[Natsume Yuujinchou] A Debt to be Repaid - 1/?
Day #30 -
Title: A Debt to be Repaid
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters: Madara, Natsume Takashi, Natori, Matoba, Taki, Tanuma
Rating: R - since it deals with prostitution and there will be blatant hints of under-aged sex.
Words: (+/-) 4355
Summary: AU. It all started with a little boy who reminded Madara of a woman he used to know. Then that boy grew up, his freedom taken. Madara won't take that lightly, because he owed that woman he used to know.
Notes: This ended up ... longer than I thought it would. I only finished the first part today, so tomorrow will be the second half of it. I don't think it'll be any longer than a two-parter, so here's hoping! This was inspired by one hell of an excellent geisha fic at shootswishscore. I got to thinking if that kind of AU would be possible for Natsume Yuujinchou after reading it, and then - well, this happened. You have been warned! Read the crazy at your own risk!
An endless life is something that grows more tedious for each day lived. As a powerful youkai, Madara knows this better than any of his acquaintances, for he has lived far longer than most of them. So he finds ways to indulge. Humans are the easiest course to take - terrorizing them, corrupting them, getting to know them - and it leads to an end he would not have foresaw.
It starts with a little boy, who reminds him of a woman he used to know. Clumsy and lost, the boy sits beside a food cart and his trembling is obvious to even the blindest of fools. Madara crouches down and flicks him on the forehead. It stops the trembling, but now the boy is looking at him and his confusion is palpable.
“Who are you?”
Well, to the eyes of a human at least, he is an ordinary man - but a cursed one. A façade he wears when he mingles among humans. It gains their pity and their fascination. With long white hair and eyes redder than blood, he is a sight to behold, and a magnificent sight at that. “I have no name,” he answers cryptically, “but you, child?”
“Natsume,” the boy mumbles and brings his knees a little closer to his body, small and insecure, “but my mother called me ‘Takashi’ when she was still alive.”
Humans live such short lives, Madara reminds himself, this is nothing new. These foolish humans often leave loved ones behind. This boy is simply one of the unfortunate few left behind. An example of why Madara hates attachments. They never amount to anything and end up hurting someone even more. “Shall I take you home?” he offers on a whim, because he knows for sure now - this boy is related to the woman from his past. He isn’t sure how, but the resemblance is there.
Not only is the name similar, but the bone structure, the eyes that aren’t the same color but hold that same emptiness, and the hair that brushes against his slim shoulders - it all reminds him of her. That unkind girl who could see him without the need for human form. He wonders if Takashi is the same, exactly the same, or if he is as different to her as the sun is to the moon.
Nervously, the boy says, “I’ll be fine on my own.” There is no room for Madara to insist, and he doesn’t want to, anyway, because humans are ludicrous beings that don’t understand each other, let alone someone like him. He isn’t sure why he stopped to talk to this boy, but he regrets it now.
Helping a human? A fool’s errand, and Madara is never a fool.
--
Years pass and Madara notices nothing of it. The seasons change, the humans change, but he stays the same. Eternal. It is one day among many, many more when he stumbles upon what the humans call a red-light district. He knows what they are because he has seen them before, but the smell tends to deter him from further exploration. The smell of human desire.
Today is different, though. There is a familiar smell among the mesh of sweat, sex, and materialistic things. And he wants to know why.
“Have you heard?” a woman whispers to her friend from behind her fan.
“I heard! Natori-san has impeccable taste, as always.” Madara isn’t trying to eavesdrop, not really; they’re just not subtle.
“Truly, the most beautiful courtesan suits him, but he visits that place for more than her.”
“What?” her friend asks, surprise on her painted face. “Insatiable, is he?”
Madara walks a little faster, hoping to get away from them and their gossip, but everywhere he turns there are people talking, laughing, and faking what they feel. It’s all so very fake. His nose leads him to a restaurant down the street and he stops for food. Not because he is particularly hungry, but rather, it’s another indulgence of his - and the scent from earlier is close by, so close it makes his mouth water.
“Excuse me,” someone takes a seat next to him, but Madara has his food and ignores the person. That is, until the smell hits him, and his attention wavers.
Raising his head from the udon, he sniffs and it’s faint, but there it is - the smell he’s searching for. The smell of something pure and untainted in this filthy district. His chopsticks fall to the counter as he reaches out and grabs the man by the front of his yukata. “Where were you before you came here?”
“T-The brothel beside this restaurant,” the man explains. He’s too frightened to do much else.
Madara lets out a snort, pays for his untouched meal, and heads to this ‘brothel’.
--
“Does a Natsume work here?” Madara questions after a hostess greets him. She’s pretty, with her dark brown hair that twists around an ornamental flower and a touch of color around her eyes, but she isn’t what he’s after.
Her mouth takes the shape of an ‘o’ and smiles, effortlessly polite. “I’m sorry. He’s with a customer.”
"I'll wait." And Madara doesn’t lie. He takes a seat right in front of the door and refuses other customers entrance until he has what he wants. That fool of a child, he thinks, what is he doing in a place like this?
He doesn’t have to wait long before someone - that isn’t Natsume - appears. A man with a strange paper seal over his right eye bids him welcome, but the smile on his face is a lie clearer than any of the fake, painted faces he’s seen up until now. “Perhaps we can offer you something else, dear customer. Natsume will be unavailable for hours, but we still need use of our door - which you are currently blocking.”
