Chapter Text
Fucked.
You were completely and utterly fucked.
Bills for electric, gas, rent, and credit cards were scattered across the cheap coffee table around your computer like you were a student preparing for finals. It was a fire hazard, and you almost wished that you could just drop a match and let it all go up in flames.
If only that would make them actually go away.
The car repairs had maxed out your credit cards- something you’d swore you’d never do- and you were just barely making the minimum payments on them after your landlord jacked up the rent with your renewed lease. The cherry on top? Your job had started cutting your hours for some godforsaken reason. You were their best worker, but apparently even that wasn’t enough to give you shift priority over some dipshit who just got hired. His charisma worked on everyone but you; even your manager had fallen victim to his persuasion. The worst part is he just dicked around on shift, making extra work for everyone else.
I wish he’d get hit by a bus.
Angry tear tracks dried on your face as you adjusted and readjusted your budget to try and finagle your money so that you could afford to not have to move back in with your parents who lived two hours away from the city. You’d thought you had finally gotten to a decent place in life where you didn’t have to stress too much about money, but then everything had gone downhill, and you were watching your near-perfect credit score drop little by little each week as you struggled to keep up with the payments. It had taken you years to get it there.
“There’s no way this is going to work,” you rubbed your face. “I need another job.”
The search bar on your computer was getting its use today as you looked at and applied for several part time jobs. You’d never had an issue getting one before, so long as you got an interview: you were a hard worker and had a good personality. Your worry was more that you needed lots of money ASAP so you could make rent this month. Not many places would give you an advance, especially right away. You needed some kind of cash work, or something that paid by the job. And soon.
You were a bit wary of babysitting for strangers: the last time you’d tried that you had ended up with the parents staying out all night getting drunk and then refusing to pay you for the extra time you’d had to spend while they partied. They hadn’t gotten home until the next day after you’d gotten the kids up and on their way to school (which hadn’t been part of the deal but you were nothing if not a responsible adult). You’d had to call into your morning shift, which hadn’t made your manager happy.
Irresponsible.
You shook your head, not wanting to relive that. Clicking into the second page of search results, a website popped up under the sponsored ads that caught your attention. You dismissed it initially with a roll of your eyes, but found yourself scrolling back up to it, worrying your lip. With a resigned grimace, you clicked into it and prayed there wasn’t any malware that would render your dinosaur of a computer unusable.
Several minutes later, after doing a little research, you caved and signed up to the website, making a profile with a photo that you hadn’t posted online anywhere else (you’d be damned if you let someone reverse image search you). It was a last-ditch effort that you assumed wouldn’t actually work, but you were desperate and willing to open as many avenues as possible to make some money.
Even if you’d swore up and down until you were blue in the face that you’d never do anything like that ever.
The gaudy white, black, and red website made you wrinkle your nose and scowl, but you needed money and if some old bastard was willing to enter a contract with you to pay you for “services”, well… beggars couldn’t be choosers. It wasn’t the first time you’d considered selling your body to get yourself out of a shit situation; it was just the first time you’d decided to go through with it and put yourself out there.
You organized your papers neatly into their files after entering everything into your budget, a permanent worry line imprinted between your brows. You weren’t about to ask your parents or grandparents for help. For one, you and your parents had a habit of butting heads, which was the main reason you’d moved out as soon as you were legally allowed. As much as you were able to get along with them now, it came from the space you’d purposely put between yourself and them. Secondly, your parents weren’t exactly rolling in the dough; things had been tight growing up and your parents hadn’t been able to save for retirement until late in life, leaving them with a strict budget. Your grandparents were more financially stable, but you were loathe to ask for help from them. Unlike some of your other family members, you hated borrowing money from anyone, but especially your grandparents. It was a matter of pride: you didn’t want to seem like you couldn’t take care of yourself. You were the only grandchild to not need a loan or spotted cash from them so far- the responsible daughter of the family when it came to money.
But apparently not in matters regarding dignity.
Your eyes flickered to the website that you’d left open, noting a message had appeared. You figured it was some kind of welcome packet information or something from the site itself since your account had only been up for about a half hour or so at this point. Clicking into it, your brows reached for your hairline.
Hello,
My name is Kyojuro. I am looking for a companion for upcoming events. If you are interested, please let me know and we can schedule a time to go over details.
It was a bit stiff the way the client introduced themself when their username was right on the top of the message, but you figured there could be worse things than being too formal. You immediately replied, scanning the man’s profile while composing your message. There was no profile picture, which was odd, but his identity was verified by the website, which meant he’d provided his ID. Your eyes dropped to the bottom of his requirements, of which there didn’t seem to be many. He was looking for someone who was a good conversationalist, enjoyed food, could act with class, and wouldn’t get attached.
You snorted to yourself.
No way you’d get attached to some rich old fart who wanted some arm candy and wasn’t brave enough to post even a selfie.
Hello, thank you for your message. I am interested, when are you available for a meeting?
The reply dinged seconds later.
I’m available at 2PM today if you have time.
You blinked, rereading the message; that was only a few hours away. You had thought you’d have more time to gather yourself for an in-person meeting. You did need money quickly though; perhaps this was the universe working in your favor for once. Immediately you pulled up some sample contracts, opening tabs to read articles and tips on making sure you covered all your bases. It was better to be over-prepared than under-prepared.
That works for me. Where would you like to meet?
You prayed he wouldn’t suggest some back-alley bar or something. Knowing your luck, you’d end up getting murdered.
How about Sapphire on 18th and North Kensington? They have wonderful scones.
You popped the restaurant into the search bar, eyes bugging out at the prices on the menu online. A baked pastry that cost $18 had better be made of solid gold leaf and sugar. At least you knew this guy could afford fine dining, so it should be somewhat worth your time.
Sounds perfect. I’m looking forward to trying them:)
There was no need to be so stressed about this meeting, you told yourself, gathering up your things to stuff them somewhere out of the way while wondering if the smiley face had been too much. You were already putting together an outfit mentally, and heading for the shower- god knows you needed one before meeting the man who was hopefully going to help solve your money problems. From the cordiality of his message, you might not even have to put out- which was highly unlikely, but a possibility.
You scrubbed your skin until it was borderline raw, making sure to wash everything twice, and your hair too. Blow drying took up precious time, but you needed it somewhat dry before styling and going out. You settled on a classic look, hoping that you’d look sleek and put together even if your clothes were a bit out of date and worn.
As you walked through the living room, you peeked back at the computer to see the client’s reply sitting, almost cheerfully, in your inbox.
Wonderful! I shall see you then.
You decided to only use minimal makeup, settling on eyeliner, mascara, and concealer as needed. Your makeup was several months expired, but you couldn’t afford to replace it yet- still squeezing precious drops out of mangled bottles and stretching your mascara with the remnants of the saline solution you had from when you could afford contacts. The bodycon dress hugged you in all the right places, but reached almost to your ankles, so it was less of a hooker vibe and more “classy evening out”. A fair amount of your decollete was on display, but it was tasteful in your opinion (at least you hoped so). Stepping back from the mirror after strapping into your wedge sandals, you realized you hadn’t put this much effort into your appearance in months.
It’s kind of a nice change…
Usually, you wore your work uniform or jeans, the cute, thrifted dresses sitting untouched in your closet due to a lack of occasions and outings. Makeup was more of a “gotta cover those circles” when you were overtired, but even then it felt like a chore and you usually skipped it. Besides, you forgot to wash it off oftentimes and broke out from sleeping in it. Not a good look when you already went barefaced most days.
You checked your messages again when your phone buzzed. The client had sent a follow-up to his last conversation.
Tell the staff you’re meeting Kyojuro when you get there.
A bit odd, but not completely strange. Maybe he was on good terms with them or something.
With a nod to yourself, you picked up your nice purse -the one you only used on special occasions since it was a very expensive (at least in your opinion) gift you didn’t dare lose or damage- that your friend had gifted you a while back on your 21st birthday. Based on google maps, it would take about a forty-minute bus ride or a fifteen-minute car ride to the restaurant. You honestly didn’t want to pay for parking or have to squeeze your not-so-small, problem-ridden SUV into a parking space meant for compact city cars.
“Bus it is,” you grimace, grabbing your pass and keys.
The transit was thankfully on time today, and you managed to board only two minutes past when the app said it would arrive. Some days the bus just failed to show up for a good hour, leaving you wondering what sinkhole swallowed it. You blamed the shitty city transportation network.
While on the bus, the nerves started eating into your gut.
What if this guy is a creep? He could be putting on a classy front… What if he says he doesn’t want anything, but then changes his mind? Or decides I’m not what he’s looking for? What if he can’t pay me much and this is all just a bluff to get a date or something?
You tried to quiet your mind by drafting a rough contract in the small notebook you’d tucked into your purse alongside lip gloss and a mini travel size deodorant. Your old phone’s charge dropped dangerously fast, even on low power mode, and you quickly turned it off, relying on your memory to get off at the right stop. A phone battery was on the list of things that you needed to get once you had a little extra money, but right now you just needed it to work enough. Holding charge for a couple hours was fine so long as you brought your charging cord when you went out.
You got off at North Kensington, powering your phone on and checking messages. Nothing from this “Kyojuro” yet.
Sapphire was down a few blocks, and you headed in that direction, thankful that you still had about twenty minutes until 2PM; being late would make a poor first impression. Even if this turned out to be a dud interaction, it was good to maintain an air of professionalism and courtesy. You were well aware that you didn’t look like a model (you weren’t near tall enough) but hoped that your manners and bluffed confidence would appeal to the client. Not that you weren’t attractive- you grew into yourself, and maturing past your awkward adolescence helped a great deal. You’d had a hell of an experimental stage that you loathed to recall.
You shook your head to clear it as Sapphire’s imposing glass doors loomed in front of you. Confidence was key to success, even if you needed to fake it, so- with a deep breath- you pulled the door open and strode inside.
The cool air enveloped you alongside the smell of coffee, yeast and sugar. The lighting was natural, coming in from floor to ceiling frosted glass windows that blocked out the business of the city. Bits of pale blue wall peeked out in places, studded with sconces. The conversational lull was low, almost soothingly quiet. The tension in your shoulders eased marginally.
“Good morning,” a woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun greeted you with a blinding smile. “How many?”
You returned her smile with your own. You remembered what the client had told you.
“I’m actually meeting someone here; Kyojuro?”
The woman’s eyes widened a bit, but she nodded and gestured for you to follow her. The two of you wove through tables, skirting other guests until reaching the far side of the large restaurant. There was a little secluded, semi-private room with curtains half-pulled across it. You marveled at the dramatic way the waitress pulled the curtain back for you to step in.
Okay, fancy.
Your gaze settled on the man seated at the table, engrossed in some kind of paperwork sitting in front of him. The shock of bright golden hair, tipped in red, caught your attention first, being dragged forcefully to his eyes when they lifted to meet yours. They burned molten red and orange into your soul, dropping heat into the pit of your stomach with the intensity. There was not a single wrinkle or age spot on his smooth, ruddy skin. His suit jacket looked like it had been tailored to accommodate his broad shoulders, drawing your gaze against your will.
Okay, he’s very attractive. And young. Not at all what I was expecting.
“Hello,” you smiled, still a bit wary. “I’m (Y/N). A pleasure to meet you, Kyojuro.”
The man stood, offering what you assumed was a slight bow, before a grin stretched across his face in a charming greeting.
“Likewise! Please, have a seat.”
He pulled the chair out for you, and you nodded your thanks as you perched on it. Once he returned to his own seat, he straightened the papers and set them aside, folding his hands in front of him and resting them on the table.
“I appreciate that you were willing to meet on such short notice,” Kyojuro’s stare pinned you down with a force you didn’t know another human could posses.
He offered you a menu, which you took, choking at the prices and dying inside before asking for water to start with- you could order your $18 scone later.
“I was free today, it was no trouble,” you kept your posture in check, reminding yourself to not slouch. “You said you needed someone to attend an event with you?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I’m afraid it’s rather short-notice and so I’ve been scrambling to find a suitable companion.”
“I’m sure with a face like that you have no shortage of admirers,” you said, voicing the question on your mind. “Is there a reason you’re looking for… a companion like myself?”
Kyojuro took a long breath through his nose, readjusting in his seat as if he was uncomfortable. You tilted your head, waiting for his answer. When he opened his mouth to speak, you were not expecting the answer you received.
“How familiar are you with MediFlame?”
Your brain went static as you tried to figure out what he was asking. Finally, you let out a small laugh.
“I’m not sure I know what that is,” you admitted. “Sorry.”
Kyojuro appeared surprised, but something akin to relief flooded his face as well. He waved his hands.
“No, no, it’s fine. MediFlame is the company I work for. I have a rather high-ranking position and attend many events. It can become rather taxing, especially as I am… unattached.”
You could read between the lines now.
“I’m hoping to find someone I can use as a… deterrent to the other ladies who are,” Kyojuro’s face turned a bit pink at the admission, “…vying for my attention.”
“You need a fake date?”
Kyojuro nodded. You almost laughed at the embarrassed look on his face. It wouldn’t have been polite though, so you decided to dive right into things.
“I see. And what made you choose me?”
You knew doubting yourself didn’t look good, but asking an honest question couldn’t hurt. Besides, you asked it with enough confidence that it didn’t sound self-deprecating at least.
“There are a vast number of girls you could have chosen. Is there something specific that you were looking for?”
Kyojuro pondered a moment, taking a minute to think over your question before replying.
“I have interviewed several women already,” he told you. “For some reason or another none of them were a good fit.”
It didn’t necessarily answer your question, but you didn’t press any further. It was time to get to the nitty-gritty of this meeting.
“How many and what kind of events are you looking for accompaniment on?” You had pulled your small notebook out and were making marks in it. “And can you detail the finer points of what would be expected of me?”
Kyojuro’s eyes flickered from your mouth to your pen and back again.
“At this moment I only have one event, but I usually have about three a month that I would need accompaniment for, as well as an occasional work dinner that, if you’re willing, it would be wonderful to have a companion for as well. Events tend to last about four to six hours beginning to end, usually afternoons or evenings, and you would be acting as my ‘fake date’. You would mainly be staying by my side for the duration of the event, but you would also be expected to talk with other guests as well. There aren’t many requirements, only that you act with decorum and tact.”
