"Damn it," Hiou Uesugi muttered. "I feel like a wizened old man here."
Kanae, still sipping her margarita, nudged him so hard he winced.
"Shut up," she hissed to her husband.
Kyoko chuckled over her own drink. The party had taken off in full swing about half an hour ago in Kuon's luxury villa, and the young twenty-somethings—comprising rowdy celebrities and influencers as well as Kuon's crew—were all milling about, some of them bowling in the alley next door, some splashing outside in the hot tub, and some, like herself and her two friends, just sipping their cocktails and watching people play pool in the billiards room.
She didn't know why, but she'd never liked this villa, opulent and luxurious as it was with its big Persian rugs, rich marble flooring and many rooms and hallways. Neither she nor Kuon stayed in this three-storey estate often unless a party was organised or Kuon was sleeping over with some friends for an intensive songwriting session. Typically, if that happened she would stay the night with him.
She hadn't spoken to Kuon in a while, which wasn't surprising since he was the star of the night and was constantly surrounded by guests. The last time she'd seen him, he was seated with his friends in the bowling alley, which was contiguous with the pool room by an open door. She hadn't checked again from where she sat.
She couldn't bring herself to.
The last time she'd glanced over, their eyes had locked from either end of the room. He'd sat surrounded by his laughing, chattering friends, and they'd seemed to melt away as his dark volcanic-glass gaze bored into her like black holes. She didn't understand it—somehow, he always caught her looking at him, and every cell in her body burned with heightened awareness of his presence from afar.
"So when's Kijima coming?" Kanae asked. "He said he would be late, right?"
"Yeah, he has to work overtime," Kyoko explained, checking her phone. "But he left work a while ago, so he should be here any time."
She turned off her phone screen, and her wan reflection greeted her. She was wearing the canary diamond earrings, coupled with a yellow crochet lace sundress that Kuon had gotten for her last year. Her fair hair was done up in a chignon, which was her favourite style.
Kanae, on the other hand, wore the classic little black dress and black stilettos. Her ebony hair was braided, and she wore a full face of makeup including red lipstick and thick cat eyeliner. She was the sexiest woman Kyoko had ever met, both from her looks and unapologetic confidence in her stylistic choices.
Contrary to her appearance, she worked as a prim-and-proper literature teacher at her alma mater, while Hiou operated as the basketball coach at the same high school.
All four of them—Kanae, Kyoko, Sho and Hiou—were alumni. Kanae, the emo goth freak, Kyoko the awkward, socially inept pariah that everyone thought was mute, Hiou, the jock who'd lost favour with the in-crowd, and Sho, the new transfer student with far bigger dreams than the school could provide.
They had been best friends, the four of them, and they had formed an unbreakable clique throughout the years up to their graduation.
"So let me get this straight," Kanae said. "Kuon was the one that suggested Kijima come."
"Uh-huh," Kyoko said.
"I don't get it." Kanae leaned back against the charcoal-grey chaise lounge. "What's his angle here? What's he planning?"
"Or maybe—" Kyoko gave her a withering look. "There is no angle here, besides wanting to welcome Kijima. Ever thought of that?"
Kanae laughed, but there was no humour to it.
"Nope," she said. "Kuon hates this Kijima guy, that's for sure. I can assure you of that."
"Kuon doesn't even know Kijima," Kyoko gritted out.
"So what?" Kanae wanted to know. "Kuon doesn't like anybody. The only person he likes is himself and maybe you. His friends—" She lowered her voice as laughter spilled from the pool tables. "They aren't his friends at all. They're his followers, people he uses to climb the social ladder. And Kijima? Kijima's on his blacklist, that's for sure. He doesn't like sharing you with anyone, and that includes me and Hiou, let alone—"
"Kanae," Hiou said in a warning voice.
Kanae noticed Kyoko's expression then, and she sighed.
"Sorry," she said. "Look. I just worry about you, Kyoko. I want you to go out, find yourself. Have your own life outside of Kuon."
"I got my new job, remember?" Kyoko asked, fighting to keep her tone even. Kanae's tirades about Kuon were starting to really get to her. If what Kanae was saying was true, then why would Kuon have taken the time to invite Kanae, Hiou and Kijima?
Besides, she was just his stepmother, one he was very close to. Of course they were close; they were family.
"Right." Kanae looked pleased. "I'm really happy about that, Kyoko. Congrats! Being financially independent would be the first step to finding yourself again."
"You act like I've lost myself," Kyoko pointed out.
Kanae hesitated.
"Well, no," she said. "But if you remain financially dependent on Kuon, I'm worried you can't ever break free from him. So yeah."