There are angry agreements from outside, telling him to get out of the way, but Madara doesn’t budge. “Make him available, then. The brat’s coming with me.” As soon as he says it, he realizes what he’s doing and gruffly amends, “I’m talking some sense into that boy. You can have him back if he still wants to come here.” He isn’t helping the kid, he tries to convince himself, he just wants to do a favor for a woman that’s always in his memories. Simple, nothing to it. Then he’ll be on his way and the kid will lead a proper life.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken about something,” the man begins, chuckling slightly, “Natsume is a popular commodity. Why would I let him go? And with you? Surely, you jest. Now, if you can pay for his debt, that’s another story.”
Debt? What had the boy done to be in debt? “Fine, how much?”
“Oh my, you are serious, aren’t you? Well, too much for you to pay, from the looks of it.” The man looks him up and down and Madara does his best not to hiss. In human form, he has never seen the need to be what humans call ‘rich’. “But I’ll provide you with one of our … more affordable boys. How does that sound?”
Madara declines. “I have no interest if it isn’t Natsume.” Because at least Natsume would taste delicious if he ate him. When he does eat, Madara is a gourmet.
“Then I advise you to return tomorrow,” dismisses the man that Madara is starting to detest, and he’s sure of it when the man adds, “if you can afford him.”
Madara takes no challenge lying down. He rises, meets it head on, and crashes through any wall that stops him from moving forward. “All right. Tell him to be ready. I’m coming back tomorrow.”
--
Natsume Takashi isn’t sure he’s hearing this correctly. “What do you mean someone wants to buy me, Matoba-san?” The girl sitting in front of him, for he has to ready her for the night ahead, lets out a faint giggle and tells him it’s true. “Taki, why would someone want to by me? I’m -”
“Beautiful,” finishes Matoba, and he’s close enough to make Takashi feel uncomfortable. “How did you become so popular, Takashi-kun? First Natori, now some stranger ..” Takashi doesn’t know the answer either and says as much.
He shivers when Matoba runs a hand through his hair, which is cropped short, to just beneath his ears, to stave off confusion. He isn’t one of the girls for sale, and Matoba makes sure everyone knows it. Matoba has rules here, and those rules have to be followed.
Darkening Taki’s lips with color, he focuses on her and not how Matoba toys with a strand of his hair, rolling it between his fingers. Not how Matoba leans down, on his knees, and pulls Takashi’s simple blue robe off his shoulders. Not how Matoba places his lips to skin, kissing the mark on Takashi’s back that is all his.
“I-I should go,” Taki says softly, knowing better than to linger.
Takashi wishes she would stay, but he doesn’t want to see her punished either. They both know what it means to live in Yoshiwara, and they both know the weight of the shackles that bind them here. “Good luck,” he wishes her instead, because it is enough to live to see another day.
When she is gone, Matoba drops the act - or at least, that’s what Takashi calls it. The possessiveness always disappears once they’re alone. “The man I mentioned,” Matoba starts calmly, readjusting Takashi’s robe to pool around his waist, “do you know someone with white hair, red eyes, and the stink of an ayakashi, by any chance?”
There is a memory from long ago that tells him yes, but he doesn’t want to tell the truth. Not to this man. “No. I don’t know anyone like that.” It’s silly, too. To think an ayakashi wants to help him. They are the reason he has no parents. They are the reason he is indebted to this man. They are the reason he lives each day wondering if he wouldn’t be better off dead. There isn’t a single ayakashi that thinks of anything but itself. The man from my memories is human, he maintains, an ayakashi wouldn’t try to help me.
“Really,” says Matoba, pressing against Takashi’s back to catch a glimpse of the concealed expression, “I somehow doubt that.” His lips are on the shell of Takashi’s ear and the boy shivers again.
Takashi hates how much he has to endure, but he hates the fear pooling in his stomach more. “Is he that much of threat?”
“I wonder,” Matoba answers, and it’s hardly an answer at all.
--
The next day, as promised, Madara returns. He may or may not have stolen the large coin bags he throws to the floor, but that’s his business and no one else’s. As long as it buys Natsume, it’s fine. He can disappear after that, and people will forget. They always do. “Is this enough?” he directs the question to the man from yesterday, who is here again and no longer smiling.
The man bends down, picks up one of the bags, and that’s when the show starts. A dramatic sigh spills from the man’s lips and he turns the bag over, emptying it of coins. “You think I don’t know this is stolen? To shame. A pickpocket wants to steal from me as well? I won’t let you buy Natsume Takashi with money like this. Get out.”
Madara has the sudden urge to tug real hard on the long hair the man possesses, but he resists. That won’t get him any closer to Natsume. “Then maybe this filthy money can buy me something else,” Madara growls. “One night. Give me that.”
“No,” the man shrugs, as if it’s out of his hands, “I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“Now, now, that’s not very nice,” someone else enters the conversation - and Madara curses at his lack of foresight. He should have blocked the entrance again. “What’s wrong with one night?” Madara tenses up at the companionable arm that wraps around his shoulders. “And if you’re offering, then I want -”
“You can keep wanting,” the man says with a smile, “now kindly get lost.”
“So cruel!” the new arrival exclaims, and Madara debates whether or not he should shove the man away. “Do you really want to lose your best customer?”
“There are others.” And the man with the long, dark hair is too confident for it to be a bluff.
“I understand.” Madara’s positive this man doesn’t understand at all. He’s much too determined. “Then I’ll take my patronage elsewhere.”