“As we all should,” you muttered, not realizing you’d said it out loud. You paused, pursing your lips and blushing.
“Sorry, I-”
Kyojuro grinned, waving his hand.
“It was no issue. Any other questions?”
“Is this position a purely companionship role, or will I be required to provide services as well?”
Kyojuro furrowed his brows, confused, before the realization hit him and he cleared his throat.
“Just-just a companion. Nothing… sexual.”
Fuck yeah, jackpot, you thought to yourself, but there was the tiniest twinge of disappointment. He was kind of cute.
“Will I be required to pay for special or new clothing for each event?”
“I will pay for anything that you would need,” Kyojuro assured you. “If you need clothes, shoes, makeup, hair- all of that you can bill to me.”
“Transportation and meals as well?”
“Yes,” Kyojuro nodded. “What are your rates?”
After tallying some things, you circled a number and looked up. You took a deep breath through your nose, praying that you would come off relaxed and confident even though you hated discussing money matters with anyone, let alone a future employer.
“Three hundred per event up to six hours, plus an extra hundred for each hour past six.”
It should help cover my bills enough, even if he only needs me once a month. Hopefully it’s not too much.
“Three hundred thousand,” Kyojuro said, tapping his pen as he looked down at some paperwork. “Still cheaper than the last woman I interviewed.”
His laughter sounded genuine, but your stomach fell out at his words.
“No,” you corrected him, the movement of your shaking head drawing his gaze. “Three hundred dollars. Not three hundred thousand.”
What kind of maniac asks a man for 300k for six hours of non-sexual companionship?!?! you thought to yourself. What kind of man could AFFORD that?
Kyojuro paused, his pen hovering over the papers. He stared at you for a good minute.
“Say that again?”
His eyes were locked on your mouth as you repeated yourself, and his thick brows climbed towards his hairline in disbelief.
“Only three hundred?” he repeated. “Three zero zero?”
It was a little unnerving, but you nodded again, starting to feel sweat build up on your back even in the cool building. Kyojuro ran his hand through his fiery hair.
“Have you done this before?”
His words were gentle. It sent a bullet of shame right to your chest.
“N-no, you’re my first client,” you said, a pit forming in your stomach as you wrung your hands together in your lap.
“And you don’t know who I am, or what MediFlame is?”
You were starting to wonder if you’d missed something. He was asking a lot of questions that made you feel stupid, regardless of how nice he was.
“No, I don’t. I’m truly sorry.”
You were trying to hold back the sudden tears that were forming in your eyes, wondering where you’d fucked up. It was obvious that this guy was either important or worked for someone important and was used to being recognized. With his distinctive look, you were sure you would’ve also known who he was, but you weren’t caught up on celebrity news and didn’t really pay much attention to anything outside of your little bubble, especially when bills started piling up.
Your hands scrunched the fabric of your dress into wrinkles as you clenched your fists.
“You shouldn’t sell yourself so low,” Kyojuro sat back, writing down a few things. “At least double what you’re asking- scratch that. Triple it.”
“O-oh,” you felt a bit silly, blinking away the tears and letting out a relieved gasp. The shame still lingered heavily though. “I see. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Of course,” Kyojuro said. “It would reflect poorly on myself if I took advantage of your naivety.”
You could clearly feel the power dynamic between the two of you as Kyojuro filled out a paper and flipped it so you could see. He’d begun drafting a rough contract with the numbers he suggested to you in the payment section, and you ripped a page from your notebook to hand to him.
“These are my other requirements,” you said. “I would like them included in the contract.”
Kyojuro scanned the handwriting, smiling at the way you looped your g’s and y’s the same way.
“You will not be required to drink alcohol at events?” he asked.
“I have a low tolerance,” you explained. And prefer not to make a fool of myself.
Kyojuro made adjustments to the document and turned it so you could see. The two of you ironed out finer details after you ordered your scone, making sure to cover all your bases. Kyojuro seemed to be impressed by the number of questions you asked, and how thorough you were with making sure each item was fully addressed. You were equally relieved by his willingness to compromise on things. Some normal conversation slipped in between contract discussion, and you learned he had a younger brother and that he enjoyed going to the gym and reading. You shared that you also enjoyed reading and asked for a recommendation of material.
Your scone wasn’t made of gold leaf, but it was incredibly delicious, and you told Kyojuro so. A pleased look plastered itself on his face as he went off on a ramble about the food served at the Sapphire, which was amusing. From what you could gather he was a foodie and enjoyed trying new things.
“I’ll get this sent over to my lawyer and have him look at it before you sign anything,” Kyojuro said. “Just to make sure there’s nothing we missed. This document is considered legally binding as it does not include prostitution or sex work, so should either of us violate the terms we can be legally prosecuted.”
“I appreciate your transparency,” you told him.
“I do my best to be an ethical businessman,” Kyojuro said, handing you a card as both of you stood to leave. “And don’t worry about the bill; I’ve already taken care of it.”
You didn’t know when he’d found the time but were grateful you didn’t spend any of the money you didn’t have on the exorbitantly priced pastry you’d consumed. The two of you walked to the front, and you could feel the edges of the small card pressing into your palm. Kyojuro asked if you’d driven, and you told him that you’d taken the bus. He offered to call you an uber, which you declined but thanked him for.
“I’m attending a charity event next week, and I’ll have the contract sent over for you to check before then. Let me know if there are any changes needed, and I will have them fixed before the event. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/N).”
“A pleasure to meet you as well, Mr… Kyojuro?”
You sounded a little unsure, and he laughed.
“Just Kyojuro is fine. No need for formalities.”
You wanted to point out that he’d called you “Miss”, but it didn’t really bother you that much. Instead, you smiled, waving your goodbye to the bright man and heading towards the bus stop. You peered at the card in your grasp when you had a moment, noting the phone number plastered on it with Kyojuro’s name and “MediFlame”.
You opened your phone on the bus, googling the company so you could at least know what Kyojuro did. You preferred to have a good grasp on the situations you put yourself in, and to not look a fool in the future.
You clicked the Wikipedia link for the company. The text took a second to load before filling your screen.
MediFlame is a pharmaceutical company started in 1983 by Japanese pharmacist Rengoku Seijuro. The company was initially based out of Japan but was transferred overseas to America when Rengoku Seijuro immigrated with his family. The company manufactures, produces, and distributes single-use and multi-use medical supplies, medication, and medical equipment. MediFlame is a parent company to FireTech and MediTech, and partnered with Butterfly Medical in 2017 to collaborate on cancer research.
Your eyes scanned the remainder of the Wikipedia page, glazing over some of the terminology in the middle, before backing out and reading through a recent article.
In recent years, MediFlame has seen a massive surge in both popularity and demand following the installation of Seijuro Rengoku’s grandson, Kyojuro Rengoku as CEO. The young heir has made several structural changes to the company, resulting in better pay for employees, improved working conditions, and more funding towards research and development for vaccines and cancer treatment. Many praise the new CEO for his work in reducing the cost of life-saving medication to the common consumer, which has greatly affected the public’s perception of the company and resulted in high levels of support. Initially it was assumed these changes would cost the company a great deal in profits, but the following years proved otherwise as MediFlame’s profits surpassed every other medical supplier in America and is currently vying with Kibu Supplies for the number one spot globally.
Farther down, your gaze snagged on an impossibly terrifying sentence next to a picture of the man you’d just left a meeting with.
At this time, the handsome young CEO Kyojuro Rengoku is estimated to be worth about 14.2 billion dollars, with his worth growing exponentially each year he has been active in the company.
Chapter Text
The day of the charity ball hosted by MediFlame was upon you, and by some stroke of luck it was also a day that your shit coworker had stolen your usual shift, so the entire day was free. Kyojuro had messaged a few days prior with the updated contract for you to look over and sign, as well as a request for your measurements, stating he was going to ask a friend of his to tailor you a gown, unless you’d rather just go shopping for a dress yourself (he had provided suggestions of boutiques, assuring you that he would have them put it on his account). You chose the first option, the idea of going somewhere and shopping on someone else’s money unnerving. You’d stopped in at the address Kyojuro provided the day before for a final fitting with the tailor. The tailor had been flamboyant in a way you’d only ever witnessed on television by magicians and drag queens. Between his non-stop chatter and the glittery patterns surrounding you on every surface you nearly missed when the conversation turned to his girlfriends.
“I’ve already made them all custom dresses and gotten them jewelry; they told me I need to think more creatively,” the man- Tengen- brandished a pair of shears. “So I’m fishing around for ideas.”
“Sorry- girlfriends?” you clarified, arms still sticking out as he checked seams and pinned.
“Yeah, hot as fuck- all three of ‘em.”
Your brain took a second to process the information, realizing that Tengen absolutely had the charisma to pull and maintain multiple partners, before answering.
“Well… what are their hobbies?” you asked, turning as Tengen instructed.
“Suma likes baking and watching reality TV, Makio is into martial arts, and Hinatsuru likes painting and art.”
You hummed to yourself, chewing your lip.
“Do you like any of those things?”
“Fashion in my passion, sweetheart,” he stepped back to look you over. “I usually work on sketching designs while they do their thing.”
“What if you did like… cooking classes with- Suma was it? And then take a martial arts class with Makio, and a painting or pottery class with- sorry I forgot her name,” you tapered off apologetically.
He put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. The pink Swarovski crystals on Tengen’s acrylic nails glittered in the bright lights of his studio.
“Hm… they have been asking to spend more time together. Perhaps it’s a good way to kill two birds with one stone.”
“And maybe you’ll find out you really enjoy those things too,” you said. “Learning new things is always fun!”
His face split into a toothy grin as he leaned against the table off to the side in his studio as you gave him a final turn while he inspected his work.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Tengen helped you out of the dress, carefully avoiding sticking you with the variety of pins he’d placed. His gaze was pleased when you looked up at him after wriggling out, hair falling out of the ponytail it had been in earlier.
“I’ll have this sent to the hotel you’re meeting Kyojuro at tomorrow,” Tengen informed you. “My girlfriends will be there to help with the makeup and hair.”
“Thanks,” you stretched. “I appreciate all the trouble you’re going through to make me a dress.”
“Nonsense,” Tangen waved you off, setting the garment down on the table and pulling spools of thread out to match the color. “I get a new canvas to decorate however I please and I get to bill it all to Kyojuro. It’s been a while since he’s given me free reign over a project like this.”
“Have you designed dresses for his dates before?” you asked, curiosity suddenly at the front of your mind as you shimmied back into your pants behind a divider that provided a modicum of modesty. Not that Tengen hadn’t already seen you in your pitifully old underwear already (he’d discreetly arranged to have new ones sent alongside the dress).
“Once or twice, but they were usually adamant about what kind of design they wanted. I had to work around a lot of requirements that cramped my creativity. Can’t work with a canvas that argues every decision you make.”
You laughed.
“Well, as long as what I’m wearing is appropriate for the event that’s all that matters.”
“You’ll be the best dressed girl at the charity ball,” Tengen said with the confidence of man so self-assured you had no choice but to believe him.
Now you were waiting for the uber to pick you up at a location near your apartment. You had chosen to send Kyojuro a public location close by for safety. He hadn’t given you any red flags as of yet, but you were still being cautious about the situation. The last thing you needed was to become reckless.
A black car pulled up and put its four-ways on. The driver side door opened, and a man unfolded to his full height, lifting dark sunglasses away from his crystalline blue eyes framed in thick lashes. His hair was a pale reddish color that bordered on pink, and his face was lined with dark banded tattoos. He wore a suit, collar unbuttoned at the top.
“(Y/N)?” he asked, quirking a brow.
You nodded, smiling politely.
“Hop in.”
“You’re the uber?” you shifted your bag on your shoulder. Even though you had been told that you would have your hair and makeup done at the hotel, you’d spent a little time making sure you didn’t show up looking like a drowned rat, and you decided to bring your nice purse again, considering your normal cross body bag was full of very Not-Classy-and-Dignified pins you’d accumulated over the years.
The man barked a laugh, and you caught sight of his sharp canines. Something about him sent a shiver down your spine, and you got the feeling that his nice clothes were camouflaging a distinctly wild personality.
“I’m Kyojuro’s chauffeur, Akaza. He told me to pick you up.”
“O-oh… I see, thank you,” you hesitated. While the man gave off a scrappy, Cheshire danger, he also had a goofy smile playing on his lips and in his cat-like eyes. You decided to text Kyojuro confirmation once you slid into the car to be sure you weren’t being kidnapped by a rando.
(Y/N): Akaza picked me up; thank you.
Not ten seconds later your phone buzzed, Akaza already merging smoothly back into traffic as you turned your phone face up.
Kyojuro: Good! Akaza knows about our contract, so if he brings it up you are free to answer him if you’d like, but don’t feel obligated to entertain him if you don’t want to. He might look intimidating but he’s a decent fellow:D
You huffed a quiet laugh through your nose at the emoticon.
“Something funny?”
Your eyes darted up to Akaza’s gaze staring at you from the rear view mirror. You paused, not keen on letting slip the fact that you thought your employer’s message cute. Finally, you shrugged a little and laughed awkwardly, deciding to slide into a white lie instead.
“Just texted Kyojuro that you picked me up. He was telling me you’re harmless.”
“And that’s funny?”
You picked up on a note of curiosity alongside the petulant tone. Akaza’s eyes were back on the road, keeping an eye out for the reckless city drivers that plagued every densely populated metropolis.
“I don’t know. I think I just didn’t expect him to worry.”
The silence settled over the two of you for a moment before you chose to break it in an attempt to gauge Akaza’s personality.
“You remind me of my younger brother. He’s a redhead too.”
“Oh yeah?”
You could hear the grin in Akaza’s voice.
“Mhm,” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “And skinny as a beanpole. He’d disappear if he turned sideways. Huge people person; he’s in college right now for communications.”
“Sounds like a good field for him to go into.”
