by Amy Tasukada
“Sorry.” Nao cleared his throat. “But I quit four years ago.”
“Take it up again.” He put them back in Nao’s hand, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.
A surge of electricity pulsed where Park’s hand had touched him. He hadn’t felt such blind attraction to another man in…years. That had to be the reason he was tempted by Park.
“I don’t plan on it.”
“Take the damn cigarettes.”
“I quit.” Nao grasped the two teacups left on the table. “Don’t worry about payment. I only did what anyone with honor would have done.”
“One more time.” Park grabbed Nao’s bicep. Their eyes locked, and Nao’s muscles flexed, but Park tightened his grasp. “I always repay my debts, especially to a jjokbari.”
Even though the word was foreign to Nao’s ears, the insult left them ringing.
“I said it was all right.” Nao’s voice did not waver.
“Think of it as an honorable act since you’re so hung up on it.”
Nao stood in silence as he let out a deep breath and tried to forget that Park still held on to his arm. Nao glanced at Park’s sensual mouth. Desire flickered in the pit of his stomach, and he cursed himself for allowing it to take hold.
A wicked grin spread across Park’s face. “You don’t want cigarettes? Fine! Let me suck you off.”
Nao flinched. The teacups slipped out of his hands and shattered on the table, half-finished tea pooling among the broken pieces. Clearing his throat, Nao looked down, letting his hair cover his warming face. Had the man read the desire on his face?
“That got your attention, eh?”
“Of course not!”
Nao tugged free of Park’s grasp and knelt down to pick up the broken cups, laying them inside one another.
“Get dressed and go. Forget it ever happened.”
Park trailed his fingers down Nao’s arm. The light touch was so intimate, even though Park was a stranger. Nao’s skin itched as goose bumps rose on his flesh.
“Close your eyes and pretend I’m a girl,” Park cooed. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I said go.”
“I won’t leave until I’ve repaid you.”
“You have no debt to pay to me.” Nao walked to the kitchenette.
“No, I owe you. Who knows? I could’ve gotten pneumonia.” Park winked.
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
“I’m stubborn?”
“Well, you won’t leave.”
“Like a cockroach?”
“Yes!” Nao dropped the broken cups again, watching them shatter further on the floor, when he realized his mistake. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s why you’re backing off every time I come near you?” He pointed at Nao. “Don’t want some Korean’s hand on you?”
“I have nothing against Koreans, and stop accusing me. I’ll take the cigarettes if it means you’ll leave.”
“Too late. You already told me you don’t smoke. So…”
Nao caught Park looking him over like a bar patron scanning the host catalog, wanting to pay the hottest-looking person to pour his drink and make him think he was the most interesting person in the world. Nao knew the look well, having given the same once-over to many a host in his past.
“Cigarettes and…that hold two different values.”
“For you, maybe. I’m a cockroach. So it evens out.”
“I didn’t…” Nao sighed and looked toward the broken cup. “You can buy me new teacups.”
“You were the one who broke them.”
“And I’ll take new ones as payment for your debt.”
Park shrugged. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“I’m broke.”
“You nearly—” Nao bit his tongue.
“What was that?”
A dull pain shot through Nao’s arm. He uncurled the fist he didn’t realize he’d made, and fingernail marks dimpled his palm. He wanted Park. With each second Park stayed, the more the memories of having someone else in his home flickered in Nao’s mind. He worked hard keeping those memories at bay, drinking pots of tea and walking the path any time that 9mm in the nightstand looked more like a welcomed relief. He needed to keep the steadiness he’d created for his life, even if it meant total solitude.
Still, Nao wanted Park. He wanted to feel the man’s mouth on him. As much as he fought it, he couldn’t change that fact. He looked back at Park. A onetime tryst wouldn’t change him. He’d had four years without one, after all.
“If it gets you out of here, fine.”
Park smiled as if he could see through the lie. “I knew you’d come around.”
It had been too long living with the pent-up desire within; Park’s offer couldn’t be resisted. Nao loosened his yukata belt as he took a few quick steps back to the bedroom area of the studio. Park made some off-handed comment that Nao ignored.
Sitting back on the bed, Nao glance down to see Park resting between his opened legs. Park’s hands slid onto Nao’s thighs, pressing them farther apart. The touch burned, and Nao looked away. Park wasn’t the man he loved.
Nao closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to carry him out of the room while Park’s lips engulfed him. Through each lick and tease, Nao thought of nothing. It proved easy not to let any glimmer of fond memories escape, and even easier not to allow his past lover to be remembered with Park’s expert touch. Nao thought only of the darkness.
“You can’t get it up anymore, old man? Is that why you said no?”
“Just go.”
“Not until you’re done.”
Park went back down, and Nao opened his eyes. The white ceiling he saw every day grounded him in the room. Fighting the sensation would make Park stay longer. Nao bit back a moan, and a scent not his own flooded his nose. He turned his head. He was on the yukata he’d given Park, and it was damp with Park’s musky sweat. He grabbed onto the cloth, not wanting to touch Park no matter how tantalizing his mouth.