"You act like I'm imprisoned or something," Kyoko ground out, feeling the boiling ire rise within her again.
"Kyoko—" Hiou tried to intervene, but Kanae spoke.
"In a way, you are," she reasoned. "Aren't all your credit cards under his name? If you leave the penthouse you share with him, is there anywhere you go that you can claim as your own? You can't buy anything without using his money, you—"
"So I'm imprisoned because my stepson is sweet enough to want to care for me financially?" Kyoko demanded furiously. "Plenty of sons support their moms, does that make their moms prisoners? Or husbands that support their wives?"
"But you're not his mother or his wife, Kyoko," Kanae said grimly. "That's what spooks me—the kind of codependency you two share."
Kyoko had had enough. She smacked her glass down on the stand and stood up so abruptly that several heads turned from the pool table. She kept her eyes on her feet, however, refusing to glance in the direction of the bowling alley to her left.
"Hey." It was Hiou's turn to elbow his wife. "Oi, do something—"
Kanae sighed. "Kyoko—"
"I'm going out for some fresh air," Kyoko said shortly. She had to leave before she ended up arguing with Kanae; she hated any kind of conflict that involved countering anger with anger.
That never solved anything. Compassion was the way to go, but right now she didn't feel anything close to compassion.
Restlessly, she wandered down the corridor outside the billiards room, listening to peals of rambunctious laughter and the jazz piece from the built-in speakers overhead.
The reason she was so upset, she realised, was that there was a ring of truth to Kanae's words. The level of "codependency", as Kanae said, was most certainly uncommon between stepparents and stepchildren. Not that Kyoko knew many stepparents in real life, and that frustrated her. If she knew more, maybe she'd have a better idea of what was considered normal behaviour with their stepkids.
She wasn't Kuon's real mother, obviously. Neither was she his significant other. She was just his father's much younger second wife.
So what was the right line to walk here?
"Kyoko!"
Kyoko swung around. A curvaceous girl was sashaying towards her, her long waves of bleached blonde hair fluttering down her shoulders. She had on a teal sheath dress that clung deliciously to her slim figure, its colour complementing the ocean-blue of her contact lenses, and even her heady perfume reminded Kyoko of sweet tropical flowers on a beach.
"Hello, Kimi," Kyoko greeted her warmly. "How are you? I haven't seen you in a while."
Kimiko was one of Kuon's backup dancers who had trained with Murasame and Kuon back in the day at Takarada's Dance Academy. She had been part of Kuon's crew ever since his musical debut, and was the same age as him.
"I'm great," Kimiko said with a beam. "You look so pretty, Kyoko. Like sunshine!"
Kyoko laughed. She supposed with her light hair, canary diamond earrings, and yellow sundress, she did look like the embodiment of sunshine.
"I was worried it was overkill," she told Kimiko.
Kimiko shook her head. "No way. You look so amazing. And I see you're wearing the earrings Kuon got you."
"Oh." Kyoko touched her ears out of instinct. "You know of it?"
"Yeah, I was there with Murasame when Kuon got it at the jewellery store," Kimiko revealed. Kyoko wondered if she was imagining the sudden shadows in the other woman's artificially-tinted eyes. "Hey, are you busy, by the way?"
Kyoko looked at her in surprise. "Not really. Do you need me for something?"
"Yeah, kinda." Kimiko looked around warily, then hastened over and ushered Kyoko into a dome-shaped alcove, where a velvet loveseat was situated. Her voice was low. "Sorry. It's just… Well, it's about Kuon."
"What happened?" Alarm bells were beginning to go off in Kyoko's head at Kimiko's furtiveness. She sat down slowly beside Kimiko, her diminutive hands bunched together.
Kimiko must have sensed Kyoko's concern, because she quickly shook her head.
"No, no, he didn't do anything," she said. "And he's not in trouble or anything like that. It's more about me, technically."
She breathed out as Kyoko peered inquisitively at her, then blurted, "I like Kuon."
Oh.
Kyoko didn't know what to say. She already knew. She was sure many of the others knew too.
Girls were always attracted to Kuon. Kyoko was certain that most of the women in Kuon's inner circle were attracted to him, not just Kimiko. And Kimiko had grown up with Kuon in Takarada's Dance Academy, so they went way back.
"But," Kimiko said, her lips thinning, "he doesn't. Like me, I mean."
"Oh, honey—" Kyoko began, but Kimiko cut her off.
"You know Kuon like I do," she said. "Maybe even better. He doesn't date. Doesn't entertain girls. Doesn't even hook up. All of us know he's so… untouchable."
