just saying," Shinobu sighed, in a elusive way. "Maybe you should consider having me host you sometime." He stopped; then quickly added, "It would be good practice for me."

Oh. Miyagi was certainly a bit curious at the random request, but he couldn't refuse the boy, especially when he was simply asking for guidance. If anything, Miyagi thought rather archly, this was a very important time to show the boy his support, and even if it meant playing tea party with the kid for a few hours, so be it.

He leaned his elbows back against the wooden step behind him, taking a long drag from his cigarette before he replied, "Certainly. Whatever you need, my friend, I'm here for you."

~o~

Author's note: Thank you so much for reading this! Please, if you have the time, review or favorite/follow the story. Just the smallest input is enough to make me smile! Once again, thanks everyone!