“Yeah, he’s a smarty pants. Both my brothers are.”
“You do any college?”
Your eyes glanced out the window to the bright signs of the storefronts along the street.
“A bit. Ended up just working though. College isn’t cheap, especially for what I wanted to go for.”
The laugh you let out was dry and awkward, and you cringed internally, but Akaza picked up the conversation with ease.
“I get that. I didn’t end up going, even though Kyojuro offered to pay for it. I thought about a trade school, but in the end I figured working for the Rengoku’s would be better financially. And Kyojuro is a good boss.”
“That’s good to hear.”
It was always reassuring when employees liked their boss. You mentally ticked Kyojuro up one spot in your head, moving him from “Maybe Good” to “Probably Very Nice”.
It felt natural to chat with Akaza, and you didn’t realize how much you missed just having a conversation with someone. You hadn’t really been able to make friends in the city after you moved, and your friends back home had become busy with their own adult lives, leaving you to subsist on a diet of customer service interactions. Talking to another adult without having to paste on a face of measured joy with a side of unending patience was refreshing. Akaza put you at ease with his sarcasm and dramatic antics. You’d expected Kyojuro’s chauffeur to be a bit more polished, but decided you preferred the unpredictability of Akaza’s words. The unexpected comments and questions forced distraction upon you with a welcome insistence. By the time you made it to the hotel, you almost weren’t nervous for the charity ball.
“Thanks for the ride,” you reached for the door.
“Whoa, whoa,” Akaza cut you off and jumped out of his seat. “Kyojuro will have my head if you touch that door handle. Allow me.”
“Can’t have that now, can we?” you said in mock seriousness. “That would make it rather difficult to chauffeur him around.”
“You have no idea.”
You brushed a stray hair away from your face as Akaza directed you to go to the front desk and let them know you were a guest of Kyojuro Rengoku.
The hotel was lavish; a doorman was stationed outside, his thick handlebar mustache almost comically large on his sharply planed face. You thanked him when he opened the door for you, hurrying inside in the most dignified way you could. You’d opted for your nicest pair of jeans and tucked your newest (over a year old) black unisex t-shirt into the high waistband, but nothing could be done about your slightly beat-up white sneakers. The receptionist’s eyes immediately dropped to your purse, then your shoes, as you approached.
“Hi,” you mustered up a smile even though you felt like shrinking in on yourself. “I’m Kyojuro Rengoku’s guest?”
You could see disbelief (and disdain, you thought) in the woman’s eyes as she clicked around on her computer.
“Name?”
“(Y/N),” you said, spilling out your last name as well and spelling it out of habit.
You’d made too many phone calls with insurance and the bank lately…
You shifted where you stood, afraid that somehow your name wouldn’t show up in the hotel’s systems as Kyojuro’s guest. The woman’s eyebrows rose fractionally, condescending smile freezing at the same time her hand did as she scrolled through the reservations.
“Ah, here you are. Room 917; here’s the keycard.”
The woman fumbled behind the desk before sliding a plastic room key across the glossy surface. You managed a polite thanks, ducking your head a little as you did so. The receptionist was all smiles as you hurried away, a stark difference from seconds earlier.
Creepy.
Finding the elevators was the easiest part of things so far, followed by the ride up to the ninth floor. Stepping off the elevator, you steadied yourself against the wall and waited for the momentary vertigo to subside.
Fucking elevators. You would’ve taken the stairs if it was only a couple floors up.
“917… 917…” you mused, following the ascending door numbers until you reached the correct one.
You swiped the card, opening the door and entering the suite. The scent of freshly laundered sheets and gentle potpourri greeted your nose. The room was large, and you weren’t particularly fond of the floor to ceiling windows paneling the far wall. While the view was breathtaking, your fear of heights was also breathtaking; your irrational fear of suddenly plummeting down nine stories made your stomach turn.
You ignored the windows, flopping onto the bed and relishing in the feeling of high thread count sheets and satin duvet covers. You had expected Tengen’s girlfriends to be here already, since he mentioned they were doing your hair and makeup, but there was no trace of anyone else in the room. You could allow yourself a moment to relax.
You were pulled from the blissful temptation to take a nap by the rattling buzz of your phone against its five dollar case that had its faux gold detailing all but erased by time and wear. With a sigh that morphed into a groan, you picked it up and turned it over. Kyojuro’s name pinged your screen, and you hastily sat up.
Did you make it to the hotel?
You smiled a little to yourself before shaking your head.
Yes, I’m here and waiting for Tengen’s girlfriends. When do I need to be ready by?
Kyojuro's reply was swift.
They should have been there by now…
I shall pick you up in two hours
Let me know if you need anything- if you want something from the hotel they can charge it to my account
You rubbed your temples, flopping back onto the bed after sending your thanks to Kyojuro. Exhaustion appeared to have made its home in your bones as of late. The last few days you had picked up late shifts to try and get what hours you could, but they were micro shifts and it barely covered the gas it took to get to and from work. You scowled up at the crown molding. As if on cue, your phone vibrated in your hand, your manager’s number lighting up the screen. As much as you didn’t want to answer, you picked up anyway.
“Hello?”
“Can you come in?”
You resisted the urge to hurl your phone across the room.
“I wasn’t on the schedule.”
“Douma called in last minute with a family emergency. I need someone to manage the shift since I’m working out of the North location.”
Fucking shit-ass Douma-
“Unfortunately, I have a prior commitment I can’t cancel.”
“You wanted more hours, didn’t you?” the annoyed voice came through tinny on your phone’s speaker.
“More hours scheduled,” you clarified rubbing your temples. “I work my appointments and other life responsibilities around the schedule you send out.”
“Look, the West store won’t manage itself-”
“I can come in early tomorrow if you need me to straighten it out, but I can’t do anything about it today,” you cut her off. “And I’m not legally required to cover a shift I wasn’t scheduled for.”
The sound of your hotel door opening made you jump, craning your head around to see three women trundling in with bags in hand.
“Look, I have things to do, if you want me to come in early tomorrow then text me, but I can’t do today. Gotta go, bye.”
You hung up before your manager could get a word in edgewise, holding back a massive sigh of irritation. The clamor entering the hotel room covered up the slight wheeze that escaped your lips as you stood. Two of the women were arguing with each other, bickering over some slight you had missed upon entry. The one in front was completely ignoring them, busy unpacking several bulky storage units that remind you of your grandpa’s fishing tackle boxes.
“Hello, I’m Hinatsuru,” the calm women said, straightening. “And this is Makio and Suma. We apologize for the delay.”
“Hello,” you smiled, trying to take in the energy before you.
A brunette wearing a bright red fitted shirt with a plunging neckline was glaring at the watery-eyed woman next to her, not even looking at you when she opened her mouth.
“Well, we wouldn’t have been late if Suma could fucking navigate properly.”
“I told you I’m bad with directions!” The poor woman looked ready to melt into a puddle.
“It’s alright,” you waved your hands. “No harm done. I wasn’t even waiting that long.”
Hinatsuru led you to sit at the vanity adjacent to the bed. The countertop was quickly scattered with more products than you’d ever imagined one person to own. Your face was literally in Suma’s hands a second later, her sniffles accompanied by instructions for you to close your eyes. Makio had taken to laying out several different hairsprays, oils, and paraphernalia. Hinatsuru had disappeared somewhere else to do god-knows-what, but you just sat and enjoyed the feeling of gentle fingers touching your face.
How long had it been since you’d felt human contact like this? You wondered. It had been at least a year since you’d visited your parents and had a good hug. Maybe that one time a coworker had patted you on the back? You almost shook your head, but remembered to keep still as Suma tapped something on your skin.
The gooseflesh developing from the quiet concentration of the women around you paired with the ASMR-esque noises filling the room threatened to put you to sleep. You hadn’t been this relaxed in ages.
“You’re pretty quiet.”
Makio’s terse voice pulled you from your sleepy thoughts. You opened your eyes to see her turning a flat iron over in her hands.
“Makio!” Suma chided. “There’s nothing wrong with being quiet.”
“What’s your deal, anyway?”
The intense stare pointed at you shriveled your insides a touch, the soft comfortable feeling fleeing far and fast.
“I’m sorry?” you tried to offer a smile, but it was as weak and watery as Suma’s face when she arrived.
Makio pointed the flat iron at you. “What are you after?”
“Kyojuro?” you blinked. “I’m… his date?”
You floundered, suddenly realizing that the three women before you were not privy to the details of your contract with Kyojuro. Were you able to tell them?
“Hmph,” Makio snapped the flat iron, plugging it in. “Weirdest date he’s had yet. Don’t worry, I won’t fry your hair off.”
Her words did nothing to alleviate the sudden uneasy feeling in your gut. A figure at your side tutted.
“Makio, relax. Personally, I find (Y/N) a refreshing change to Kyojuro’s usual pick of a plus one. And even if she is after his money, weren’t all of them?”
You wanted to smile thanks at Hinatsuru for coming to your rescue, but her words twisted in your stomach. Makio huffed, rolling her eyes while she carded through your hair.
“I guess. But you really need to get better at this whole ‘fake poor’ thing. You’re trying too hard.”
“Huh?” you blinked at her in the mirror.
“Girl, your phone is like, ten generations old,” Makio sectioned your hair while Suma stepped back for a minute. “And the cracked screen protector? It’s a dead give away you’re trying too hard. Your pants are a little better, but you honestly look like you walked into a thrift store and just pulled the first pair off the rack that looked outdated. They’re at least six seasons old, and the cut is atrociously out of style, even if they are in decent condition. What, did you google ‘how to look poor’ and go with the first result? All you need to do is rub some dirt on your face and you’ll look homeless.”
“Makio!” Hinatsuru’s voice was shockingly cold, and it snapped the other woman into silence as she styled your hair.
“Hah… yeah,” you agreed weakly, not sure of how to reply. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”
You could feel a plethora of unanswered questions hanging in the air, and the comfortable feeling from earlier had evaporated. You weren’t sure how to correct the misunderstanding without sounding like a gold digger and exposing your contract with Kyojuro.
“Umm…” you chewed your lip. “What’s… in season right now?”
Makio froze, halfway through twisting your hair around the flat iron to curl the ends. Suma’s little gasp made you worry you’d blown your cover somehow until she patted your hand.
“(Y/N)… are you not fashion savvy?”
“…no?” you sounded unsure, but it only lent itself to you cause, because all the women looked at you with pity. “I don’t know much… I just try to not be too over the top.”
“Oh, honey,” Hinatsuru snapped a box closed. “If you were just trying to look down to earth there’s better ways to do that. You don’t have to have an old phone or clothes to do that, just a little subtlety.”
And now they are back to thinking you were pretending to be poor… great.
“I can send you some recommendations and put a few sensible outfits together if you’d like,” Hinatsuru offered. “A good first step would be to ditch your fake phone and just use your normal one.”
“I got it,” Makio snatched your phone off the bed and tossed it into the trash can under the vanity.
You lunged forward to intercept it, but missed, hearing it thunk heavily into the bottom of the bin.
“Fuck,” you muttered, fishing around until you felt the thin frame of your phone brush against your fingers.
You sat back on the seat, gripping it tightly so no one could take it from you. You couldn’t afford a new one, so if this one broke you were shit out of luck. It took a moment to realize all the women were staring at you like you’d grown a second head. You stared back at them, no excuse magically appearing as to why you- who was very much a rich lady with no sense of fashion and not an actually poor customer service worker apparently- would dig a decade-old phone out of the garbage can.
“Um… I don’t have another phone right now. I… lost it?”
Your excuse was flimsier than a wet paper towel, but it satisfied the three women enough for them to return to their respective jobs. Makio finished your hair, mounding it up on your head, while Suma put the final touches on your makeup. Hinatsuru, you realized, had been unpacking your dress and steaming every little, microscopic crease out of it. Once you’d been primped, tugged, twisted, and powdered, they helped you into the gown. Tengen had gone with a classic black dress, with an off-the- shoulder neckline and fitted wrist-length sleeves. The skirt flared from the waist into gentle folds that ended just above the ankle, and you were provided with black suede round-toe stiletto pumps.
Hinatsuru zipped you into the dress, which fit like a glove. You’d never felt more luxurious than the moment it was on, the soft fabric melting against your skin. An experimental twirl had you feeling a bit like the princess you imagined yourself to be as a little girl, and a giggle escaped your throat unbidden.
“It’s gorgeous!”
“Of course it is,” Makio scoffed, putting her tools away. “Tengen is a master designer. He’s leagues ahead of everyone else.”
“You look lovely,” Hinatsuru smiled, handing you a small box.
You opened it to reveal gold earrings. You reached up to your titanium ones, tugging them out.
“Do I have somewhere to keep these until after?”
“You want them back?”
Beep, beep; wrong answer again!
“Yes,” you clutched them in your slightly sweaty palm. “They’re… sentimental.”
Not really, but they’re the only ones you had.
“Just leave them in the box, then.”
Once your jewelry was swapped out to all gold- with a delicate matching chain placed around your neck and a bracelet on your left wrist- you felt as if a fairy godmother had sprinkled you with some magic to turn you into a princess for the night. You refrained from commenting on it, not planning to arouse any more suspicion than you already had.
A knock at the door startled you, and you spun towards the entrance. A moment later Kyojuro appeared, filling the door frame with his broad shoulders.
“Hello, Kyojuro,” Hinatsuru smiled, packing her things up neatly.
“Good morning.”
You straightened yourself, clasping your hands together in front of you and offering a slight smile. Crimson eyes looked you up and down as he entered the room, the three women scurrying to put their things away while stealing glances at the two of you. If the room wasn’t air conditioned, you probably would have started sweating while Kyojuro raked his eyes over you for what felt like an eternity. Finally, his face broke into a broad grin.
“Tengen has done a wonderful job. You look lovely.”
“Thank you,” you ducked your head, the compliment still ballooning your ego despite knowing it was just him being polite. “You also look very nice.”
Kyojuro’s classic black suit was accented with a red pocket handkerchief and satin tie. The color matched his eyes and the ends of his hair. Speaking of, you noted he had it slicked back from his face, his mane tamed in the front. The back appeared to have given his stylist (of himself if he did it) some trouble as it looked a touch wild and unruly still.
“Thank you,” Kyojuro’s lips settled into a pleasant smile as he offered you his arm. “Akaza has pulled the car around for us. The gala isn’t far, but I figured you’d prefer not to walk any more than needed in those shoes.”
You pursed your lips to hold back a laugh as you called your thanks to the women who’d helped you get ready.
“I appreciate the concern. We’ll be lucky if I make it to the car without a mishap.”
Kyojuro had no qualms about his guffaw as he led you out of the room. You were pleased with yourself for getting him to laugh, although you hadn’t thought what you said to be that humorous.
“I shall keep you from falling, worry not.”
“Ah, my knight in shining armor,” you scrunched your nose when you smiled this time, imagining Kyojuro clanking around in heavy metal plate armor.
It amused you how Kyojuro was fixated on watching your face when you talked, eyes darting to your lips and eyes as you strode along. The two of you made it to the car without accident, greeting Akaza with slight waves. This time Kyojuro opened your door for you, gesturing for you to enter with a flourish. You slid in, careful not to crease your dress. Kyojuro closed your door gently, entering on the other side.
The air wasn’t uncomfortable, but as you settled into the car, nerves started to eat at your stomach. You were about to accompany the world’s most eligible bachelor to a charity ball. All eyes would be on the two of you, if the articles you’d been reading were correct. This was a large event, and you didn’t want to make your employer- Kyojuro- look bad because you were ignorant.
“Um,” you hesitated.
Kyojuro was occupied with his phone, tapping away like he didn’t hear you. Your stomach grew tighter with each passing second of silence. After a moment he tucked it back into his pocket, and his eyes darted back to you, lighting up when he realized you were looking at him.
“I did a little research on the Butterfly Gala,” you shifted the clutch that Hinatsuru had shoved into your hands to the seat beside you, fiddling with the wrist strap. “It’s a charity raising money for cancer, correct?”
Kyojuro nodded, making a noise of confirmation in his throat.
“I’m assuming that MediFlame will be making a donation, and that you are representing the company?”
Kyojuro’s smile widened and he nodded again, a satisfactory look plastering itself across his face.
“You seem to be well informed.”
“I did some research,” you confessed. “I was hoping you would be able to give me a run-through of the night as best as you could so I can be prepared?”
“Yeah, tell the girl what she’ll be getting into,” Akaza laughed loudly, throwing a glance back at the two of you.
Kyojuro pursed his lips at Akaza’s comment, shaking his head.
“Of course. I should have provided an itinerary.”
“I did look online and I saw the one on the website,” you assured him. “I just wanted to know if there’s anything I should be aware of that might not have been in there. Or if there are any people I should look out for or topics to stay away from.”
“Politics, religion, and rumors,” Kyojuro’s answer was swift and concise. “Those conversations never go well.”
“Noted.”
It’ll be like spending the holidays with family.
“There will be a dinner, an auction, and then mingling and dancing. If anything at the auction catches your eye, you are more than welcome to bid on it.”
“What kind of things do they auction?” you couldn’t help asking.
Kyojuro didn’t seem phased and started ticking things off on his fingers as the car eased to a stop.
“Jewelry, artwork, wine, vacations, antique furniture; a variety of things. Anything that is donated of high enough value is auctioned and the proceeds go to the foundation.”
You hummed a reply as Kyojuro stepped out of the vehicle after Akaza opened the door, following suit.
“Shall we?”
You looked up at him. Kyojuro’s bright face was relaxed and warm, inviting you to take his proffered right arm. You placed on hand around his elbow, clasping the other on his forearm.
“It would be a little odd if I said no now, wouldn’t it?”
Kyojuro’s eyes crinkled and warmth flooded your body pleasantly.
“You may reserve the right to back out if you so choose,” Kyojuro’s breath fanned over your ear. “But that does mean you wouldn’t get to see any of the auction items.”
Gooseflesh tripped up your neck and you resisted the urge to shudder. If the man at your side noticed, he said nothing, the two coal-red eyes set straight ahead as he escorted you to the doors.
You had to remind yourself to not stare like a buffoon at the high ceilings and crystal chandeliers lighting up the rooms. The interior seemed to be straight out of some kind of fantasy, with gauzy fabrics clinging to the bodies of women standing in clusters, tables piled high with fancy hors d’oeuvres balanced on shiny tiered platters, music coming from somewhere you could not pick out in this sea of gentle chatter broken only by the occasional titter or guffaw.
“It’s so fancy,” you murmured.
There was no reply from Kyojuro, but you took comfort in the fact that he seemed at ease. You could feel eyes on the two of you from the moment you stepped in the door, many of which belonged to young ladies. There was a shift in the atmosphere you could almost feel palpably.
Don’t forget you are here as a paid date, you chided yourself. Be confident! Not stupid though- just confident and pleasant.
“Kyojuro!”
A clear tone chirruped through the air, carrying itself toward the two of you alongside a lithe woman with dark hair pulled into a severe updo. It took less than a moment for you to school your face into a mild look as you were approached. Kyojuro hadn’t paused in his stride, and you hesitated, not sure if he was ignoring her on purpose, but you’d rather not be assumed to be rude. The resistance of you stopping tugged Kyojuro’s attention to where you were looking. You watched his brows lift in surprise only to shutter back into the same expression you wore as if he had been doing it his entire life.
“Katya,” he inclined his head to her slightly.
“I’m so glad you came,” the woman’s face barely moved as she spoke, and your traitorous mind wondered how much botox had been injected to restrict her cheeks and brows to such an extent. “It’s been a while since you’ve attended an event like this.”
“Unfortunately, work has kept me rather busy.”
“A shame,” Katya managed a sympathetic look. “And who is this? I have not seen her around before.”
Sharp eyes raked over you, making you feel as if even one hair was out of place you would fail some kind of test she was conducting. Thankfully, Kyojuro did not leave you to fend for yourself.
“This is (Y/N),” he placed his large, warm hand over where yours rested on his forearm. “She is my date.”
“Date? How nice!” Against all odds Katya managed to squish her eyes shut in a way that conveyed to anyone with half a brain that she was not pleased with this answer. “We were all wondering when you’d finally find someone after your last girlfriend. And she’s so pretty too!”
The words were kind, but they jabbed in an unpleasant manner beneath your ribs. This was the first time you could recall where it was obvious that someone was seethingly against you existing in the same space as them.
“Please, you’re too kind,” you forced your most cordial smile despite the sour feeling in your stomach.
“Ah, excuse us,” Kyojuro offered a cordial nod to the narrow-eyed woman trying to telepathically explode you with her mind. “It was lovely to see you again, Katya.”
He drew you away with a firm arm, guiding you towards a group of people several feet away.
“Katya can be persistent,” Kyojuro whispered. “She is not the worst of the ladies I’ve met, but definitely the oldest.”
“Oldest?” you echoed.
“She is nearing forty.”
You coughed to hide the choking noise that escaped your lips. You then coughed again to hide the laugh that followed.
“I’m glad you find it humorous.” The pout that settled into Kyojuro’s brows amused you.
“I can’t imagine going for someone nearly half my age,” you shook your head.
“I cannot either. I’m not into older women.”
“Rude,” you made a face before you could help it. “Should I just leave then?”
Your sudden outburst left Kyojuro with surprise scrawled across his features.
“Why? What have I done?”
“I’m nearly three years your elder,” you feigned offense. “So obviously I must be far too old for you.”
The sparkle of amusement flickered back to life in Kyojuro’s eyes.
“Well, in that case I must apologize and rescind my former proclamation, for I am very into older women.”
Heat blossomed along your collar, and you wet your lips, averting your gaze. You glanced around, hoping no one heard him.
“There is no need for flattery,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.
There was silence for a long beat before you finally looked up at him again. His eyes were staring intently-worriedly- head cocked a fraction to the side.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly. “I… I am afraid I cannot… hear you well when you turn away from me.”
You flushed, lifting your face up.
There’s no need to be bashful. This is a business relationship. BIZ-NESS.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mumbled. I was only saying there is no need to flatter me.”
Kyojuro’s brows furrowed as he straightened.
“I was not- it was-” Kyojuro shook his head. “No matter.”
You followed him meekly to a table piled high with food.
“How much is polite to take?” you whispered, glancing around furtively as you released his arm.
He didn’t answer, focused on piling his plate with as much as he could balance on it. You pursed your lips tightly to stifle the laugh in your throat as you watched him try to fit a third tiny sandwich on top of the precarious tower.
“Here,” you picked up another plate and held it out. “How about you just use another one?”
Kyojuro beamed at you, trading the plates out and leaving you to babysit the leaning tower of tea sandwiches, mini hotdogs, caviar, cakes, and other delicacies he’d accumulated. You stole one of the more delicious looking tidbits and popped in into your mouth. Kyojuro chose that moment to straighten and make direct eye-contact with you. You froze, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad at your theft. The two of you locked gazes, frozen, until you finally decided you’d waited long enough and began to slowly chew. Kyojuro watched with an unreadable expression until you swallowed.
“Good?”
You nodded enthusiastically.
“Good. I shall find you more if you like.”
“I stole it from your plate,” you confessed, although he already knew of your sin.
“I made that for you.”
“Oh… then I stole it from my plate.”
Kyojuro’s belly laugh filled the room, encouraging heads to crane in your direction, which only made your stomach twist from the attention. You had to constantly remind yourself to not shrink in when people turned their gazes towards you, lifting your shoulders higher and bracing your core as you balanced in your gifted black suede heels.
Kyojuro put his free hand on the small of your back to lead you away from the buffet once he caught his breath. The gentle pressure had warmth blooming out from the spot his hand touched you. There were a small assortment of tables towards the farthest end of the room near the stage where you assumed the auction would take place. At the moment, a live band was playing on it. You realized that had been the source of the music you could not locate upon arrival. The violins and cello were loud enough to be heard from the entrance of the venue, but were still soft enough to not overwhelm you where you sat at the edge of the spattering of tables.
“The music is lovely,” you set your plate down on the table, brushing your skirt smoothly under you before you sat.
“Is it?” Kyojuro asked, eyes wide with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. If you had to venture a guess- based on the furrow of his thick black brows and the slight part of his lips- it was something akin to worry. You cocked your head.
“Yes. Do you not think so?”
“O-of course,” he set his plate down a with a thunk that startled you.
This was the first time you’d seen him even slightly flustered that night.
“It’s alright if you don’t,” you smiled gently, reaching out to place your hand over his in a reassuring gesture.
A conflicted look passed over the man’s face, but it melted in gratitude, and he removed his hand from underneath yours.
“I appreciate you doing your best to put me at ease; although that is what I should be doing for you.”
“Nonsense,” you waved your hand. “Everyone helps each other. It’s better that way.”
Hairline crinkles spider-webbed out from the corners of Kyojuro’s eyes and you found yourself lost in the sound of his laugh once again. It was such a rich noise, vibrating the feather-thin glasses on the table with each peal.
“Kyojuro, I swear I’m not as funny as you seem to think I am,” you confessed, fighting back a laugh of your own at his contagious smile.
“Is it a sin to be easily amused?” he asked, seating himself next to you.
“I’d say it’s a blessing,” you swiped a tasty-looking morsel from his plate and bit into it, relishing in the sweet decadence of chocolate.
You missed how his eyes tracked your thumb wiping against your lower lip, catching a stray crumb and licking it off with a quick glance around, afraid of someone witnessing your momentary lapse of manners. You opened your mouth to say something, but a booming voice cut you off as the lights dimmed a fraction.
“The auction is beginning,” Kyojuro whispered to you as the tables around you began to flood with people. “Here.”
A small paddle with a number on it was pressed into your hand. You flipped it over, inspecting both sides of the bid paddle. It was smooth lacquered wood engraved with the number “5”.
“Fancy-ass paddle,” you muttered to yourself quietly, before focusing back on the stage.
Four other people had seated themselves at the table you and Kyojuro sat at, and greetings were exchanged in pleasant, low tones. You tried to catch the names, but they were given far too swiftly, and Kyojuro became engaged in a hushed conversation with the man to his right about something you could not catch. The three ladies seated in the other chairs offered smiles, but only the one from the matronly woman appeared to be sincere. The other two women seated at the table had the same energy as cats lashing their tails.
You focused on the stage after your brief assessment of those surrounding you. The paddle rested coolly against your palm, the silken texture of the handle soothing. A man in a matching powder-blue suit and slicked-back hair was listing off some of the expensive items that were to be auctioned in the next hour and a half, making grand sweeping gestures with his free hand.
“And now that I’ve piqued your interest, let’s start with our first item: a vacation for two to the Bahamas!”
There was a collective murmur as couples put their heads together, men stroked their non-existent beards, and young ladies got lost in dreamland, a delicate hand pressed to a cheek. You hummed along with the general buzz as the auctioneer began to spit numbers out as paddles were raised, and you wondered if he made rap music in his spare time.
He definitely has the skill for it.
You were startled when one of the ladies at the table suddenly lifted her paddle high into the air. Her brow was set, and her mouth was in a firm line to match. She also wore a powder blue gown, but the sheer chiffon of the outermost layer made her look like she was floating with each movement. Tiny silver sparkles dotted the fabric like shimmering stars, and you couldn’t help but admire it even if she was leeching arsenic into the air every time she glanced in your direction. You had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with the man you’d accompanied.
“Aaaaand SOLD to the lovely lady in blue, number sixteen!” the auctioneer bellowed, and you realized that the woman to your left had won the vacation.
“Congratulations!” you smiled, clapping a little and trying to offer an olive branch as she sat back down, although you hadn’t personally done anything to cross her, and didn’t feel like kindness.
Her tight-lipped smile morphed into an exaggerated chittering laugh as Kyojuro’s attention was drawn towards her along with the rest of the table.
“Who are you planning to go with, Maria?” her companion asked, nudging her. She too wore a chiffon gown, but in pastel pink with white ribbons and lace.