Kyoko's head rose sharply.
"He doesn't hook up?" she echoed.
Kimiko laughed mirthlessly.
"Nope," she said. "When we're on tour, I see girls going in and out of the guys' suites. The guys go to clubs, too, to pick up girls. But Kuon doesn't go there. And there are no girls going in and out of his suite. Never. He likes his own space too much. In the beginning, I liked that. Meant that no one else was having him, you know? Maybe I stood a chance. We've known each other for so long. But now…" She bit her lip. "Now I'm just frustrated. And desperate."
Kyoko was floored. She didn't know how to process this new piece of information. All along she'd assumed that while Kuon wasn't dating, he was at least hooking up with girls. But now Kimiko was saying that wasn't happening?
"Kyoko," Kimiko said. "Can I ask you something?"
Kyoko regarded her questioningly.
"Do you approve of me?" she queried, running a manicured hand through her white-blonde hair. "If I go out with Kuon, do you approve?"
Kyoko broke into a smile. "Of course," she said, though she wondered why her chest had gone tight. Idly, she picked on a loose golden thread in her crochet dress, watching it unravel along her fingertips. "You're a really sweet girl, Kimi. If it was anyone, I would love for his girlfriend to be someone he grew up with. Because you would understand him best."
Kimiko brightened.
"That means so much to me," she stated, breathlessly. "Because you see, the only person Kuon seems to really love and care for... Well, it's you, Kyoko. And if you approve, then—" She sucked in her breath. "I was wondering if you could maybe, I don't know, talk to him about it, or something like that."
"Oh." Kyoko was taken off-guard. "I see. Well…" She had never broached the subject of Kuon's love life with him before. She thought about it often enough and had even gone to Miss Aki for advice, but actually addressing it with Kuon was another story altogether. They were close, but there were just some things she didn't feel comfortable talking about with him, sex being the primary subject.
She didn't even like talking about her own sex life with him, and she knew she would be hypocritical if she prodded him to speak about his.
"Please, Kyoko?" Kimiko implored.
Kyoko pulled harder on the loose thread.
"All right," she acquiesced, her lips twisting in a rictus of a smile. "I promise. I'll see what I can do, but please don't lay all your hopes on me, okay?"
Kimiko nodded eagerly, indicating she was doing exactly what Kyoko was warning her not to do. "Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. I—"
"Kyoko!"
Kyoko's head jerked up. Sauntering towards her was the shaggy-haired Murasame, his mouth loping up in a rakish half-grin. Under the lights, sinuous tattoos of viridian ivy and foreign letters winked at her from his exposed arms in a mosaic of colours.
Kuon, on the other hand, didn't have a single tattoo on his body. Kyoko knew it wasn't because he wasn't vain enough. Rather, it was because he was too vain to mar any of his body with artwork.
Murasame continued grinning at her quizzical expression and at that moment, the tiny thread she was picking snapped off her dress. She flinched, her nerve endings shrilling in shock as her nail sliced into the flesh of her finger.
"Your man's here," he said. "Kijima, right?"
The following week passed with more tension that Kyoko could bear, made worse by her self-consciousness about her breakdown before him that day.
Thinking back, she honestly had no clue where her tears had come from.
Kuon had said nothing afterwards, even though she'd half-expected him to sneer at her about it. The rest of the days passed the same way; him, barely acknowledging her existence, and she, for once, glad that he refused to speak to her. Then there would be no need to address the awkwardness that had transpired that day.
His piano lessons had also come to an end, and she didn't press him about it again.
By now, the holes in his bag had gotten so big his books were sticking out, and he'd had no choice but to switch to the brand new brown school bag she had gotten for him.
Kyoko had felt guilty. Before their confrontation, she had never once realised that her care towards him could have been as condescending as the pity Kuon had received at Kuu's funeral.
She wished she had just passed him money to buy a new bag himself instead of having bought a new one for him, but it was obviously too late now.
Then one day, while he was gone—it was long after school, and she assumed he was at the dance academy—she had an unexpected brainwave. She went to his room and opened the door, feeling slightly guilty for trespassing while he was away, and looked around the immaculate room. Resting against the wall by his bed was his holey old bag.
Kyoko took it and returned to her room, where she grabbed a needle and a thread from her sewing kit.
Then she began working on sewing the holes shut.
She wasn't the best at needlework, and she jabbed her fingers plenty of times in the process. One jab was particularly painful, and she hissed in discomfort, dropping the needle and thread on her vanity table. A lone scarlet bead of blood materialised on her fingertip, and she stared at it for a moment, morbidly entranced by the way it swelled and rolled down her skin.