“Unless,” the sly man interrupts before his once-patron can walk out, “you want something that isn’t taken. I might allow you that.”
“Tempting, tempting,” the other man feigns interest, “but you’re still hiding the best for yourself, aren’t you?”
“Your eyes might be sharp, but you know nothing.” The brothel owner ends it there and speaks to both of them this time, “Natsume isn’t for a sale. Never has, never will be. Goodbye, gentlemen.”
Madara accepts the other man’s offer for a drink when they’re promptly thrown out on the streets.
--
“Name’s Natori,” the man introduces himself finally, but only after the fifth cup of sake, so Madara isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not. There have been weaker humans, plenty of them. “Natori Shuuichi. And who might you be?”
“I don’t have a name,” Madara answers in the same fashion he had to Natsume, years ago.
“Why were you there, if you don’t mind my asking?” He pours Madara another round of sake and then one for himself. “Besides the obvious.” Madara doesn’t like the leer he’s getting from this theatrical man.
“Natsume’s freedom. The fool needs someone to look after him.” That’s the short and the long of it, and Madara’s sticking to that story. This has nothing to do with sentiment. Aside from repayment, because he does owe Natsume Reiko, much to his chagrin. Saving the boy would make him debt-free, too.
When Natori speaks again, his words are slurred, “I feel the same way.”
Pitiful, Madara thinks, I’m on par with a drunkard. “And you? How do you know Natsume?”
“Oh, what a story!” Natori says in that over-the-top way of his. Madara still likes him a hell of a lot more than the other one. “You won’t believe me, but he saved my life.”
“How?” Madara prompts when it looks like Natori has zoned out and forgotten to continue. He waves a hand in front of the man’s glossy eyes, calling, “Oi, finish your story, moron.”
That does the trick, because Natori is gushing again, singing Natsume praises, “He’s sweet, you know. And very polite. I didn’t think much of him until that day … it was about this time last summer, actually.” He trails off into thought again and Madara readies the sake bottle, prepared to smack the idiot upside the head with it - if necessary, which he hopes it will be. To Madara’s disappointment, Natori picks the story up where he left it, “The day he saved me was very hot, so I took my favorite courtesan to the pond. There’s a pond behind the brothel house, did you know that?”
Silently, Madara urges him to speed things up. When that doesn’t work, he pours a drink. And then another. It’s on Natori, anyway.
“We were talking when suddenly it got quiet - a dead silence. She didn’t look afraid, though. No, she was smiling when she wrapped her hands around my throat. I was suffocating and couldn’t scream. She was stronger than I had thought, so much stronger that I knew she couldn’t be human. I managed to pry her hands from my throat, but then she grabbed one of my ankles and started dragging me toward the pond. As soon as she touched the water, what I thought was her true strength - it doubled. I was frightened, terrified, I didn’t know what was going on.”
Madara hides a yawn. Humans, always so melodramatic. But what had a mermaid targeted this man for?
“I thought for sure it was the end. I was going to die. Then Natsume was there, shouting, and it caused her grip to loosen. It was enough for me to escape. I had bruises for weeks, though! I don’t know what he said to her, but after that, I never saw her again. The strange thing was … Natsume kept blaming himself, saying it was his fault, but I don’t see how that’s possible. Do you?”
If Madara was less of an ayakashi, he might have agreed. However, at his level, Madara understands a few things that other youkai never would. One, humans are fools and should be treated as such. Two, humans can be interesting and fascinating, but it leads to unhappy ends and Madara rarely bothers with befriending one. And three, an ayakashi falling in love with a human means someone is going to get hurt, because ayakashi love without restraint. He’s seen it happen again and again - and that’s why he refuses to indulge in that one thing. The thing humans call ‘love’ is irrational, and he doesn‘t believe in it. Something so fleeting.
“Does Natsume like you?” Madara swirls his sake, staring into the watery depths. “Because maybe the mermaid was jealous. You could have been in her way.”
The drunkard looks a lot less drunk all of a sudden. “How much do you know about ayakashi?”
“Enough to know that you shouldn’t get involved with a boy like Natsume if he attracts such things.” Swallowing his last drink, Madara stands and bows, a touch mockingly. “Thanks for the company.”
When Natori gets the bill, he doesn’t feel nearly as thankful.
--
Madara’s newest idea to meet Natsume consists of a tree and an open window. Sneaking in, the next logic step. If what you want won’t come to you, you go to it. Or so Madara hears philosophers preach. It’s a little different when hanging from a three story building, of course, but Madara knows what he’s doing. Probably.
His expectations about this open-windowed room belonging to Natsume - that would have been perfect - plummet when all he sees is half-dressed women. He doesn’t stop for directions, though - that wouldn’t have been perfect, not at all. He has to keep moving and find Natsume before the owner of this place finds him. It’s a bit ironic, he thinks, that a game of cat and mouse had him cast as the mouse this time around.
He makes it to the staircase, and then the ruckus begins.
“There’s a cat!”
“Catch it!”
“Ah, it’s headed towards Seiji-sama’s room!”
The door to this Seiji-sama’s room isn’t open, so he has to jump and twist it with his paws, but it’s a place to hide for now. They seem hesitant to enter, at any rate. He pushes the door back shut once he’s inside and collapses onto his well-fed belly. Crisis aborted, he thinks.