It consumed Nao and brought back the memories he tried to flee. Park’s mouth was replaced by the image of Nao’s past lover. Nao could think of him. All the joy they shared, the long nights of ecstasy. It had been too long. Nao let out a cry at release and glanced to Park, seeing him, until Park smiled and spat on the wooden floor.
“Never could stand the taste,” Park said. “Who’s Shinya?”
Nao held his breath. He never allowed himself to utter his lover’s name, and here Park said it like it was nothing. Nao scrunched his nose, wanting to smack that playful grin off Park’s face.
How could he ever have exchanged Park’s image for someone he cared for? As soon as Park left, he would have to disinfect the area, along with any memories of the whole affair. As Park stood, Nao sat up. His yukata fell off his shoulders, but he quickly covered his exposed back.
“Where’s the toilet?”
Nao pointed toward a door off the living area, not sure if he could speak as steadily as he wanted. The prickle of satisfaction loosened all his muscles. It had been too long since he’d had that kind of release.
He caught another glimpse of the tattoo on Park’s chest as the man swaggered out of the room. The tattoo meant something; Nao was certain of it. No one so brazen and egotistical would be a businessman. Before leaving the Yakuza Japanese mafia, Nao had heard the Korean mob had established itself in Osaka and forced the Japanese mafia there into a bloody territory war. The fighting had spilled onto the streets, killing innocent people. Kyoto couldn’t be the Koreans’ next target for expansion.
Once the door to the half bath was shut, Nao belted his yukata and snatched Park’s wallet from his pants. Nao took one of the moon business cards. The wide sleeve of his yukata was sewn closed, but the armholes allowed Nao the perfect
hiding space for the card. A small groan echoed through the quiet apartment. Park must’ve enjoyed it too.
Park came out of the bathroom and grabbed his clothes, putting them on nonchalantly. Nao tried to ignore Park’s tanned chest, focusing on the breakfast he’d prepared for them. It was the same meal he’d cooked when his lover used to stay the night.
Stop. Park was no lover. Nao made it out of habit and nothing else. However, the longer he stared at Park’s face, the more similarities he drew to him. His heart clenched in pain at the memories as his gaze lingered on Park’s nose, so similar to his old lover’s. Discomfort set in, and Nao changed the subject.
“You need stitches for your arm. I’m surprised the glue held up during the night,” Nao said.
“I’ll be fine.” Park zipped up his pants.
“How did you get so banged up, anyway?”
“Different point of view.” Park grinned. “I didn’t mind sleeping with someone’s girlfriend, but he and his buddies had a different opinion.”
The word “girl” caught Nao’s attention. He raised an eyebrow. “So an affair of the heart left you trapped in a canal?”
Park gave no reply. Nao gazed at the tattoo once more before it was covered by Park’s tasteless and bloodied skull shirt. If Nao needed to warn his syndicate family of an invasion, the more information he could get out of Park the better, even if he wanted Park gone.
“What does that tattoo mean? Is it for some kind of band or something?”
Park headed for the front door. “You’re full of questions all of a sudden.”
“I couldn’t help but notice.”
“Look, as soon as I step outside the door, you’ll never see me again. So don’t start getting attached because I made you cum.”
Nao took a step back. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“If talking about my ‘affairs of the heart’ isn’t getting attached, then I don’t know what is.” Park shook his head and mumbled, “Like all the other Japanese bastards who think they’re superior.”
Park slammed the door shut behind him.
The echo of the door slamming stabbed Nao more than he ever wanted to admit. The mess on the floor and the dirty yukata were the only signs someone else had come into Nao’s world. The tattoo remained locked in his memory.
He was alone, again.
Nao reached into his sleeve and pulled out the business card. Sakai would know if it was just a business card—or if it was something the syndicate needed to know about.
Nao stepped out of the elevator and onto the top floor of the office building. The air conditioner hummed, creating a refuge from the humid outdoors. The chill filled the floor with an unshakable breeze that made goose bumps rise on Nao’s skin underneath his thin yukata. He placed his hands into his sleeves for warmth, and his fingers caressed the embossed card he’d taken from Park.
Nao had known Sakai in passing most of his life but hadn’t seen him since he broke free from the syndicate. Hopefully Sakai had lightened up a bit over the years.
Nao strolled down the aisle of windowed offices, skimming the nameplates, but none of them were Sakai’s. Nao pressed his lips together. Sakai wouldn’t quit the practice. He was too much of a businessman to do anything but find loopholes in contracts.
Nao cleared his throat at a man working in a cubicle.
“I’m sorry for interrupting.” Nao bowed an apology. “Where is Mr. Sakai’s office?”
The worker winced at the name. “Are you sure it’s Mr. Sakai you are looking for and not one of our other attorneys? You don’t look like his typical clients.”
“His office used to be here, but I guess he moved since last I came.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Please excuse me. He’s down the hall.” The worker pointed, but his focus remained on Nao.
Nao murmured his thanks, and the man scurried back to his cubicle. He strolled down the hallway. The offices were no longer surrounded by glass but instead with wooden paneling. Four doors in, he found Sakai’s nameplate with the title “Head Attorney.” Nao opened the door without knocking.