She was back at the park again, the kitten lying on its side, her gaze on the line of crimson beads on her hand…
"Do you always persist in caring for things that make you bleed?"
Kyoko stiffened. Her heart was slamming viciously into her ribs, and she got up, the chair legs grating against the floor. Balling her throbbing hand into a fist, she left her room and rinsed her mild wounds in the toilet. The water continued running until the dusky traces of scarlet were all gone, and she snapped out of her trance, wondering how long she'd spaced out by the sink.
At last, she headed back to her room, flexing her still-aching fingers experimentally, then raised her head.
She jumped nearly a foot in the air. A golden-haired boy stood in his school uniform by her vanity, the bag with the holes in his slender pale hand.
She hadn't heard him come in. It was annoying, the way he could walk so soundlessly like a cat, and she attributed it to his background as a dancer.
"You're back," she said. "I, um…"
Kuon's emerald gaze flickered to her wet fisted hand, and she didn't know why, but she moved it behind her hip.
"I'm trying to sew the holes shut," Kyoko explained, gesturing at the bag with her other hand. "I know you can't stand using the bag I got for you, so…" She swallowed, not knowing how to finish her sentence.
A pause lapsed between them.
He didn't say anything.
Not one word.
All he did was lift the tattered bag, and tear it with a single rip from both hands. The hundred holes yawned into one as the decrepit fabric broke asunder, and all Kyoko could do was stand there, her own mouth split open in a silent scream.
Kyoko felt her face break into a wide smile at the sight of the man hovering on the fringe of the gyrating crowd. Wearing his prosaic dress shirt and crumpled trousers and carrying a briefcase, he stood out like a sore thumb against the mass of dancing people garbed in fashionably ripped, glittery attire.
"Kijima!" she yelled through the rhythmic music, waving her hand frantically, and he glanced in her direction before a smile spread across his face as well.
"Kyoko," he beamed, squeezing across the packed lounge towards her, electrifying rainbow strobes of light running through them.
"You made it," she breathed, taking hold of his hands.
"Of course," he said, taking her in with astounded eyes. "You look so beautiful, Kyoko. And wow…" He touched the yellow diamond stud on her left earlobe. "That's something. Your mystery stepson got you this?"
She pecked him on the lips. "He wants to meet you."
"I…" Kijima's voice trailed off, and Kyoko turned to see that all movement in the crowd had stumbled to a halt, as if they were suddenly plunged in suspended animation. Pairs of eyes were peering at her, their faces like from a tableau, and the source of the shift in the air emerged through the centre of the crowd, flanked by Murasame and Kimiko.
Kijima looked like someone had smacked him in the face.
A pin-drop silence elapsed in a chokehold, and for several long seconds, no one broke it.
"Tsu—?" Kijima pushed out, his complexion draining of colour. He blinked several times, then stopped, his square jaw trembling. She could hardly blame him; she would probably shit her pants too if she were in his shoes. "No fucking way…"
"That's my stepson, Kijima," Kyoko said, trying to stifle her amusement. "The mystery stepson."
Kijima's eyes bugged as the dark-haired owner of the villa took another step forward.
"It's nice to meet you," he said courteously, holding out his heavily ringed hand. "Thank you so much for coming."
"I, er…" Kijima took his offered hand and shook it weakly. Kyoko was struck by the difference in their hands—Kijima, big and tanned; Kuon's, long-fingered and pale and elegant like an aristocrat's. "It's nice to meet you too…" A fine sheen of sweat glistened across Kijima's temples. "This isn't an illusion, right? You really are…" His breath hitched. "—T–Tsuruga Ren?"
Kuon smiled. There was no light in his dark onyx irises. "No illusion," he said. "I promise."
"You're Kyoko's stepson?" Kyoko thought his eyes would pop from their sockets. It was rare to see her businessman lover lose his composure like this, and she bit back a smile.
"Yes," Kuon responded, after a weighted pause. "That's correct."
"Uh…" Kijima blinked again, as if he still couldn't believe what he was seeing. "This is gonna sound totally cliché, but can I have your autograph?"
"Of course you can." Kuon tilted his glossy raven head. The kaleidoscopic strobes of light splayed deep shadows across his exquisitely sculpted face. "Do you have a pen and paper?"
"Oh, right." Kijima reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small stack of Post-its. "Let me get my pen…"
"There's no worry." Kuon slid his slender hand into the pocket of his expensive russet double-breasted overcoat and took a fountain pen.
"Thanks…" Kijima stared dumbly as Kuon wrote adroitly across the top of the Post-its in perfect, old-fashioned cursive.