“A cat?” a sleepy voice asks, and it’s soothing and warm, the way this human speaks. It sends a strange jolt through Madara, who isn’t used to things like that. “Come here,” the human calls, and Madara unthinkingly obeys - and then stops cold in his tracks. Realization hits him. The smell, clouded with sweat, sex, and material things, is the familiar one he has been chasing. “Come here,” repeats Natsume, and from beneath the covers, he can see the boy smile - so innocent and pure. But the empty eyes are the same. There’s hurt, so much hurt, lurking in those grayish eyes.
Hopping up onto the bed, he curls up beside the boy and fakes a meow. Natsume chuckles, the sound dry and sticky in his throat, which makes Madara move a little closer, placing a paw onto the boy’s covered chest. It’s possible the boy is sick, but he doesn’t want to think about that. This is his last chance to repay a debt. He’s not going to fail.
The boy surprises him by scratching behind Madara’s sensitive cat ears and he can’t help but purr, the natural reaction to such treatment. There’s another faint smile from Natsume, so he bumps his head against the boy’s hand, wanting more if it keeps that smile around for a little longer.
“I don’t know how you got in,” the boy says quietly, “but you can’t stay long. If Matoba-san catches you …” Natsume is frowning, and Madara decides he doesn’t like that expression.
In his cat form, Madara is pushed away and Natsume stands, fully nude, beginning his search for some clothes. Something in Madara burns, fierce and dark, at the mark on Natsume’s back. Two intertwined snakes, a permanent brand that won’t come off as easily as it can be placed. He hisses, and it attracts Natsume’s attention. A simple blue yukata is tugged on as he turns toward the bed.
“Is something wrong?” The boy ties a sash around his waist, keeping the cloth closed, and turns to him fully, crawling back on the bed and holding out a hand. “It’s all right, come on. Let’s get you outside.” Ah, so that’s why Natsume got up - but his movements … stiff, sore, exhausted. He should rest, Madara decides, and he swats at Natsume’s hand.
He wants nothing more than to escape with Natsume, but he can’t. Because as long as the snakes remain intertwined, as long as that mark is there, no one can steal him away without hurting him more.
For a powerful ayakashi to be this powerless, Madara can’t stand it.
--
“Where did these scratches come from?” Matoba asks, and his thumb is gently brushing over the marks. Aggravating them further, but also almost loving in that tender moment. Then he drags his nail across until blood wells to the surface, simply because Takashi isn’t speaking.
Takashi doesn’t feel like talking, though, and Matoba is already in a foul mood. He sees no need to fan the flames. This opinion isn’t shared by Matoba, who wants his caged bird to sing, but Takashi knows how this will go. If he stays quiet, Matoba will make him scream. If he talks, Matoba will want more than pain. His body may break, but his soul - he doesn’t want to lose that. And yet, he feels it erode every time Matoba Seiji touches him, every time he loses himself in a desire he doesn’t want.
Matoba grabs him by the chin and it’s a rough, firm hold that makes sure he doesn’t look anywhere but where the man wants him to look. “Did you get a visit from a cat, Takashi-kun? Truly, you are popular these days. Why don’t you tell me what happened?” coaxes the man, faux sweetness dripping from his voice.
Staring blankly ahead, Takashi says nothing. The firm hold turns violent as nails dig into his skin, warning him. Last chance, Matoba is telling him - but Takashi has nothing to confess. The cat is gone and it isn’t coming back. He knows better than to hope it will.
“Lay down,” instructs Matoba, and he lets go so Takashi can comply. The mattress is soft when his back hits it, but Matoba is close, too close, and there’s a leg between his knees, sliding up - and he doesn’t want this, never has, but Matoba isn’t going to stop if he cries. The man takes his time kissing him, and the anger is translated into the harsh pressure against his lips. No, his mind pleads, but he doesn’t react, he doesn’t call out, he only wishes it didn’t have to be like this.
Love isn’t supposed to be cruel and painful. It’s nothing like this. So he feels sick when, for the first time, Matoba says, “I love you.” Like it means something.
It doesn’t. Never will. He won’t let it.
--
To date, Takashi has tried to run away forty-eight times. Within a day, he is always caught by Matoba’s ‘security’ - and they’re far from human. He has been discouraged from trying to run again, his wings clipped, but he longs for the sky - to see the ocean, to feel the wind, to bask in the sun as he sits with Taki, hand in hand. He wants to be somewhere that isn’t here, and he wants to take his friend with him. They can be safe together, maybe alone in a world with just the two of them. It’s a dream, that’s all it will ever be - and it’s a hope, so he hates it. Hope leads to disappointment, and he’s been disappointed far too much to trust in dreams.
“I have someone to introduce to you, Takashi-kun,” Matoba says, and it’s like silk - the kind that slides uncomfortably against his skin.
He hasn’t spoken in two days, so he isn’t going to break his record for that. He turns his head away, gazing out the window to the untouchable sky behind it, and that’s what holds his attention. He has things he should be doing, menial tasks to complete, but Matoba has requested his time to introduce this ‘someone’.
From his spot on the sill, he watches the barely there reflection of the door and it’s a boy around his age that walks through it. He tenses up immediately, wondering if his body is about to be sold - lies, all lies, Matoba lied to me - but the boy bows to him and Takashi feels a sense of relief to his very core. It isn’t like that, he isn’t going to be sold, so he finally faces their guest to bow his head in acknowledgement.
“From today onwards, Tanuma-kun is to be by your side at all times. Is that understood?”
“All right.” It comes out weak and broken, but he’s speaking again and Matoba couldn’t be happier. Takashi is embarrassingly happy too - because now, he doesn’t have to be alone.
Part 2
Title: A Debt to be Repaid
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters: Madara, Natsume Takashi, Natori, Matoba, Taki, Tanuma
Rating: R - since it deals with prostitution and there will be blatant hints of under-aged sex.
Words: (+/-) 4355
Summary: AU. It all started with a little boy who reminded Madara of a woman he used to know. Then that boy grew up, his freedom taken. Madara won't take that lightly, because he owed that woman he used to know.
Notes: This ended up ... longer than I thought it would. I only finished the first part today, so tomorrow will be the second half of it. I don't think it'll be any longer than a two-parter, so here's hoping! This was inspired by one hell of an excellent geisha fic at shootswishscore. I got to thinking if that kind of AU would be possible for Natsume Yuujinchou after reading it, and then - well, this happened. You have been warned! Read the crazy at your own risk!
An endless life is something that grows more tedious for each day lived. As a powerful youkai, Madara knows this better than any of his acquaintances, for he has lived far longer than most of them. So he finds ways to indulge. Humans are the easiest course to take - terrorizing them, corrupting them, getting to know them - and it leads to an end he would not have foresaw.
It starts with a little boy, who reminds him of a woman he used to know. Clumsy and lost, the boy sits beside a food cart and his trembling is obvious to even the blindest of fools. Madara crouches down and flicks him on the forehead. It stops the trembling, but now the boy is looking at him and his confusion is palpable.
“Who are you?”
Well, to the eyes of a human at least, he is an ordinary man - but a cursed one. A façade he wears when he mingles among humans. It gains their pity and their fascination. With long white hair and eyes redder than blood, he is a sight to behold, and a magnificent sight at that. “I have no name,” he answers cryptically, “but you, child?”
“Natsume,” the boy mumbles and brings his knees a little closer to his body, small and insecure, “but my mother called me ‘Takashi’ when she was still alive.”
Humans live such short lives, Madara reminds himself, this is nothing new. These foolish humans often leave loved ones behind. This boy is simply one of the unfortunate few left behind. An example of why Madara hates attachments. They never amount to anything and end up hurting someone even more. “Shall I take you home?” he offers on a whim, because he knows for sure now - this boy is related to the woman from his past. He isn’t sure how, but the resemblance is there.
Not only is the name similar, but the bone structure, the eyes that aren’t the same color but hold that same emptiness, and the hair that brushes against his slim shoulders - it all reminds him of her. That unkind girl who could see him without the need for human form. He wonders if Takashi is the same, exactly the same, or if he is as different to her as the sun is to the moon.
Nervously, the boy says, “I’ll be fine on my own.” There is no room for Madara to insist, and he doesn’t want to, anyway, because humans are ludicrous beings that don’t understand each other, let alone someone like him. He isn’t sure why he stopped to talk to this boy, but he regrets it now.
Helping a human? A fool’s errand, and Madara is never a fool.
--
Years pass and Madara notices nothing of it. The seasons change, the humans change, but he stays the same. Eternal. It is one day among many, many more when he stumbles upon what the humans call a red-light district. He knows what they are because he has seen them before, but the smell tends to deter him from further exploration. The smell of human desire.
Today is different, though. There is a familiar smell among the mesh of sweat, sex, and materialistic things. And he wants to know why.
“Have you heard?” a woman whispers to her friend from behind her fan.
“I heard! Natori-san has impeccable taste, as always.” Madara isn’t trying to eavesdrop, not really; they’re just not subtle.
“Truly, the most beautiful courtesan suits him, but he visits that place for more than her.”
“What?” her friend asks, surprise on her painted face. “Insatiable, is he?”
Madara walks a little faster, hoping to get away from them and their gossip, but everywhere he turns there are people talking, laughing, and faking what they feel. It’s all so very fake. His nose leads him to a restaurant down the street and he stops for food. Not because he is particularly hungry, but rather, it’s another indulgence of his - and the scent from earlier is close by, so close it makes his mouth water.
“Excuse me,” someone takes a seat next to him, but Madara has his food and ignores the person. That is, until the smell hits him, and his attention wavers.
Raising his head from the udon, he sniffs and it’s faint, but there it is - the smell he’s searching for. The smell of something pure and untainted in this filthy district. His chopsticks fall to the counter as he reaches out and grabs the man by the front of his yukata. “Where were you before you came here?”
“T-The brothel beside this restaurant,” the man explains. He’s too frightened to do much else.
Madara lets out a snort, pays for his untouched meal, and heads to this ‘brothel’.
--
“Does a Natsume work here?” Madara questions after a hostess greets him. She’s pretty, with her dark brown hair that twists around an ornamental flower and a touch of color around her eyes, but she isn’t what he’s after.
Her mouth takes the shape of an ‘o’ and smiles, effortlessly polite. “I’m sorry. He’s with a customer.”
"I'll wait." And Madara doesn’t lie. He takes a seat right in front of the door and refuses other customers entrance until he has what he wants. That fool of a child, he thinks, what is he doing in a place like this?
He doesn’t have to wait long before someone - that isn’t Natsume - appears. A man with a strange paper seal over his right eye bids him welcome, but the smile on his face is a lie clearer than any of the fake, painted faces he’s seen up until now. “Perhaps we can offer you something else, dear customer. Natsume will be unavailable for hours, but we still need use of our door - which you are currently blocking.”