The room was cold, like the others, but Sakai was nowhere to be found. Nao silently shut the door behind him. A white leather sofa sat off to one side and, opposite that, a woman filing paperwork behind her desk. Her pastel-pink suit stood out against the dark wood. He paused a moment at her desk and heard Sakai’s muffled voice from behind the door to her right. The secretary still filed her papers, apparently taking no notice. Disturbing her would be silly. Nao moved to grab the handle of Sakai’s door.
“Wait!” the woman screeched.
The files fell from the edge of the cabinet. She caught half of them in flight, using her body to squeeze the falling papers against the cabinet while the others scattered to the floor. Nao didn’t move, keeping his hand on the doorknob leading to Sakai.
“It’s all right. Sakai knows me.” Nao turned the handle.
“Stop.” She waved her free hand. “Mr. Sakai explicitly requested not to be disturbed.”
Nao let go of the handle, and the woman exhaled, the files she had saved tumbling to the ground and piling on top of the others.
“Shit,” she said.
“You know…” Nao hoped the sudden chaos would distract her. “Sakai and I are in the same family, so I think it’ll be all right if I go in.”
“Family?”
“We drink sake every New Year.”
Nao smiled after dropping the subtle hint. The hint was a lie since he hadn’t drunk sake with Sakai in four years, but the absolute truth wasn’t necessary. What was necessary was to know whether the business card was a legitimate company, or what it looked like: a Korean syndicate in Kyoto.
“Please, Mister…”
“Murata.” If anything, his name could get him in, but her eyes remained clouded.
Nao turned the handle, but the lady freed herself from the cabinet and rushed in front of him.
“Please, Mr. Murata. It’s my third day here. Mr. Sakai fired the last girl for not doing as instructed.”
Nao sighed. Using his name hadn’t worked after all. It would be easy to lie, but the papers strewn on the floor meant the woman was having a bad day, which was his fault. If Sakai was doing something important, he would blame her for Nao’s pushiness. He didn’t want to get her fired.
She lowered her arms. “Why do you need to see him?”
“I wanted to ask a quick question.”
“That’s easy. I can write him a memo, and he can call you with the answer.”
She smiled, but Nao shook his head. Why was everyone so obsessed with phones? He destroyed his four years ago when he grew tired of people calling to check on him. Once the phone was gone, people stopped trying to call, and Nao’s connection with anyone from his old life was reduced to a few mahjong games at his teahouse. He saw no reason to get another one.
“I can have him e-mail you if it’s easier?” she said.
“I don’t do computers or have a phone.” The only technology Nao interacted with was his rice cooker and water boiler.
“Then I can set you up with an appointment.” She moved to her computer.
Nao crossed his arms into the sleeve of his yukata and caressed the embossed curves of the double moon on the business card. It pulled him back to the people of his past to find out about the card. If a Korean mob was moving into Kyoto, he couldn’t waste a moment to warn his old syndicate so they could protect the city.
Was that really it, though? The more he thought of the card, the more Park crossed his mind and the more his face resembled his lover. His tantalizing toughness and the way his muscles flexed under his skin made Nao gulp.
“I don’t have time to come back. Can’t you tell him I’m here? Say I forced you to do it,” Nao said.
Wavering only a moment, she nodded and dialed Sakai’s number.
Sakai’s voice came through the phone loud and clear. “I fucking stated that I didn’t want to be disturbed. I don’t know how I could possibly phrase it any other way. If it’s too difficult for you to follow simple instructions, then I will find someone who can.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Sakai, but Mr. Murata is here. He insisted I call you.”
“Murata?”
“Yes.” Nao leaned forward. “I need to ask you a quick question—”
“Nao?” Sakai cleared his throat. “Tell him to go away. If you interrupt me again, you’re fired.”
The line died, leaving only the dial tone until the secretary hung up.
“Sakai is such a joker.” Nao laughed as she glared at him. “Next week, he’ll be giving you wasabi-filled rice balls.”
She didn’t laugh, but five minutes around Sakai and anyone could tell his idea of a joke was a well-placed idiom. Nao stretched, causing a dull pain in his shoulder as he turned away from the woman and strolled to the sofa.
“I’ll wait until he comes out. It’ll probably be a few minutes.”
“I don’t think—”
“When he comes out, he’ll see me, and we’ll talk then. If he doesn’t want to, then I’ll leave.”
She picked up the phone, the dial tone sounding. Was she going to call security? A fire grew in his stomach, but he swallowed it back.
“If you’d rather, I can help with the filing.” Nao eyed the pile of fallen papers.
Looking over her shoulder, she mumbled something he couldn’t hear before picking up the files. Nao sat on the sofa and pulled out the business card that had brought him there. He tried not to become entranced by the lines and circles of the Korean text that only a minimalist would consider elegant. He remembered Park’s tattoo and bloody knife. Nao’s mouth drew into a thin line.
How could the Korean mafia think they could infiltrate Kyoto? Nao’s thoughts drifted from deciphering any meaning from the interlocking crescent and gibbous moon. He ran his thumb along the edge and got lost within the blue and red colors. The image merged with the same symbol on Park’s chest and his taut skin…