“Oh, I don’t have anyone to go with yet…” she feigned bashfulness and peered over at Kyojuro, who was watching her face intently as she spoke. “But I have someone I’d like to ask.”
“They’re a very lucky person if you’re willing to spend that kind of money on a luxury vacation for the two of you!” Kyojuro nodded seriously.
Maria- in the powder blue, you reminded yourself- giggled and toyed with her curls, tucking one behind her ear in a coy gesture. Kyojuro turned back to the stage to watch the auction, and you watched the façade drop once he was no longer looking in her direction. Her gaze hardened and she shot a narrow look at you, flicking her eyes up and down in distaste.
“What a drab dress,” you heard her mutter.
Heat licked across your face and chest, indignant at the audacity displayed right in front of you. How dare they insult Tengen’s work like that? His seams were perfect, the silhouette ethereal, and his pride in his work showed in every stitch! Not only that, but the cut flattered you, and black was a classic color! The nerve of those two pastel puffs to side-eye you wearing a gown that probably cost more than your rent and sewn by a man who had more style than the two of them could dream of was infuriating.
Deep breaths, you reminded yourself, attempting to paste a smile back on. They’re nothing but children- immature, spoiled, jealous children. And I’m here to work and have a good time.
The auction was progressing rapidly, with two more items having sold in the time it took you to process the offense. The paddle’s handle was no longer cool in your sweaty hand, and you clutched it tighter.
“Does nothing here interest you?”
Kyojuro’s voice in your ear made you jump, and you placed one warm hand over where his breath had caressed the shell of your ear.
“O-oh,” you stammered quietly. “I just… everything here is… a little more than I can afford.”
You made sure to drop your voice at the end of your sentence, not wanting to give the two young ladies at the table any gossiping material. Kyojuro furrowed his brows, and you realized he must not have heard you. You worried your lip and dug your phone out of the clutch in your lap.
Everything here is out of my price range.
Kyojuro looked at your message as it popped up on his phone. His lips moved imperceptibly as he read it. His fingers flew across his keyboard, and you watched the little typing bubbles appear on your phone while he composed his brief message.
I apologize if I was not clear.
You waited again while he kept typing. Your phone buzzed as he slipped his back into his pocket.
Everything here is in your price range, because it is in my price range.
Bid on whatever you want for however much you want.
If you don’t buy something, I’ll have to.
You swallowed, the words on your screen percolating in your brain. Spending someone else’s money had always been difficult for you. Hell, spending your own money was hard. You grew up with pinched pennies and volunteering at the food pantry every week so that your parents could keep some semblance of pride in “earning” the food that your family needed but couldn’t afford otherwise. Now, you were being offered- no, encouraged- to just blow hundreds if not thousands of dollars on things you’d never be able to afford even in your dreams.
It's for charity, though… you reasoned to yourself, rubbing your thumb on the handle of the bid paddle.
“Alrighty ladies and gentlemen, we have a gorgeous antique carved wooden vanity from the late 1800’s. You can see the intricate hand-carved detailing along the mirror and edges. It’s in pristine condition and was donated by the family of the late Helen Chairsfeld, who sadly passed away last year after a long battle with brain cancer. Bidding starts at three thousand dollars! Do I hear three thousand?”
Bids were rapidly accumulating as you wrestled with whether or not bidding on furniture was safe or practical. You’d have to have someone help you get it into your second-floor apartment. That meant giving Kyojuro your address. But it would be a practical purchase because it was furniture and wouldn’t lose value unless it was damaged. Should you really buy such an expensive piece though?
“SOLD!”
You mentally berated yourself as the vanity was wheeled off-stage and a pleased older man a few tables away seemed to congratulate himself on the purchase. You tightened your grip on the paddle, pursing your lips.
A nineteen-fifties couture gown- Too small and nowhere to wear it.
A piece of modern art that resembled smears of mud and vomit- hideous. You’d burn in hell if you dared to bid on something that horrific.
A ruby and sapphire necklace encrusted with diamonds- gaudy and bulky. It looked like stage jewelry.
Items came and went, each one unable to withstand your critiques and hesitation. Kyojuro’s glances back to you became more and more frequent, and it felt like the paddle was burning holes in your palms. You had probably worn the lipstick off your lower lip by this point with how much you’d gnawed on it. You were starting to lose all hope of being able to find something to bid on when a small book was brought out.
“Alrighty folks, we’ve got an original first edition of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. It’s in immaculate condition, signed, and was donated by a bibliophile many of you know, but who has recently been diagnosed with lung cancer and could not make it today; Martin Stallwell. Bidding starts at five thousand, do I hear-”
Your paddle shot up into the air, arm moving before you could think.
“The little lady in black seems rather eager,” the auctioneer laughed, “Do I hear fifty-five hundred?”
Kyojuro’s face had broken into a pleased smile, enthralled by the way your eyes fixed on the book onstage. Others were placing bids only to have you throw your paddle up each time, going higher and higher to outpace them until the bidding reached nearly twelve thousand. There was a bidding war going on between three people: you, a young man across the room, and the blue powder puff next to you. For some reason, she had taken personal offense to your sudden bidding and was vying for the book as hard as you were.
“Do I hear fourteen-five? Fourteen five-fourteen six, do I hear fourteen six?”
The war continued. The man finally gave up, leaving you to fight with your own table for the prize you coveted. Kyojuro had leaned back in his chair while you and the woman to your left were engaged in all out war. You could tell she was getting irritated. You wondered if she was spending her own money or someone else’s.
“Twenty thousand!” she lifted her paddle, jumping up three thousand dollars from where the auctioneer had been.
“Twenty thousand? Do I hear twenty-one?” the auctioneer shifted his gaze to you.
You lifted your paddle and placed the other hand delicately on the table, feigning a mild disposition as if you weren’t stomping skulls on a battlefield in your mind.
“Twenty-five thousand.”
The blue powder puff couldn’t help a sputter as she stared at you.
“Twenty-five going once, going twice- SOLD to the little lady in black!”
You grinned triumphantly towards the stage and set your paddle down, turning to Kyojuro. Your smile froze as you realized how much money you’d just dropped on a book but the look on his face put you at ease.
“I’m glad you finally found something that suited your tastes,” he plucked a tiny sandwich from your plate.
“Stealing?” you tutted and shook your head, reaching over and removing a mini hotdog from his plate. “And here I thought you were supposed to be an upstanding guy.”
“He is an upstanding gentleman,” a voice cut in from across the table, sickly sweet with disdain.
Somebody is throwing a tantrum.
You popped the hotdog into your mouth and wiped your fingers on your napkin, reminding yourself to use one of the several forks laid out next time.
“My apologies about the book,” you tucked a stray hair behind your ear, mimicking the coy movement she’d done earlier. “I didn’t realize you were so upset about it.”
“I’m not,” Maria scoffed daintily, her pale hair bouncing as she tossed her head. “I have a vacation to the Bahamas, so I’m rather pleased with how things are. It’s such a pity they aren’t auctioning another vacation.”
“Yes, indeed,” you folded your hands on the table. “Who do you intend to take with you? Some fine and upstanding gentleman?”
The girl sitting next to Maria choked on her champagne, holding a napkin to her mouth as Maria’s face reddened like a sun-ripened tomato. Kyojuro was oblivious to the conversation, having turned his attention back to the auction, as you did after offering a withering smile to Maria and her pink-puffed companion.
There were only a few items left, none of which you cared much for, and it was a welcome relief to stand and stretch your legs once the last item was sold. You discreetly asked Kyojuro for directions to the ladies’ room, to which he directed you to a hallway across the large room. You offered thanks and disappeared, eager to empty your bladder that had been nagging you for the last ten minutes.
Refreshed and relieved, you checked your makeup in the mirror, noting you were indeed missing lipstick on the lower lip, and reached into your clutch to touch it up with the product Suma had so graciously slipped in your bag. The red color contrasted against your skin like blood but blended into your lips like butter. You dabbed the excess away with a paper towel.
The door to the bathroom squeaked open, and you wondered why, with all the money people here seemed to have, they couldn’t oil the door hinges. Your thought was interrupted by the sight of a pink chiffon gown clashing against the deep green of the bathroom tile next to you in the mirror. You ignored her, continuing to dab your lips until you were satisfied.
“Who are you?”
You paused, taken aback by the question suddenly bursting out of the girl next to you. Her face was pinched to resemble a pouting child.
“I beg your pardon?” you took a tone of offense unintentionally.
“I’ve never seen you before, nobody has heard of you before, and you just show up out of the blue on Kyojuro’s arm after he’s been dodging girls for months. So… who are you?”
You took a deep, sighing breath, finally starting to understand why Kyojuro had been searching for someone to bring with him; it this was what awaited him at every event he attended, having a decoy to take some of the attention and act as a defense was a smart move on his part. It meant work for you, but hell, that’s why he was paying you, wasn’t it?
You slipped the lipstick applicator back into the tube, fabricating a personality to deal with the situation that was presented to you while tucking it back into your purse with a measured non-nonchalance. You’d need to play the “mature older woman” card, considering that the two heckling chiffon babies couldn’t be more than twenty years old, and were likely both attempting to get Kyojuro’s attention, although it seemed that Maria had established herself at the top of the pecking order in whatever friendship they had.
“Sweetheart,” you leaned on the counter, playing up the dynamic you’d decided on. “What’s your name?”
“T-Tiffany, but what do you care?” she stammered.
“Tiffany- cute name, by the way- look, I’m not sure what you and Maria want from me, but Kyojuro asked me as his plus one here, so why is that such a problem? You two are jealous, is that it?”
You pushed off the counter and put a hand on your hip. Tiffany’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words.
She’s not hard to deal with. Maria must just let her tag along because she’s easy to push around, so she isn’t competition.
“You’re a beautiful girl. You’ll find a guy. But don’t go after one who has someone already; it lacks class.”
You exited the bathroom, leaving Tiffany to ponder over whatever she needed to in the massive mirror. Scanning the crowd for Kyojuro wasn’t difficult, as his hair was easy to spot. As expected, you found Maria standing in front of him, hands clasped behind her back as she leaned forward and looked up at him as she spoke- words inaudible from where you stood.
He needs to be rescued it seems.
Kyojuro’s posture betrayed discomfort in his stiff posture. Your strides were long and purposeful, with a militant determination. You approached the two from behind Maria and started to catch the drift of their conversation.
“-tickets for the vacation I bid on… I wanted to ask, well… I’m embarrassed to say it-” Maria ducked her head down and to the side.
“I’m back,” you strode past her and latched onto Kyojuro’s arm.
She shot daggers at you with steely eyes, rage at being interrupted while attempting her flirtatious mating dance evident from how she straightened and put her chest back into its proper place- not arched forward in Kyojuro’s direct view.
“It was lovely to chat with you during the auction,” you smiled icily, lying through your teeth. “You and Tiffany are such sweet girls.”
You made sure to place the emphasis on girls, gauging if she would react like Tiffany and back down, or take it as a challenge.
“Of course,” Maria crossed her arms, pushing her chest up and placing one hand to her cheek. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you from around here?”
She’s digging.
“I’m fairly new in town,” you said. “So I’m afraid I don’t know everybody here.”
“What’s your last name; maybe I’ve heard of your family?”
“Feels like I’m a boy being grilled by my girlfriend’s dad,” you laughed. “You sure are a curious one, aren’t you?”
I will keep treating you like a child until you get the message, you thought, ensuring your gaze was conveying irritation smothered in honey.
“I’m just looking out for Kyojuro. We’ve known each other since we were kids, after all,” Maria smiled sweetly at your employer.
“Really? He never mentioned you,” you feigned incredulity, “Kyojuro, you really should have introduced us sooner.”
The barb was enough to pause Maria’s assault of questions for a moment, with Kyojuro’s slightly bewildered look genuine enough to be mistaken as a man chastised by his date, and not one who was just oblivious to the psychological warfare taking place in front of him. You patted his arm, shaking your head and smiling.
“We’ll have to meet up again sometime,” you told Maria, shifting your weight in a way that indicated the conversation was about to end. “In the meantime, Kyojuro promised me a dance.”
The music had started up again, louder than before when it was meant as subtle background ambiance. Kyojuro caught your lifeline and excused the two of you to the dance floor.
“I was unaware I made such a promise,” he said, swaying amongst the few other couples.
“Are you complaining that I saved you?” you placed one hand on his shoulder while he wrapped his around your waist. “I can go and fetch her if you wish.”
Kyojuro groaned, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours. “No, I beg of you; do not."
It surprised you; the amount of casual intimacy he afforded you while acting as if it was the most normal thing in the world- the hand on your waist, his breath across your ear, his forehead against yours: it was all so natural, yet intense. As if he knew no other way to convey himself.
It was rather… nice.
“Well, I suppose since you’ve been so accommodating tonight,” you roll your eyes playfully while trying to ignore the pleasant feeling that the smell of his cologne ignited in your chest.
Kyojuro lifted his forehead from yours, blinking open his eyes like a cat, all while his body moved automatically in sync with yours. You had to avert your gaze after a moment, unable to take the intensity of his gaze.
“I have a confession to make,” Kyojuro’s words barely reached your ears, but you snapped back to him immediately.
A thousand thoughts ran through your head, each one more concerning than the last: did you do something wrong? Was he going to tell you he wouldn’t actually pay you? Did he change his mind on wanting to work with you? Did he decide he actually wanted to be serviced-
You cut that line of thinking off immediately, shaking your head a bit.
“What is it?”
He hesitated, this time being the one to not meet your eyes. The two of you slowed in your already plodding course of half-turns and swaying.
“Hey,” you moved your other arm so both of your arms were around his neck, and his free hand found its way to your waist. “You’re killing me with the suspense.”
Kyojuro’s quiet huff of laughter alleviated some of the tension in the air.
“I’m afraid I have kept some rather… pertinent information from you. I was afraid you would treat me differently if you were aware.”
“Aware that you’re the heir to MediFlame?” you offered.
Kyojuro paused, a flush rising to his cheeks that matched his eyes. “I did not assume you would accept the contract without researching me.”
“I knew what I was getting into,” you assured him. “I’m here as a deterrent to all the frantic young ladies who want your attention as such a handsome and eligible bachelor.”