There are angry agreements from outside, telling him to get out of the way, but Madara doesn’t budge. “Make him available, then. The brat’s coming with me.” As soon as he says it, he realizes what he’s doing and gruffly amends, “I’m talking some sense into that boy. You can have him back if he still wants to come here.” He isn’t helping the kid, he tries to convince himself, he just wants to do a favor for a woman that’s always in his memories. Simple, nothing to it. Then he’ll be on his way and the kid will lead a proper life.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken about something,” the man begins, chuckling slightly, “Natsume is a popular commodity. Why would I let him go? And with you? Surely, you jest. Now, if you can pay for his debt, that’s another story.”
Debt? What had the boy done to be in debt? “Fine, how much?”
“Oh my, you are serious, aren’t you? Well, too much for you to pay, from the looks of it.” The man looks him up and down and Madara does his best not to hiss. In human form, he has never seen the need to be what humans call ‘rich’. “But I’ll provide you with one of our … more affordable boys. How does that sound?”
Madara declines. “I have no interest if it isn’t Natsume.” Because at least Natsume would taste delicious if he ate him. When he does eat, Madara is a gourmet.
“Then I advise you to return tomorrow,” dismisses the man that Madara is starting to detest, and he’s sure of it when the man adds, “if you can afford him.”
Madara takes no challenge lying down. He rises, meets it head on, and crashes through any wall that stops him from moving forward. “All right. Tell him to be ready. I’m coming back tomorrow.”
--
Natsume Takashi isn’t sure he’s hearing this correctly. “What do you mean someone wants to buy me, Matoba-san?” The girl sitting in front of him, for he has to ready her for the night ahead, lets out a faint giggle and tells him it’s true. “Taki, why would someone want to by me? I’m -”
“Beautiful,” finishes Matoba, and he’s close enough to make Takashi feel uncomfortable. “How did you become so popular, Takashi-kun? First Natori, now some stranger ..” Takashi doesn’t know the answer either and says as much.
He shivers when Matoba runs a hand through his hair, which is cropped short, to just beneath his ears, to stave off confusion. He isn’t one of the girls for sale, and Matoba makes sure everyone knows it. Matoba has rules here, and those rules have to be followed.
Darkening Taki’s lips with color, he focuses on her and not how Matoba toys with a strand of his hair, rolling it between his fingers. Not how Matoba leans down, on his knees, and pulls Takashi’s simple blue robe off his shoulders. Not how Matoba places his lips to skin, kissing the mark on Takashi’s back that is all his.
“I-I should go,” Taki says softly, knowing better than to linger.
Takashi wishes she would stay, but he doesn’t want to see her punished either. They both know what it means to live in Yoshiwara, and they both know the weight of the shackles that bind them here. “Good luck,” he wishes her instead, because it is enough to live to see another day.
When she is gone, Matoba drops the act - or at least, that’s what Takashi calls it. The possessiveness always disappears once they’re alone. “The man I mentioned,” Matoba starts calmly, readjusting Takashi’s robe to pool around his waist, “do you know someone with white hair, red eyes, and the stink of an ayakashi, by any chance?”
There is a memory from long ago that tells him yes, but he doesn’t want to tell the truth. Not to this man. “No. I don’t know anyone like that.” It’s silly, too. To think an ayakashi wants to help him. They are the reason he has no parents. They are the reason he is indebted to this man. They are the reason he lives each day wondering if he wouldn’t be better off dead. There isn’t a single ayakashi that thinks of anything but itself. The man from my memories is human, he maintains, an ayakashi wouldn’t try to help me.
“Really,” says Matoba, pressing against Takashi’s back to catch a glimpse of the concealed expression, “I somehow doubt that.” His lips are on the shell of Takashi’s ear and the boy shivers again.
Takashi hates how much he has to endure, but he hates the fear pooling in his stomach more. “Is he that much of threat?”
“I wonder,” Matoba answers, and it’s hardly an answer at all.
--
The next day, as promised, Madara returns. He may or may not have stolen the large coin bags he throws to the floor, but that’s his business and no one else’s. As long as it buys Natsume, it’s fine. He can disappear after that, and people will forget. They always do. “Is this enough?” he directs the question to the man from yesterday, who is here again and no longer smiling.
The man bends down, picks up one of the bags, and that’s when the show starts. A dramatic sigh spills from the man’s lips and he turns the bag over, emptying it of coins. “You think I don’t know this is stolen? To shame. A pickpocket wants to steal from me as well? I won’t let you buy Natsume Takashi with money like this. Get out.”
Madara has the sudden urge to tug real hard on the long hair the man possesses, but he resists. That won’t get him any closer to Natsume. “Then maybe this filthy money can buy me something else,” Madara growls. “One night. Give me that.”
“No,” the man shrugs, as if it’s out of his hands, “I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“Now, now, that’s not very nice,” someone else enters the conversation - and Madara curses at his lack of foresight. He should have blocked the entrance again. “What’s wrong with one night?” Madara tenses up at the companionable arm that wraps around his shoulders. “And if you’re offering, then I want -”
“You can keep wanting,” the man says with a smile, “now kindly get lost.”
“So cruel!” the new arrival exclaims, and Madara debates whether or not he should shove the man away. “Do you really want to lose your best customer?”
“There are others.” And the man with the long, dark hair is too confident for it to be a bluff.
“I understand.” Madara’s positive this man doesn’t understand at all. He’s much too determined. “Then I’ll take my patronage elsewhere.”
“Unless,” the sly man interrupts before his once-patron can walk out, “you want something that isn’t taken. I might allow you that.”
“Tempting, tempting,” the other man feigns interest, “but you’re still hiding the best for yourself, aren’t you?”
“Your eyes might be sharp, but you know nothing.” The brothel owner ends it there and speaks to both of them this time, “Natsume isn’t for a sale. Never has, never will be. Goodbye, gentlemen.”
Madara accepts the other man’s offer for a drink when they’re promptly thrown out on the streets.
--
“Name’s Natori,” the man introduces himself finally, but only after the fifth cup of sake, so Madara isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not. There have been weaker humans, plenty of them. “Natori Shuuichi. And who might you be?”
“I don’t have a name,” Madara answers in the same fashion he had to Natsume, years ago.
“Why were you there, if you don’t mind my asking?” He pours Madara another round of sake and then one for himself. “Besides the obvious.” Madara doesn’t like the leer he’s getting from this theatrical man.
“Natsume’s freedom. The fool needs someone to look after him.” That’s the short and the long of it, and Madara’s sticking to that story. This has nothing to do with sentiment. Aside from repayment, because he does owe Natsume Reiko, much to his chagrin. Saving the boy would make him debt-free, too.
When Natori speaks again, his words are slurred, “I feel the same way.”
Pitiful, Madara thinks, I’m on par with a drunkard. “And you? How do you know Natsume?”
“Oh, what a story!” Natori says in that over-the-top way of his. Madara still likes him a hell of a lot more than the other one. “You won’t believe me, but he saved my life.”
“How?” Madara prompts when it looks like Natori has zoned out and forgotten to continue. He waves a hand in front of the man’s glossy eyes, calling, “Oi, finish your story, moron.”
That does the trick, because Natori is gushing again, singing Natsume praises, “He’s sweet, you know. And very polite. I didn’t think much of him until that day … it was about this time last summer, actually.” He trails off into thought again and Madara readies the sake bottle, prepared to smack the idiot upside the head with it - if necessary, which he hopes it will be. To Madara’s disappointment, Natori picks the story up where he left it, “The day he saved me was very hot, so I took my favorite courtesan to the pond. There’s a pond behind the brothel house, did you know that?”
Silently, Madara urges him to speed things up. When that doesn’t work, he pours a drink. And then another. It’s on Natori, anyway.
“We were talking when suddenly it got quiet - a dead silence. She didn’t look afraid, though. No, she was smiling when she wrapped her hands around my throat. I was suffocating and couldn’t scream. She was stronger than I had thought, so much stronger that I knew she couldn’t be human. I managed to pry her hands from my throat, but then she grabbed one of my ankles and started dragging me toward the pond. As soon as she touched the water, what I thought was her true strength - it doubled. I was frightened, terrified, I didn’t know what was going on.”
Madara hides a yawn. Humans, always so melodramatic. But what had a mermaid targeted this man for?
“I thought for sure it was the end. I was going to die. Then Natsume was there, shouting, and it caused her grip to loosen. It was enough for me to escape. I had bruises for weeks, though! I don’t know what he said to her, but after that, I never saw her again. The strange thing was … Natsume kept blaming himself, saying it was his fault, but I don’t see how that’s possible. Do you?”
If Madara was less of an ayakashi, he might have agreed. However, at his level, Madara understands a few things that other youkai never would. One, humans are fools and should be treated as such. Two, humans can be interesting and fascinating, but it leads to unhappy ends and Madara rarely bothers with befriending one. And three, an ayakashi falling in love with a human means someone is going to get hurt, because ayakashi love without restraint. He’s seen it happen again and again - and that’s why he refuses to indulge in that one thing. The thing humans call ‘love’ is irrational, and he doesn‘t believe in it. Something so fleeting.
“Does Natsume like you?” Madara swirls his sake, staring into the watery depths. “Because maybe the mermaid was jealous. You could have been in her way.”
The drunkard looks a lot less drunk all of a sudden. “How much do you know about ayakashi?”
“Enough to know that you shouldn’t get involved with a boy like Natsume if he attracts such things.” Swallowing his last drink, Madara stands and bows, a touch mockingly. “Thanks for the company.”
When Natori gets the bill, he doesn’t feel nearly as thankful.
--
Madara’s newest idea to meet Natsume consists of a tree and an open window. Sneaking in, the next logic step. If what you want won’t come to you, you go to it. Or so Madara hears philosophers preach. It’s a little different when hanging from a three story building, of course, but Madara knows what he’s doing. Probably.
His expectations about this open-windowed room belonging to Natsume - that would have been perfect - plummet when all he sees is half-dressed women. He doesn’t stop for directions, though - that wouldn’t have been perfect, not at all. He has to keep moving and find Natsume before the owner of this place finds him. It’s a bit ironic, he thinks, that a game of cat and mouse had him cast as the mouse this time around.
He makes it to the staircase, and then the ruckus begins.
“There’s a cat!”
“Catch it!”
“Ah, it’s headed towards Seiji-sama’s room!”
The door to this Seiji-sama’s room isn’t open, so he has to jump and twist it with his paws, but it’s a place to hide for now. They seem hesitant to enter, at any rate. He pushes the door back shut once he’s inside and collapses onto his well-fed belly. Crisis aborted, he thinks.
“A cat?” a sleepy voice asks, and it’s soothing and warm, the way this human speaks. It sends a strange jolt through Madara, who isn’t used to things like that. “Come here,” the human calls, and Madara unthinkingly obeys - and then stops cold in his tracks. Realization hits him. The smell, clouded with sweat, sex, and material things, is the familiar one he has been chasing. “Come here,” repeats Natsume, and from beneath the covers, he can see the boy smile - so innocent and pure. But the empty eyes are the same. There’s hurt, so much hurt, lurking in those grayish eyes.
Hopping up onto the bed, he curls up beside the boy and fakes a meow. Natsume chuckles, the sound dry and sticky in his throat, which makes Madara move a little closer, placing a paw onto the boy’s covered chest. It’s possible the boy is sick, but he doesn’t want to think about that. This is his last chance to repay a debt. He’s not going to fail.
The boy surprises him by scratching behind Madara’s sensitive cat ears and he can’t help but purr, the natural reaction to such treatment. There’s another faint smile from Natsume, so he bumps his head against the boy’s hand, wanting more if it keeps that smile around for a little longer.
“I don’t know how you got in,” the boy says quietly, “but you can’t stay long. If Matoba-san catches you …” Natsume is frowning, and Madara decides he doesn’t like that expression.
In his cat form, Madara is pushed away and Natsume stands, fully nude, beginning his search for some clothes. Something in Madara burns, fierce and dark, at the mark on Natsume’s back. Two intertwined snakes, a permanent brand that won’t come off as easily as it can be placed. He hisses, and it attracts Natsume’s attention. A simple blue yukata is tugged on as he turns toward the bed.
“Is something wrong?” The boy ties a sash around his waist, keeping the cloth closed, and turns to him fully, crawling back on the bed and holding out a hand. “It’s all right, come on. Let’s get you outside.” Ah, so that’s why Natsume got up - but his movements … stiff, sore, exhausted. He should rest, Madara decides, and he swats at Natsume’s hand.
He wants nothing more than to escape with Natsume, but he can’t. Because as long as the snakes remain intertwined, as long as that mark is there, no one can steal him away without hurting him more.
For a powerful ayakashi to be this powerless, Madara can’t stand it.
--
“Where did these scratches come from?” Matoba asks, and his thumb is gently brushing over the marks. Aggravating them further, but also almost loving in that tender moment. Then he drags his nail across until blood wells to the surface, simply because Takashi isn’t speaking.
Takashi doesn’t feel like talking, though, and Matoba is already in a foul mood. He sees no need to fan the flames. This opinion isn’t shared by Matoba, who wants his caged bird to sing, but Takashi knows how this will go. If he stays quiet, Matoba will make him scream. If he talks, Matoba will want more than pain. His body may break, but his soul - he doesn’t want to lose that. And yet, he feels it erode every time Matoba Seiji touches him, every time he loses himself in a desire he doesn’t want.
Matoba grabs him by the chin and it’s a rough, firm hold that makes sure he doesn’t look anywhere but where the man wants him to look. “Did you get a visit from a cat, Takashi-kun? Truly, you are popular these days. Why don’t you tell me what happened?” coaxes the man, faux sweetness dripping from his voice.
Staring blankly ahead, Takashi says nothing. The firm hold turns violent as nails dig into his skin, warning him. Last chance, Matoba is telling him - but Takashi has nothing to confess. The cat is gone and it isn’t coming back. He knows better than to hope it will.
“Lay down,” instructs Matoba, and he lets go so Takashi can comply. The mattress is soft when his back hits it, but Matoba is close, too close, and there’s a leg between his knees, sliding up - and he doesn’t want this, never has, but Matoba isn’t going to stop if he cries. The man takes his time kissing him, and the anger is translated into the harsh pressure against his lips. No, his mind pleads, but he doesn’t react, he doesn’t call out, he only wishes it didn’t have to be like this.
Love isn’t supposed to be cruel and painful. It’s nothing like this. So he feels sick when, for the first time, Matoba says, “I love you.” Like it means something.
It doesn’t. Never will. He won’t let it.
--
To date, Takashi has tried to run away forty-eight times. Within a day, he is always caught by Matoba’s ‘security’ - and they’re far from human. He has been discouraged from trying to run again, his wings clipped, but he longs for the sky - to see the ocean, to feel the wind, to bask in the sun as he sits with Taki, hand in hand. He wants to be somewhere that isn’t here, and he wants to take his friend with him. They can be safe together, maybe alone in a world with just the two of them. It’s a dream, that’s all it will ever be - and it’s a hope, so he hates it. Hope leads to disappointment, and he’s been disappointed far too much to trust in dreams.
“I have someone to introduce to you, Takashi-kun,” Matoba says, and it’s like silk - the kind that slides uncomfortably against his skin.
He hasn’t spoken in two days, so he isn’t going to break his record for that. He turns his head away, gazing out the window to the untouchable sky behind it, and that’s what holds his attention. He has things he should be doing, menial tasks to complete, but Matoba has requested his time to introduce this ‘someone’.
From his spot on the sill, he watches the barely there reflection of the door and it’s a boy around his age that walks through it. He tenses up immediately, wondering if his body is about to be sold - lies, all lies, Matoba lied to me - but the boy bows to him and Takashi feels a sense of relief to his very core. It isn’t like that, he isn’t going to be sold, so he finally faces their guest to bow his head in acknowledgement.
“From today onwards, Tanuma-kun is to be by your side at all times. Is that understood?”
“All right.” It comes out weak and broken, but he’s speaking again and Matoba couldn’t be happier. Takashi is embarrassingly happy too - because now, he doesn’t have to be alone.
Part 2