Don’t think about it,he warned himself. Don’t brood over it.
Over what?
There was no way he would find an answer when his heart was so deeply entangled.
The only thing he knew for certain was that Masaomi had contracted Ukigumo.
That’s what a man like him would do.
And the fact that Masaomi had been captivated by Ukigumo was as natural as snow melting in running water.
They were beautiful together. Misao recognized how perfect it all was. But then why was his heart still so muddled?
There was a shooting pain in the middle finger of his right hand.
Misao had been daydreaming while he was heating some wine, and he had burned his hand. It didn’t blister, but the piercing pain would not go away.
Misao gazed up at the bulbous moon as it floated in the night sky, wondering what he had been thinking. In the distance he heard the sound of wooden clappers.
He let out a short sigh and left the railing. As he turned to walk down the hall, a breeze from the garden gusted through his long hair, throwing it into disarray.
He frowned and pushed his troublesome hair behind his ears. He didn’t have anything to tie it back, so he held it with one hand.
He went down the enclosed hallway to the stairs.
His feet stopped in almost exactly the same spot as the night before.
He blinked slowly.
Masaomi was leaning against the railing, all alone, dressed in a light robe.
He had red thread laced between his fingers; he was making shapes. Ukigumo or Sazu must have left it with him. He seemed uninterested in his moving fingers, apparently thinking about something else. But he had noticed Misao’s approach and slowly turned his head.
He slipped one hand free of the thread, and it danced fitfully in the breeze.
The red thread threatened to fly away, and Misao caught it against the railing. He had to lean forward to catch it.
His bundled hair flew back in the breeze.
He went up on his tiptoes, then fell back onto his heels and let out a breath.
He held the thread out to Masaomi and looked up at him. He saw in his face that Masaomi had been waiting for him, and his heart trembled.
“I thought if I waited here, I might see you again.”
“What?”
Misao’s face was full of confusion, and Masaomi flicked his eyes away.
Misao felt uncomfortable. Had Masaomi ever been the one to look away from him before? It felt unnatural.
A sense of unknown dread cast its shadow over his heart.
“Would you come with me for a while?”
Misao hesitated at Masaomi’s invitation, which sounded slightly tense, but he had no way to refuse. So he nodded.
He followed Masaomi away from the railing and into his room.
“Is something the matter?” Misao asked the man’s wide back as they passed through the door.
Masaomi seemed in no hurry to begin talking. He didn’t even look at Misao or sit down, so Misao could do nothing but stand as well, silent.
He felt awkward, and when he lowered his eyes his hair brushed over his ears. He immediately let out a small sound of annoyance and pulled his hand away from his hair. His hair had touched the burn on his finger.
Masaomi turned around and looked at him. His eyebrows knitted in concern and he turned to face Misao.
“What happened to your hand?”
Masaomi took Misao’s hand, startling him.
“It’s nothing serious.”
Misao tried to pull his hand away, but Masaomi held fast. “Let me see it.”
Masaomi laid a hand on Misao’s shoulder and drew him over to sit beside a lantern.
He inspected Misao’s hand in the light.
“Oh, I see it. It’s all red.”
“It’s just a little burn.”
Misao’s hand still rested in Masaomi’s.
“I want you to take care of yourself,” Masaomi whispered, as he looked at the burn on Misao’s finger.
Misao tried to laugh the comment off as overprotective, but faced with Masaomi’s serious face raised solemnly to his own, he couldn’t say anything.
“I think I may have offended you,” Masaomi began, by way of preface. “Ukigumo told me about your situation.”
Instantly, Misao’s cheeks drew taut and he slipped his hand free of Masaomi’s hold.
The tip of his middle finger pulsed with pain, just like his heart.
“Would you mind if I asked you about it?”
Masaomi’s face was almost frighteningly earnest.
“What sort of work do you do here?”
“Do you want to hear me say that I sell my body to men?” Misao asked contemptuously. Masaomi did not deny it.
Misao was the lovechild of the most popular courtesan at the time and her lover. As soon as Misao’s father had found out the girl was pregnant, he’d headed for the hills.
After that, she talked about retiring from the business and left little Misao at Oumi Tea House. He had no memory of her. Born and raised in the brothel, Misao had no relatives and he had no choice but to serve the tea house. The child of a beautiful courtesan and her lover, who had been widely rumored to be a playboy, Misao was a beautiful child, for better or worse. When he’d begun serving as a maid, the owner had become partial to him. He was taught everything from literature to the arts of the tea house, and all the expenses rested on Misao’s back, to be paid off by work in the brothel. Before he realized it, Misao was buried in debt, bound to Oumi Tea House, no different from the girls who had been sold into service there.
He wanted to be free.
And the only way he could do that was to pay off his debt to the owner.
He flirted with the customers to earn money.
Sometimes he was contracted more than the prostitutes. He knew that the girls resented him for being more successful even though he was a man. But the trick that Misao had used all this time was to give his full attention to the customer, so they would come again and again. And he had never once crossed the line.
“You’ve been very kind to me,” Masaomi said without hesitation. “I want you to tell me how much you need to leave this place.”
Misao’s mouth fell open slightly and his eyes widened.
His head shook minutely, all on its own.
He was shocked himself at how afraid he was of burdening this man or causing him any trouble.
“Or is this just more of my arrogance, wanting to pay you back somehow?”
Misao gazed at Masaomi’s pure face, at the heart that had thought so fervently of him.
“You gave me your handkerchief,” he countered, dazed, and Masaomi’s eyes fell. He was hurt.
Why is he upset?
All at once, he thought of something. His head hung down, which made it difficult to speak, but the desire bubbled out of his heart and past his lips.
“Actually, there is something...”
He lifted his head.
“Can you take me outside the gate?”
It wasn’t an outlandish request and Misao need not have hesitated. Masaomi’s face showed not the slightest distress.
That was the most he had done to help Misao all evening.
“All I want is one afternoon.”
His voice trembled slightly with this request, even as his lips pulled into a faint smile.