Kyojuro’s face reddened further at your words and giggle.
“I appreciate your willingness to take the position.”
“I’m more surprised you didn’t fill it before me. I’m sure there was no shortage of applicants.”
“That is not- this is not what I wished to tell you,” Kyojuro ran a hand through his hair as the music stopped, and you dropped your arms from his neck. You waited for him to gather himself as he took a deep breath.
“Might we speak somewhere more private?”
Your heart and stomach both flipped and you nodded, following him as he led the way to the exit. He gave brief farewells to the occasional passerby as he strode through the throngs of people still milling about. Your hand was clutching his as you struggled to keep up in your shoes, risking a snapped ankle with each frantic step. Kyojuro was on a mission, not looking back once as he headed for the doors. The two of you burst out the front, and you called out to Kyojuro to slow a bit, but your words fell on deaf ears as he kept the same pace as before.
“K-Kyojuro!” you wobbled down the steps decorating the front of the venue with the grace of an overfed penguin.
You made it to the bottom step before the suede pump straps betrayed you and came loose. With a slight shriek as you went down, you braced for impact with your opposite arm. Your right arm felt as if it was being pulled from its socket as Kyojuro’s strong grip held it up and your left elbow took the brunt of the damage, cushioned by a thin layer of fabric. Kyojuro finally paused in his march, turning back in alarm and immediately dropping to help you up.
“Are you hurt? I’m so sorry- I didn’t-here-”
Kyojuro didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, frantically grabbing at your arms and looking over your bruised elbow as best as he could. Your knees and elbow throbbed, and you tried to hold back the tears that had sprung unbidden by the sudden burst of pain. You rapidly blinked them away.
“I’m fine,” you waved him away, breathing deeply through your nose.
“Shall I call an ambulance? No- Akaza drives faster-”
“Kyojuro,” you reached out and grabbed his hands to stop him from fumbling with his phone. He stopped, looking up at you with pinched brows. The cool night air blew a breeze through his wild mane, loosening strands in the front that swept across his forehead.
“What did you want to tell me that was so important that you dragged me out here?”
You held his hands in yours, staring directly into molten irises that circled charcoal pupils. His skin was ruddy from the brisk pace earlier, lending sparkle to his eyes and the most gossamer thin sheen of sweat on his face. His lips parted faintly in an exhaled breath- so close you could feel the damp of it on your face. Eyes flickered down to your lips. You resisted the urge to wet them, feeling your heartbeat quicken at the way his shoulders pulled his jacket suit across the back and upper arms as he leaned forward.
“I…”
Your breath hitched as he lurched forward slightly, swallowing. Seconds stretched out in the space between the two of you on the pavement at the bottom of the stairs, an eternity birthed in the anticipation as your gaze caught on his mouth inches from yours. You almost wanted to close your eyes…
“I’m deaf.”
Notes:
Gasp! Who could have seen this coming??? *side-eyes the tags I already assigned to this fic*
Chapter Text
You blinked.
“What?”
The tension in the air between the two of you fizzled out, leaving a breeze to chill the back of your neck.
Kyojuro repeated himself.
“I’m… deaf,” his gaze fell to the ground, but you caught the flicker of his eyes back to your face, and suddenly it all made sense; the way he seemed to ignore when you spoke if he wasn’t looking at you, his confusion on the soft music, the way his gaze fixated incessantly on your mouth.
Blood-red lips formed an “o” as understanding dawned, and despite this sudden revelation, you felt relieved. This wasn’t some horrific secret: this was just something he was self-conscious about. You would still be paid, he still wanted you to work for him, you still didn’t need to service him-
You denied feeling disappointment at that last thought; you didn’t want to sleep with him. No, sleeping with your very hot, very kind employer was bad.
“Is… is that… a problem?”
Kyojuro’s loud voice had shrunk to a timid whisper, heard only by you. Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you smiled and placed your hand on his cheek to reassure him- trying to mirror the casual intimacy he seemed to find comforting.
“Of course not. Why would it be?”
Kyojuro let out a heavy breath, his lips curling up at the corners in relief.
“So are you fully deaf?” your hands instinctively came up to touch your ear, then your cheek next to your mouth, before your hand dropped down and your index and middle finger extended out, ring and pinkie finger curled in with your thumb tucked along the first two, sliding it sideways in a sloppy motion that betrayed how stiff you’d become. “Or just hard of hearing?”
Kyojuro’s eyes blew as wide as saucers, and he grabbed at your hands in unadulterated delight.
“You sign?” he rubbed his thumbs along your fingers as if convincing himself that what he had just seen was real.
“Y-yeah,” you stammered, flushing furiously. “A little. I’m rusty as hell, though.”
“How did you learn?”
Kyojuro’s face pushed closer to yours.
“One of my cousins is non-verbal,” you told him, resisting the instinct to back up. “They lived with us for a while growing up, and so we all learned sign language to communicate. My signing isn’t all that fluent: I sign as I speak, so my grammar is technically incorrect.”
“It’s fine, I also use incorrect grammar since my brother-” he paused.
You waited for him to continue. Kyojuro shook his head and shifted.
“I am sorry; I rushed out here to tell you this, and you fell, and here I am still babbling while you’re hurt.”
“It’s fine,” you spread your hand open, touching your thumb to your chest. “My shoes just-”
You signed shoes, and then mimed breaking a stick in two, unable to remember if it was the correct sign, but knowing Kyojuro would understand. He glanced over at where your ankle straps had come undone. His deft fingers swiftly relatched them for you.
“Is it easier if I sign or just speak?” you asked as he helped you up. “I can be a bit of a sloppy signer.”
Kyojuro tucked loose hair behind your ear. His face was one of contemplation.
“Signing is greatly helpful for me, since my hearing is very poor,” he confessed. “However, there is… nuance to the subject.”
“Oh?”
Kyojuro’s pocket buzzed.
“A moment, my apologies,” he reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell. After a few swift taps, he returned it.
“Akaza was asking where to pick us up at,” he informed you. He looked downcast as the words left his mouth. “And it is nearly the end of your contracted time.”
You dug into your purse, looking at your phone.
“Already?”
The cracked screen protector did little to hide the glaring white numbers on your phone.
“Oh… so it is,” you couldn’t help feeling regret. The night had been a blur; a fun, exciting, lovely blur of new experiences. “And I have work in the morning, it seems.”
Several messages from your manager sat angrily in your inbox. It appeared you would be opening the store the next morning as a shift lead, which meant you’d need to get some sleep ASAP.
“You’re more than welcome to stay at the hotel,” Kyojuro offered. “I booked it for the weekend.”
It was a tempting offer: the west store was a short jaunt from the hotel, and you knew it would be a shit show when you got there in the morning, so you’d probably want to go in early to deal with the chaos. Plus, the idea of a 30-minute ride home, and then another ten-minute walk (since you were paranoid about Kyojuro not knowing your home address), was exhausting at the already-late hour.
“I don’t have my work clothes,” you sighed. “But thank you.”
“I can have someone fetch them for you.”
You balked.
“That’s ridiculous.”
The words were out before you could stop them, although your hand flew to cover your mouth. Kyojuro paused. His face grew thoughtful before he nodded.
“I suppose you are right. Having someone fetch them is ridiculous. You do not want me knowing your address.”
It was but a facet of the entire problem, but you let Kyojuro’s assumption stand.
“A lady also does not wish for a stranger to root around in her drawers,” you added as a familiar car pulled up to the sidewalk.
It may have been a trick of the light, but you swore Kyojuro’s ears pinked at your words. The two of you climbed in, Kyojuro instructing Akaza to drop you off at the designated spot.
“Actually-” you chimed in. “I need to go back to the hotel: I left my clothes there.”
Akaza gave you a thumbs-up and spun the steering wheel in a smooth motion. It was a short distance back to the hotel, and you unbuckled as Akaza drew to a stop and parked. Kyojuro put a hand on your arm.
“I can have Akaza run up and fetch them,” he said.
“Oh, n-no, I need to change,” you curled both index fingers like you were pulling a trigger, thumbs pointing out and twisted your hands against each other in opposite directions.
Kyojuro’s eyes lit up and he hummed.
“Ah, yes. You must be uncomfortable.”
“A little,” you grunted as you crawled out of the car after him. “But I don’t want to be wearing these clothes when I walk home. It’s like asking to get mugged.”
You missed the sudden alarm that spread across Kyojuro’s face as you passed him by, heading into the hotel. His head whipped back to Akaza, then to you, and to Akaza again.
“Does she live in a bad part of town?” he whispered loudly to his driver, poking his head in the passenger side window despite you being far enough away that his words would be indecipherable.
“Not horrible, but that’s just where we drop her,” Akaza shrugged, his hands signing the words as he spoke quietly.
Kyojuro’s lips pursed.
“We shall be back shortly.”
You were already waiting at the elevators when Kyojuro caught up to you, and you flashed the key card with a cheeky smile, although weariness was starting to show through the cracks in your façade. The elevator ride was nondescript, the two of you both standing with your hands clasped in front of you as the floors ticked by. You had questions you wanted to ask, but your mind was quickly growing more and more sluggish with exhaustion. The entire ordeal of the night had taken more out of you than you anticipated, and you really wished you could just throw yourself onto the big, plush bed in the hotel room as you entered.
Instead, you gathered up your clothes and dragged yourself to the bathroom. It was disgustingly spacious, and you removed your shoes while sitting on the toilet seat cover, relishing being flat-footed once again. You were able to unzip your dress by yourself (thank God) and there was a hanger left in the bathroom that you assumed was for it. You slipped into your jeans and t-shirt, pulling your hair out of the updo and letting it sit on your shoulders. It took all of your willpower to not scrub the makeup on your face off right then and there, but you figured it would be best to just do it at home and not keep Kyojuro waiting.
You shuffled out of the bathroom, gravity tugging you down with each step. All you wanted to do was lay on the bed- hell you’d lay on the floor at this point- and sleep.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.
“Yeahhhhh,” you dragged out the word, not fully convinced yourself that it was a bad idea. “I need to get home.”
Kyojuro did not argue. The two of you descended to the car, your eyelids feeling like lead. Once back in the car, you tried to remind yourself you were still technically working, and sat up straight, determined to continue your conversation from earlier, even as your focus drifted.
“So… it’s nuanced?” you said, catching Kyojuro’s attention by waving your hand in his direction. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark of the car around you, lit only by the passing city lights flashing in the windows.
“I cannot read your lips well in this light.”
He sounded embarrassed, and your face grew hot.
“Sorry,” you made a fist, circling it over your heart. “I forgot.”
You wiped your hand across your forehead, dragging the fingertips along the skin and flicking them away. You repeated your words from before, fingerspelling out “nuanced” since you didn’t know the sign for it.
“It’s alright,” he assured you. “If it is easier for you and I to write back and forth, we can also do that.”
“I’m okay,” you repeated the sign for “fine”. “I’m listening.”
Kyojuro inhaled deeply, and you caught Akaza’s eyes in the rearview mirror as you idled at a red light. Kyojuro’s eyes weren’t the only ones that seemed to glow at night, you noted.
“When I was a baby, I had a very high fever, which resulted in me losing part of my hearing,” Kyojuro told you, his hands starting to move subconsciously to sign as he spoke. “My father wanted to keep it under wraps, afraid it would… hinder me if others knew, and damage our family’s reputation.”
You bit back a scoff.
“My mother taught me sigh language so I could communicate easily with my family, although my father did not allow me to use it in public. He did not want me to bear any shame or stigma for being… different. He wished for me to be brought up as a typical child, even though I struggled through life trying to understand others. He drilled me incessantly until my speech sounded… ‘normal’. I learned to read lips and body language, to catch what cues I could, but often I would blunder and make a social faux pas. I did not wish to disappoint my father, though.”
“So everyone thought you were just…” you paused, trying to think of how to sign the word you wanted, but decided to just spell it out. “An airhead?”
Kyojuro smiled, and it was good natured even though a touch of sadness lingered in the far corners. His father’s insistence on secrecy had left him with the label “eccentric” and “odd” slapped over his visage on more than one occasion, and in more than one gossip column.
“Yes. It was better to be considered slightly dumb than to be known as mostly deaf; at least according to my father.”
The air grew quiet for a moment again.
“My brother; I told you a bit about him, correct?”
“Yeah, a little. He’s eleven, right?”
“Twelve,” Kyojuro corrected. “Senjuro is a gentle child. He has always been anxious and struggled with speaking. There are often times he cannot speak even if he wanted to. Between myself being partially deaf and relying on lip reading to supplement my hearing, and Senjuro’s frequent periods of silence, our mother used sign language to talk to us. She… passed away when Senjuro was rather young, so we now only sign with each other.”
The mood in the car was somber. You reached your hand out, hesitating a moment before placing it on his. Kyojuro shifted his gaze to you out of the corner of his eyes.
“Very few people knew of our conditions; my father pretends I can hear and Senjuro can speak. He does not know nor care to learn sign, even to Senjuro’s detriment.”
Kyojuro sighed heavily, eyes closing for a moment. You waited until he opened them, turning his head towards you with a gentle smile. You read the exhaustion in his brows, the lines of worry forming wispily between them. You felt your tiredness reflected in his visage, the late hour and life circumstances of each of you pressing down upon your shoulders: different but the same.
“The doctors have said I verge on severe hearing loss, and thus I have difficulty communicating with people. I understand if you do not wish to continue our arrangement,” Kyojuro said, his hands still, resting on his lap. “I may embarrass you if you stay with me.”
“How could you embarrass me?” you signed. “If anything, I’ll embarrass you.”
Kyojuro laughed.
“I doubt that. You handled yourself wonderfully at the gala. It was a relief to have you there.”
“Someone has to protect you from all those ladies,” you said, running a hand through your hair: a subconscious habit of yours when you were tired. So often was it tied up or back with work that the only time it was ever really down was at night when you were preparing to sleep.
“Well, I appreciate your help,” Kyojuro cleared his throat as the car slowed to a stop. “I have already deposited the money into your account. Should you wish to continue our arrangement, I would be grateful.”
Your eyes roved over the man before you, hands clasped tightly in his lap, lips pressed into a furtive line as he awaited your reply. You conjured up all your remaining energy to provide a reassuring smile, lowering your head to look up at him and making direct contact with those burning coals he called eyes.
“I look forward to working with you,” you signed.
Kyojuro’s eyes widened, breath stuttering as you patted his knee and opened the car door. You climbed out, cool night air blowing in for a moment before the door was clicked back into place.
“Thanks for the ride,” you called to Akaza, shouldering your purse and waving.
He waved back, watching you disappear around a corner before turning back to Kyojuro.
“Want me to follow her and make sure she gets home safe?”
Kyojuro was frozen in the same spot you’d left him, staring dumbly into space with a flush across his entire face. Akaza waved a hand to get his attention.
“Hey!” Akaza tapped his leg.
Kyojuro jumped a little, finally noticing his friend. Akaza repeated his question.
“Y-yes, please do,” Kyojuro said, his words rushing out. “I shall wait here.”
Akaza slipped out of the car, as silent as a cat, disappearing into the darkness. Kyojuro let out a heavy breath, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he tried to distract his mind from the last thing you’d said to him.
Oh, he knew what you were trying to say, but your sleep-deprived brain had betrayed you as you signed, and now Kyojuro burned with a newly minted desire. He hissed through his teeth, burying his thick fingers into the fabric of his pants.
He could not think of you that way.
The way he had written up your contract listed you as a “personal assistant” who accompanied him places. These were not things he could think as an employer, about his contracted employee. An employee who was… understanding and sweet, even after he had withheld information about himself.
He’d been trying to find someone for weeks to attend the charity gala that MediFlame was hosting to no avail. He’d interviewed over half a dozen women, and all of them had immediately recognized him as the heir to his father’s company, demanding exorbitant compensation for their services. Not that Kyojuro couldn’t afford it- indeed it was mere pocket change to him- but the greed that had lit up in their eyes upon meeting him had been obvious. Not only that, but they all seemed disappointed when he’d told them there would be no need for them to “service” him. He knew many would jump at the chance to sleep with him, but the risks of a paid escort trying to ensnare him into marriage with pregnancy was dangerous. Each meeting left him disappointed: they were either too messy, too crass, too stuffy, or too fixated on seducing him or weaseling all the money they could out of the contract; Kyojuro had begun to lose any hope of finding someone who was normal, let alone a good fit.
But you…
You didn’t know who he was, or even what his company did. Something about your demeanor was refreshing and honest. It had been obvious you weren’t used to the situation even before you confessed that it was your first time. Still, he was impressed with your thoroughness and the ease with which you managed to hold a conversation. In the past, Kyojuro hadn’t even gotten to the point of drawing up a contract, but with you he’d been comfortable in making one during the meeting. Your input pleased and surprised him, and he had no issue with your adjustments to the contract.
You wouldn’t drink or be forced to take mind-altering substances while acting as a companion.
Kyojuro would have to request your companionship at least a week in advance to accommodate your schedule.
If Kyojuro cancelled an event less than 3 days in advance, he would pay you half of what he would originally have as a cancellation fee.
You reserved the option to take a separate car to events, if you preferred, and it was arranged in advance (no less than 12 hours).
You had the right to break things off without a reason at any time with no legal repercussions.
Valid requests, Kyojuro thought. You obviously prioritized your safety and security, even if you lowballed yourself when it came to matters of money. Kyojuro had no issue paying you what your time was worth to him, and the gala tonight had proved just how valuable your company was. It was the first time in months he’d felt even a semblance of relaxation.
Kyojuro wiped a hand down his face, closing his eyes and rethinking the evening; the silhouette of you in that dress, the way your eyes scrunched up when you laughed, the comfort with which you settled onto his arm for the night, as if you were made to be there.
Your humor and playfulness put him at ease and entertained him, and yet the way you had seamlessly managed to insert yourself between him and that girl in the pink dress- Maria- to whisk him away from the conversation that was heading in a direction he had been dreading; well, it was nothing less than a breath of fresh air to have someone to aid him. Entering an event without someone on his arm would always warrant a swarm of ladies. Tonight had been but a fraction of the usual flirtations he endured.
And after all of your accommodations and kind words, when he could not bear to see the confusion on your face each time he lost track of your lips and the conversation and drug you out of the gala like a man possessed to tell you his shameful secret, you had immediately begun to speak to him with words he could see. Your hands held questions and conversation, curiosity that did not fill with disgust or anger. A kind word spoken in a language he knew- a language he desperately clung to in secret away from his father and society.
Kyojuro didn’t know why he’d told you the truth when he knew it could leave him lonely once again. Previous ladies he’d courted with vigor and sincerity left him soon after learning of his condition and all the frustrations it brought with it. He’d tried to find love- or at least affection- among peers in the world around him, but even those he thought would understand disappeared from his side. Which had led him to turn to finding a “personal assistant” in place of a partner. He made profiles on multiple sites, trying to find someone who would fit the role. He could pay someone to stay by his side, if they were willing to put up with his disability. Money was of no consequence to him: he would pay any amount for a social buffer, especially one who would at least pretend to enjoy his company.
During your first meeting, he had assumed you were in some kind of debt, or on a shoestring budget based on your appearance. Kyojuro had noted how subtle your makeup had been, the flattering cut of your cheap department store dress, the wear on the tread of your last-last-last season shoes, and the way your eyes flickered around, taking in your entire surroundings with cautious curiosity. Your purse was the only thing he could gather that was expensive out of your entire outfit, and even that was almost laughable to call it such.
Despite it all- or perhaps because of it- he found your company charming. You seemed honest, if a touch reserved. It was to be expected, what with being new to the situation, and the nature of the relationship proposed between the two of you. Kyojuro was just glad that he’d managed to snap you up before someone else had; your naïve disposition would lend itself to being taken advantage of easily. The mere fact that you had only asked for a few hundred dollars- less than a doctor’s salary- for an event had stunned him. Even if you’d doubled that for an- Kyojuro shuddered, feeling the flare of heat in his loins at the thought- intimate encounter, you’d be selling yourself short. No, it was good he’d been scrolling through profiles between meetings, otherwise someone else might have gotten to you first.
The vibration of the driver’s side door opening and shutting forced his attention from thoughts of you to the tattooed man up front.
“She’s home safe,” Akaza signed. “You doing okay? I didn’t think you were going to tell her yet.”
Kyojuro ran a hand through his hair.
“It would have done no good to hide the truth from her.”
“Yeah, but you usually wait a few weeks at least,” Akaza said. “Did you know she signs?”
Kyojuro shook his head. “I was surprised. Pleasantly.”
“Me too,” Akaza made a fist, sticking his thumb and pinkie out in a gesture that looked like a phone, and jerked it between the two of them. “It’ll be nice to be able to actually talk to the girl you’re with.”
“Only in private,” Kyojuro reminded him. “I must still keep appearances up in public.”
“Well, you’ll be seeing her mostly in public,” Akaza pointed out. “But at least you can talk to her in the car.”
“If she decides not to terminate the contract,” Kyojuro murmured.
“Didn’t she say she was looking forward to working with you?”
Kyojuro’s face lit up, blood rushing furiously to color his cheeks and neck. He looked away, coughing and clearing his throat.
“Something… like that,” he mumbled.
Akaza made no reply, only lifting a brow before settling into his seat so he could chauffeur his employer home, deciding not to speak on the subject any further. Kyojuro was grateful his driver did not press further, as the memory of the last thing you signed burned into his brain due to your one little mistake.
I look forward to working with you.
An innocent, kind reassurance you provided as you had left. Only you’d signed “working” wrong. Where you were supposed to tap one wrist on top of the other, with both of your arms facing down while you made fists, you had accidentally turned the bottom arm upwards, so the insides of your wrists tapped against each other, changing the entire sentence to something that flared arousal across Kyojuro’s entire lower half.
I look forward to fucking you.
Notes:
Fun fact: my boyfriends mom is deaf and one of the first times his dad asked her if she wanted to hang out, he asked if she wanted to hang out after work, but signed fuck instead of work, and that's where I got the idea for this chapter from.
Also, I had part of one of my wisdom teeth extracted this past week and my mouth is swollen af and I'm on a puree diet which fucking sucks and all I want is a pizza, so y'all eat a pizza for me and tell me about it so I can live vicariously through you.
Chapter Text
“Oh for fucks sake,” you dropped your head onto your steering wheel, listening to the engine of your ’98 jeep grand Cherokee sputter and gag. Over and over you tried fruitlessly to get your poor car to start, only for it to gurgle for a moment and die.
It was the ass-crack of dawn- sun barely peeking over the horizon. You hopped out of your car, swearing as you locked it and shouldered your bag, trying to see if any public transit was running.
“Well fuck me,” you groused, finally relenting and opening Uber. You were going to pay through the nose and STILL be late to work. Your money-munching, problem-riddled car wouldn’t start AGAIN. You’d had both the alternator and battery replaced, and before that you’d had to get the entire rack and pinions done, and before THAT you had to replace all four brakes, as well as the shocks and struts. All within the last fucking year. Whatever repair needed to be done this time, you were going to have to just put on your credit cards… again.
You tried to shake the sleep from your head as the Uber pulled up. You slid into the backseat and rubbed your eyes. Remnants of last night’s makeup still stuck to your face, leaving you with a “slept-in” look of dark liner smudged around your eyes. You had cleaned it up enough that it seemed intentional, but last night you’d barely managed to drag yourself in the door before collapsing and knocking out. Your alarm had gone off a mere four hours later, dragging you from the comfort of your bed to a quick shower and microwaved breakfast sandwich. You’d been on track to get in early until your car threw a fit and died in the apartment parking lot.
You blearily swiped through your emails and messages. One caught your eye, and you opened it.
I hope you got home safe.
The ghost of a smile lingered on your lips, and you replied to it with an affirmative.
That’s right, you thought to yourself. I got paid for last night too.
You hastily opened your bank app. The non-negative numbers sitting boldly at the top of your account could have made you cry in relief. It was more than Kyojuro had agreed to pay you as well; the event was 6 hours and the agreed upon amount for that time was $900, but an even grand had been deposited into your account. That would pay your credit minimums and cover part of rent for the month, and with your regular paychecks, you should be able to squeeze out the remaining rent and utilities, as well as a pitiful grocery budget.
It might be time to look into a food pantry again, you sighed. Otherwise it’ll be rice and tuna for the foreseeable future.
Your phone bill would have to be put on credit again, and you just prayed that it wouldn’t literally explode in your hands when you used it for more than two minutes. It was getting dangerously overheated whenever you had two apps running in the background at the same time. That, and sometimes it just shut off whenever it pleased. If you could work a couple more events with Kyojuro, once your credit cards were paid off, maybe you could save and buy a new phone.
The idea tickled you pink, and you started to daydream of all the things you’d do with disposable income: purchase a new winter coat, keep the apartment at a reasonable temperature during summer and winter, perhaps even go get that eye exam you were far overdue for.
You were jolted from pleasant thoughts by the sight of the west store. It was a non-descript beige-colored brick building with few parking spots and fewer windows. You thanked the driver and departed the vehicle, almost certain you knew what parts of the store would be needing the most attention if Douma had called out last minute yesterday.
“Oh look,” you said to no one at all, throwing your hands up to gesture at the piles of dishes left everywhere. “Who could have guessed that a shift lead calling out would result in none of the closing duties being completed properly? Crazy, isn’t it?”
You muttered to yourself, rolling your eyes and checking the register first. It looked like your manager had at least stopped in at the end of the night to close out the drawers properly, so you didn’t need to fiddle with anything up front. The rugs weren’t vacuumed, and the coolers hadn’t been stocked, but those weren’t priority, so you ignored it in lieu of starting to gather up all of the dirty dishes and items that hadn’t been washed. It took the better part of an hour to get things cleaned around the kitchens even without doing the dishes. You figured the grill needed to be scraped and sanitized first, as well as the cutting boards on the line. You thanked whatever deity existed that all the pilot lights were still lit in the fryers so you weren’t at risk of gas poisoning or the building blowing up. It did appear the AC was still out, so the entire kitchen was in for a hot and humid day. You turned on the floor fans to help move the stale air around so it at least felt cooler, and even set a bucket of ice in front of one of them to try and make a makeshift AC unit.
By the time you’d cleaned up the kitchen enough to start prep, it was only an hour until you opened. As it happened, your prep helper was running late, and they were giving a ride to your other morning prep person.
Awesome.
You were elbows deep in onions, unable to hold back tears from the fumes when your delivery driver showed up, reeking of cigarettes.
“Good morning, Kyle,” you dropped a handful of white slices into a plastic quarter pan. “Can you start the cheese?”
“Yeah, are you working on the catering order?”
You paused, staring at him with a blank look. Slowly, you narrowed your eyes.
“…Is there a catering order?”
“Yeah, they took it last night right before we closed. It’s like… twenty extra-large pizzas and six pan salads or something.”
You removed your gloves, tossing them in the trash as you tapped into the online order systems to look up this supposed catering order.
“Oh my god. I’m going to kill everyone,” you groaned, printing the ticket. “Change of plans, Kyle. I need you to chop lettuce immediately while I start this catering.”
“Aren’t Katie and Ryan here?”
“No,” you snapped. “They’re both late.”
“You seem a little on edge,” Kyle leaned against the routing station as you began rolling crusts out. “Have you ever tried weed? It might be good for you.”
“Kyle.”
There was enough of a dangerous edge in your voice to make the late-twenty-something man saunter towards the prep table.
“LETTUCE.”
His shuffling feet changed direction towards the walk-in cooler. You covered your irritation at the world’s insistence to fuck you over with busying yourself. If nothing else, you were fast, efficient, and good at your job. You managed to prep and start the catering, hopping over to another station to start the salads while Kyle chopped lettuce with the speed of a hobbled tortoise. Ryan and Katie both showed up at the same time, and you were this close to making a comment about the poorly concealed marks on both of their necks, along with the mild scent of sweat and tousled hair they both sported.
“Ryan: prep list. Katie: open the front. Nobody swept or restocked, so I need you to do that. You’re on phones, and when you’re not on phones, you’re on dishes unless otherwise told since nobody closed anything properly last night.”
“Douma called in,” Katie re-tied her ponytail. “And Amber said you wouldn’t come in.”
“You all have closing lists,” you explained, wondering what you’d done to deserve working with two of the three most incompetent workers at the store. “And I had prior commitments.”
Katie made no further remarks, hiding away up front, out of your view. Thankfully, Ryan was a solid morning shift worker. He immediately began to make swift work of your prep list while you handled catering and all of the piddly little things a morning shift lead had to do. You could hear phones starting to ring, and internally cursed, cutting and boxing the catering order for Kyle, who would soon be out on the road and unable to help Ryan with prep.
“This customer says they got the wrong order last night, and when they called, nobody picked up.”
Katie stood in front of you like a kid who’d just asked their parent for a glass of water in the middle of the night: blank faced with nothing going on behind her eyes. You marveled quietly at how she could function with her brain completely turned off.
“Was it after close?”
“No, they said it was quarter-to.”
“Do they sound really upset?” you shoved the last boxes into the heated bags. “Kyle: that catering is good to go. I printed your receipts.”
You handed the paper to the driver and went up to the front with Katie.
“Why didn’t anybody answer the damn phone then,” you muttered. “Hello? I hear you had a complaint about your order last night?”
The voice came through the speaker with a tinny note, but you could hear the annoyance. “I got the wrong order. They gave me a pizza and a salad, but I ordered a pizza, wings, and breadsticks.”
“I’m so sorry about that,” you apologized, “What was the name and phone number you ordered under?”
You retrieved the customer’s information, finding they did indeed order what they’d said, and offered a credit to their account alongside a profuse apology.
“I’m so sorry this didn’t get straightened out last night,” you said, trying to appease them. “I’ll be sure to check in with our night crew to see why your call didn’t go through.”
The phone clicked into the receiver and you pinched your brows. You turned to return to the kitchen to see Katie watching you.
“Katie.”
That empty stare was back, and you could actually see the static behind her eyes.
“The phones are still ringing.”
“Oh. I thought you were going to answer them.”
“No; I have prep work.”
Katie sighed and stepped up to the computers, tapping her long acrylic nails on the screen. You smiled tightly on your way back to the kitchens, already dreading the rest of the day. Surely it couldn’t get much worse than it was already, right?
Unfortunately, the universe liked to prove you wrong. You flew about the kitchen all day, filling in wherever you needed to, taking phone calls, making food, routing, filling sanitation buckets, and temping coolers and ovens. Even once your shift was supposedly over, you were unable to leave as the night shift lead called in. You needed the hours, so after a fifteen-minute break (during which someone managed to drop an entire pan of olives) you were back in as the lead for night shift.
For as long as the day dragged on, when you finally closed and locked the front door, it felt like the day had passed in a flash. You double checked everyone’s closing duties before sending them home, counting the drawer, and prepping the kitchen for morning shift. It was already past 11PM when you shut the lights off and armed the security system as you left.
After being at work for sixteen hours, you were ready to crash. You pulled out your car keys to head home-
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you shoved them back into your purse with a groan, completely forgetting your car was very much still at the apartment.
Public transport wasn’t running at this time of night, and you prayed for an Uber driver to be on the road somewhere.
“C’mon,” you stared at your phone, wishing you hadn’t locked yourself out of the building already. You could feel the heat of your phone burning the skin on your hand as it tried to locate a driver. Suddenly, the screen went black. You tried to restart your phone to no avail: it would not turn on.
Shit, shit, shit.
You weren’t in the safest part of town, and you started to walk in the direction of home, knowing it was better to be moving than standing still. It would take you probably two or three hours to walk home, so your best bet was to find a motel or something to spend the night in, if you even could. Most were probably booked, unless there was a cancellation at the last minute-
Your head jerked up, scanning the streets around you for anything that looked familiar- that hotel should be around here somewhere. He had said he had booked it for the weekend, and it was Saturday night still. Kyojuro wouldn’t be upset if you stayed there overnight tonight, right? It wasn’t like you could text him and ask, but once you got your phone charged, you could message him in the morning and let him know.
You recognized a restaurant- windows and signs dark- that was near the hotel you’d been at the previous day. Hurrying along, you reached the tall, familiar building.
“Thank god,” you breathed, tugging your flannel sweater tighter around your body as you entered. It was very quiet in the lobby, and there was a different receptionist manning the check-in.
“Hello,” you smiled, hoping you didn’t appear too shaken. “I’m here as a guest of Kyojuro Rengoku in room 917: (Y/N).”
The woman- a middle-aged lady with graying hair and deep lines on the sides of her mouth- barely even grunted in response, handing you a keycard and going back to scrolling her phone. You were thankful she didn’t ask any questions and retraced your steps to the room on the ninth floor. It was the longest elevator ride of your life, each floor passing by with a slowness only those deprived of sleep could witness.
You trudged down the hall, jabbing your keycard into the door and opening it, shuffling in, kicking off your shoes and dropping your purse without a second thought. You wanted a shower, but you wanted a bed more. You ticked the sliding light switch up a little so you could just see to make it to the bed without tripping, but low enough you wouldn’t be kept up by the light. You began to strip clothes off, starting with your flannel, yanking your work shirt over your head, and unbuttoning your jeans. You stepped out of them, kicking them to the side and pulling your ponytail out as you prepared to throw yourself on the bed.
Movement under the covers startled you and you jumped as a figure sat up, vibrant hair dulled in the soft light. You froze, horror spreading across your features as Kyojuro blinked at you owlishly from where he sat in the large bed. You wondered if you stayed still if he would notice you; a stupid thought since you were two feet from the end of the bed, directly in his line of sight.
“I’m sorry.”
The words spilled out of your mouth as Kyojuro finally seemed to realize you were standing there, and his cheeks darkened. You backed up, snatching up your flannel to hold in front of you. You shoved your arms in the sleeves and wrapped it around you to cover up a bit, swallowing and wondering what curveball the universe would throw next. Was he going to have you arrested for trespassing? Would he think you were trying to come onto him?
“Are you okay?”
You had tried to fold in on yourself, shoulders pulled up tight by your ears. You signed “sorry” and “I didn’t know you were here”, without looking up, afraid to meet his eyes.
“It’s… it’s fine… but why are you here?”
You could pick up on the confusion in Kyojuro’s voice and risked a glance at his face. His brows were knit together with sleep etched between and under his eyes. You cleared your throat and tried to get your fingers to remember how to have a conversation.
Work late, car broken, no bus, phone dead- no uber. Home far away-sorry- thought no one would be using this room.
You didn’t speak with your signs, focusing on conveying the message in the dim light with something he could see better.
“Oh, I see,” Kyojuro’s voice was thick with sleep, a rasp that sent shivers down your back sliding out from his lips. “Do you want me to call Akaza to drive you home?”
“No!” you shook your head emphatically. “I can…”
I will find another hotel, you signed. A heavy weight felt like it was pressing on your chest and shoulders, and you just wanted to sink to the floor in exhaustion.
“It’s… past midnight,” Kyojuro said, glancing to the clock. “I can give you the bed and head home.”
“No, I’m sorry, please don’t,” you said. “I just…”
Tears began to well up in your eyes from the stress of the past few days, and you furiously scrubbed at them.
I’m sorry for waking you up, you said, signing clumsily. I didn’t know where else to go to find a safe place to sleep.
You could feel Kyojuro’s eyes on you, and you bit your lip, reaching down to gather up the clothes you’d so carelessly strewn across the floor. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, thudding loudly and forcefully. Everything was a pale greyish yellow from the dim lights, and it felt a bit like an unpleasantly realistic dream.
“You can stay here,” Kyojuro said, and you looked over to where he had pushed the covers back and stood. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No, no,” you said, juggling all of your things in your arms and trying to not stare at the bare expanse of his chest. “I can sleep on the floor. I don’t mind. I’ve slept on floors before.”
Kyojuro must have been able to read your lips well enough in the light, for he frowned and moved closer.
“I cannot allow a lady to sleep on the floor while I take a bed.”
You stood awkwardly with your things in your arms, feeling none of the confidence you had possessed from the day before when dressed in Tengen’s clothes, decked out in makeup and jewelry. You were pathetic: half-naked, practically destitute for all your debt, and exhausted.
This was who you truly were. Kyojuro was witnessing you at what was your current lowest state: dead on your feet, body bent from the weight of the world.
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have come here,” you swallowed, feeling shame and embarrassment eat away at your chest as tears spilled over your cheeks anew. “I really didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just walk home.”
“No!”Kyojuro’s voice boomed loudly, startling you. You flinched, eyes screwing shut. It was an involuntary reaction. You cracked your eyes open to look over at Kyojuro who was frozen where he stood. His lips were parted, eyes wide with worry, raking over you in unease.
“I… I’m sorry,” he swallowed, wetting his lips. “I must have… been too loud. Please forgive me.”
You shifted your things into one arm so you could sign “okay” and let out a shaky breath. Tears still tracked down your face in thick lines and you used the sleeves of your flannel to scrub them away.
“If I can just sleep on the floor I’d be really grateful,” you signed what you could with your full hands. “It’s fine, really. Or I’ll sleep in the bathroom. Anywhere, really.”
Kyojuro reached out a hand hesitantly, and you felt the intensity of his stare on your face. You dropped your eyes to the carpeted floor, tucking your chin down in a display of discomfort. A warm hand brushed your cheek, cradling it in a large palm.
Instinctively, you turned your face into it and inhaled shakily, closing your eyes.
The day had rattled you. Your sleep was scarce, and money scarcer. At this point, you were just happy to rest your head somewhere safe. Even if it felt like some lines were blurring.
“Can… can I just sit down, please?” your voice rasped out, scratchy from crying.
Kyojuro pulled you over to the bed, gently pushing you down until you sat. Your arms sagged, and he took your things from your arms, setting them on the bedside table.
“I can compromise if you are not opposed to it,” Kyojuro stroked your hair. “I’ll take the other half of the bed. I can promise you I will be a perfect gentleman. You will not have to worry.”
“…Okay.”
Your body deflated as you agreed, wilting down into the soft sheets. Kyojuro pulled the blankets up to your chin, giving your hair a final stroke as your eyes closed. He swore you were asleep before your eyes closed. Your lips were parted, brows knit, and Kyojuro wanted to press his thumb between them and smooth the lines out. He wondered what exactly your day had been like to warrant such a worried expression even as you slept.
He could understand a stressful job: his own had been marked by a plethora of duties, expectations, and plenty of guesswork during conversations. The late night had left him tired as well, and he had chosen to crash for the night at a location closer to where he had been working that day: the hotel he had previously offered to you for the weekend.
You had startled him awake by turning on the lights, and his groggy brain had thought the hotel had double booked his room on accident. It had taken him a moment to realize you were standing in front of him, mostly undressed, with eyes as wide as saucers; obviously you’d assumed the room to be empty. Kyojuro could tell from slope of your shoulders and the circles under your dull eyes that your day had been long. He almost felt guilty for keeping you out so late at the gala.
Your stubbornness and insistence on not bothering him juxtaposed the blatant betrayal of exhaustion that your tears revealed. Every word and movement was your tired attempt to adhere to societal rules and cordiality, and he had no energy to play a game that would inevitably end with you excusing yourself out the door at the first chance that appeared. Sharing the bed was the most obvious option: it was plenty large enough for two. He would stay on his side of the bed, and you could have the other half to yourself.
Despite it being the most logical solution, Kyojuro could not help but swallow as he lifted the covers on his side.
Sharing a bed was… provoking thoughts he shouldn't have; especially after what you’d signed last night. The earlier glimpse of your bare thighs and exposed midriff replayed in his mind and Kyojuro wasn’t sure if he should even risk getting in. After a moment, he shook his head and lay down. The bed sunk down as he settled in, and your body unintentionally rolled down the slope his weight had created. Kyojuro ensured his arms and legs stayed close to his sides. He had promised to be a gentleman and he would adhere to his words. The bed felt too warm, even with the cool air of the room surrounding them. Kyojuro wished he could kick his pants off, however he lacked boxers underneath and would not dare compromise either your comfort nor your honor.
He screwed his eyes closed and willed sleep to come. It was much harder to fall into a slumber a second time this night. Not only were you passed out next to him, but now he wondered what exactly had led to you having to resort to this option. From what he gathered, you were proud enough to be ashamed to be caught needing a place to sleep, but desperate enough to take whatever option you could find. Your apartment was on the other side of town, and your job was smack dab in the middle of a not-so-nice neighborhood that bordered the city center. You’d told him your car broke down, your phone didn’t work, and you had a late shift where apparently no one was able to drive you home. It was a slew of bad luck all day from the sounds of it, and he could only imagine the kind of shit pay a job like yours offered.
A million questions ran through his head: why didn’t you get another job? Why didn’t your family help you out if you needed a ride? Or a friend? Why didn’t you just let him call Akaza to give you a ride home? Why did you refuse to let him sleep on the floor? Why were you so stubborn?
A shift in the bed paused his thoughts as you rolled towards him, migrating towards the warmth his massive frame put off. Ice-cold hands and feet met his skin, and Kyojuro resisted a shudder. The walk in the early spring nighttime air must have chilled you to the bone, and Kyojuro felt guilty even though it was not his fault. Your body sank into his, leeching his excess heat away pleasantly. Despite the closeness, Kyojuro found his nerves soothed rather than on edge; the comforting weight of another person pressed into him quelling the stress of his day.
Kyojuro let out a heavy sigh, turning his head to bury his nose in your hair- something he only dared to indulge in as he knew you were sound asleep. You smelled of flour and spices, a hint of grease and heat, all underlined by a gentle floral scent that still clung to your hair.
It smells good, he thought, eyes closed as he drifted off.
Notes:
I wasn't initially sure of the direction this chapter would go in, but I had this idea and ran with it, so you're all welcome.
Also can y'all tell I used to work food service?
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