"Here you go," Kuon said, withdrawing his pen. He turned slightly and indicated Murasame beside him. "Murasame here will show you around the estate, get you a drink, and so on. Please feel free to follow him, and don't hesitate to ask him for anything if you need it."
Kijima nodded, still looking starstruck. "Got it," he said, approaching Murasame as the latter beckoned him forward. "Thanks. Also—" He hesitated, then blurted, "Your latest album is fucking incredible! I love Daffodil."
Daffodil, Kyoko was aware, was the lead single, a slow, tender R&B jam that pulsed sultrily over gorgeous violin strings. There wasn't much detail established beyond its oblique lyrics, and all Kyoko knew was that Kuon was singing to a woman—an elusive lover named Daffodil. She had no recollection of him being with someone of that name, and she'd wondered if she'd simply been kept in the dark about it. Her conversation with Kimiko earlier only made things more confusing, but she figured now was hardly the time to ask.
Whatever the origin of the song was, there were some things Kyoko felt Kuon deserved to keep private. She wasn't his keeper, and she understood how much his personal space meant to him.
No matter what, she would respect his songwriting—the only medium by which he actually allowed himself to express his emotions—without making him uncomfortable about it.
Kuon smiled at Kijima. "Thank you very much," was all he said.
Kyoko made to follow Kijima, but Kuon's ringed hand rested on her shoulder, and she looked up at him questioningly.
"Can I have a moment with you, Kyoko?" His silky deep voice was calm, even nonchalant.
She paused, startled. "Sure. Of course, honey." She looked at Kijima to assure him that she would join him later, but her boyfriend had already disappeared into the crowd with Murasame and Kuon's other friends.
She glanced back towards Kuon. "Thank you so much for your care towards Kijima."
He smiled. "It's nothing at all. Are you enjoying the party so far?"
Kyoko beamed, trying not to think of the strange tension between herself and Kuon at the billiards room earlier. "Of course."
He regarded her for a laden fraction, his beautiful visage unrevealing, and she desperately wished she could read his mind.
"Come with me," Kuon prompted. "There's something I want to share with you."
Kyoko stilled. "Share? Do you have something to tell me?"
"I do," he said slowly. "Would you be open to hearing it?"
"Of course," Kyoko answered at once. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she took a deep breath, annoyed by her body's uncanny reaction. "But Kijima…"
Her amber eyes met dark, bottomless tunnels that swallowed any pinprick of light.
"Kijima," Kuon said softly, "is going to be in safe hands."
She was sure he meant it. After all, why else would he have invited Kijima here? He must have made certain preparations to receive him.
Ignoring the bizarre pace of her heartbeat, Kyoko smiled tenderly at Kuon. "Whatever it is you want to tell me, I'm all ears. You know that."
He looked at her, and very faintly, she saw the corners of his sensuous mouth curve. It was rare to witness any emotion in his disposition, and a pleasant sensation fluttered through her stomach at the view. Quietly, he held out a ringed hand towards her.
Without any hesitation, she took it, her smaller fingers interlacing with his calloused ones.
He led her up the hardwood stairs, where they were greeted by boisterous throngs of people on the second floor. Kuon reciprocated their greetings urbanely, but there was also a slight distance in his demeanour that said: not right now.
Not for the first time, Kyoko was envious of his ability to convey what he wanted to say without having to utter a single word.
Kuon brought her along the corridor of the third floor, to one of the private bedrooms—his—and he fished out a key from his coat pocket to unlock the door. By locking it, he'd made it implicit to his guests that the bedrooms were out of bounds to them.
Kuon opened the door for her, revealing a fortress of shadows beyond. She stepped inside, feeling a tad puzzled why he'd brought her here. What was it that he wanted to tell her? He shut the door with a click, leaving the room in pitch darkness and making her pulse skip, but then she felt him brush past her. He parted the chiffon drapes by the balcony, allowing the lambent moonbeams to seep through the room and illuminate the double canopy bed in its centre.
He was oddly motionless, his broad shoulders stark in the opaline lustre and his head half-turned towards her, and Kyoko knew he was waiting. Against the moon, he reminded her of a fallen angel, his thick dyed black hair haloed with silver, eyes slants of molten obsidian amidst porcelain skin tone.
She lingered in front of the threshold a beat longer, her heart drumming away, then smiled. Tamping down her nerves, she walked towards the awaiting male figure inside the silent master bedroom, her hand reaching for his. It was just as well—she could talk about Kimiko to him here, too.
Whatever he wanted to tell her, she was ready.
:tbc: