Chapter Text
The study is a private room. Businessmen kept their trade secrets in locked chests, court officials had their paperwork stacked on their desk, calculations and records were always stored in such a room. It was a room that only the owner and select close family had access to. No one laid out their secrets and finances for just anyone to browse.
Sunlight was tilting outside the opened window. A newly added maple tree in the garden was just barely starting to turn orange, standing in for the months where no flowers bloomed. Small shrubs of camellia were also fresh additions, crisp and green and ready to blossom into much needed colour in the dead of winter. Oikawa levelled his wrist, pressing down the ink stick with more force. His other hand eased back his sleeve so it didn’t stain. A roll of parchment was laid out before him, filled edge to edge with calligraphy practice.
In the two months since he settled in, Oikawa found himself in and out of Iwaizumi’s study more times than he could count. Iwaizumi’s father had left behind an impressive array of texts that he could read at his leisure, the topics ranging from politics to his wife’s favourite gardening techniques. There were rare collections of sheet music mixed into the shelves as well, even though no one in the family seemed to have any musical talent. From the way the edge of the pages saw no dust, Oikawa suspected that they were new purchases.
Days at the Iwaizumi manor were always comfortable. He found so many new free hours in the day, no longer desperately cleaning himself as he crawled out of bed, not needing Kunimi to help him tend to all of the new injuries, not preparing himself as he dreaded nightfall. He could wander the streets, taking in the wondrous qualities of freedom with Kunimi at his side and a sampling of various treats in his hands. He spent time deciphering the rare sheets and learning new songs, sitting on his cushioned stool at the new table for his zither.
His new table in the study. Iwaizumi had ordered the new furniture to be placed in the very room, an intimate gesture that seemed to imply he was family.
Oikawa liked that thought, but something about it still hung just out of reach like a delicate ray of light he’s basking in but unable to hold.
There wasn’t a need for a unique purpose in the brothel. His purpose was to serve, to please, to keep serving, and to keep pleasing. He had kept his head down for so long, letting himself be pulled and pushed into every repetitive day as they cycled with different faces, scraping away at him to the point where he didn’t know who he was anymore.
Even Kunimi found his place as the resident clerk for the household, impressing everyone as he handled finances and procurement with ease. Iwaizumi was happy to offer him a wage even if his closeness with Oikawa landed him at their dining table like a brother rather than a hire.
His hand paused over the parchment for a moment too long as his thoughts trailed off, a drop of ink falling from the tip of his brush and splattering like a spiderweb over the letters he had been writing absentmindedly.
Toru Iwaizumi.
Something about it didn’t look quite right, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. The lady of the house was not a role that he felt best described him, even though all the servants seemed to look at him with that expectation. Oikawa threw the brush back on the table with a frown, watching it roll off of the inkwell across the wooden surface. He picked up the purposeless page and fed it to the candle, watching it curl and writhe before tossing it in the coal bin.
It was almost dinnertime.
*
-
Evenings at the Iwaizumi residence were nothing like those he had been used to at the brothel. There was nothing to dread, and everything to look forward to. Iwaizumi and Kindaichi would return from the base outside of town, sometimes with a roast they picked up on the way home, occasionally with alcohol, and often with Oikawa’s favourite milk cakes from a stand that newly opened down the street. He never found that stand when he went out with Kunimi, but Iwaizumi explained that they must have been visiting at the wrong hour.
They would sit around together, eating and sharing stories from the day. Iwaizumi would comment on how much Kindaichi had improved, making the young lad stammer and thank him more times than necessary. Oikawa might be in the mood to play a few songs. Kindaichi and Iwaizumi would praise him, Kunimi would nod. Sometimes they all drank, sometimes the younger ones would excuse themselves to their rooms and leave him to spend time with Iwaizumi. They’d joke and contemplate the state of the world, going on about things that mattered and things that didn’t, feeling complete with the other’s presence. Oikawa would press summer’s flowers into bookmarks, laughing when Iwaizumi handled them too roughly and they fell apart. A few of them did make it back to the study in one piece, adding soft colours between the pages on the shelves.
Some nights they would kiss, when the stars and evening breeze all aligned, sprinkled with laughter and inexperienced concepts of courtship. On nights with particularly good alcohol, he would have one too many drinks and get carried back to his room. He’d be undressed down to his undergarments for a more comfortable sleep, tucked snugly into the blankets until he woke up in the morning to find soup waiting for him on the table.
It’s been only two months since Oikawa settled down at the Iwaizumi manor, but he felt like he had lived an entire new lifetime.
-
As winter’s edge crept into the capital, the annual lantern festival illuminated the streets to celebrate the end of the harvest season and the conclusion of the national examinations. All the households seemed to be brimming with joy. Streetside vendors displayed brightly patterned lanterns for sale. Children wove through adult legs, brandishing pinwheels and dragonfly shaped sugar treats. Scents of pastries and savory broths filled the air, flowing through the street with the autumn breeze. Paper ribbons were strung up under the eaves, each adorned with a written riddle. Young couples stood under the colours, taking guesses at the riddles and laughing into each other’s eyes. The positive feelings were contagious, and Oikawa found that even his steps felt lighter.
He made a beeline for the stand that had signage announcing “Traditional Milk Cakes” with an unwilling Kunimi in tow.
“A serving of milk cakes please!” He called out to the old man behind the stand. Kunimi pulled out a string of coins - pausing to check that they were from Oikawa’s wallet that he carried - to pay.
“Comin’ right up!”
Oikawa swept the hem of his cloak to the side as he sat down on the wooden bench. The noise of the street sounded so lively, making his mood float and sparkle even with the coolness in the air. White furs were fluffed up against his windswept cheeks, even brighter against the pink tinge on his skin. The grey-blue cloak tied around his shoulders, cocooning most of his jade green robes inside the warm exterior. Light embroidery followed along his sleeves where his arms propped on the table, patterns of bamboo leaves sprouting to life from the seams. The old puncture in his ear was only noticeable now if one squinted. To those who didn’t know any better, he was the very picture of a handsome young lad from any of the rich families in the capital.
Under the robes, a padded brace was strapped around his right knee, stuffed with an assortment of herbs recommended by a physician. It supported his weight well and kept him shielded from any chills that found their way under his cloak.
Kunimi sat beside him, in a thick navy coat trimmed with dark fur, looking better than ever. His long bangs were trimmed back a bit, just enough to freshen up his face while keeping his forehead scar shadowed with his hair. He lifted his chin just enough to pull it out of the fabrics, popped a maltose candy between his teeth, and stuffed half of his face back into the warm comfort of his collar.
Milk cakes were served swiftly, the elderly man giving a wide toothy grin in the spirit of the festivities as they were brought out. Oikawa sighed with contentment in the sweet aroma. Blowing on his burning fingertips as he peeled back the wax paper, he noticed something that didn’t click right in his mind.
“Hey mister, where do you usually set up shop?”
“What do you mean, Sir?” The old man came around to their table, swinging his towel over his arm. “My whole fam’s been here for years” He patted the wooden stand behind him. “This ol’ buddy’s fed a whole three generations of us!”
“Always here?”
“Yup!”
Oikawa’s lip curled into a knowing smirk before smoothing out into a bright smile at the shop owner.
“This is really a great location, very prosperous.”
“Thank you, thank you.” The old man’s joyous tone grew. “Hope ya’ enjoy, Sir!”
“Can I get another serving? To go.”
“Of course, comin’ comin’!”
Every restaurant and stand marks their products differently, usually to add flair to the design and to distinguish themselves from others. Oikawa gazed down at the leaf pattern seared into the surface of the milk cakes.
A new stand down the street from their place, huh?
The festivities were hosted on a main street on the other side of the city from the military base. This was more than ten streets over from their place. It would be at least a half hour detour to pick them up on the way home from the base, even longer if the weather was worse.
A mouthful of warm milk cakes tasted smooth and perfect like they had every other day before this. The familiar flavour stuffed his chest full of sweet feelings, melting through like the cakes themselves as Oikawa sighed again happily. He couldn’t wait to hurry through the rest of the festival streets, to get home to Iwaizumi and expose his little lie. He could almost see the flustered red tips of those ears when he drops the cakes on the dinner table to tease him about the stand that doesn't exist "down the street".
His heart was already soaring on its way home, carried on the fragrance of Iwaizumi’s love.
-
Oikawa clutched the milk cakes closer to him under his cloak to keep them warm, footsteps picking up with anticipation in the direction of home. The sun sets earlier in this season, allowing the festivities to start earlier. A long strip of the street was decorated with towering wooden racks. Multi-coloured lanterns hung from them from the ground up, casting an impressive glow across the entire path. Oikawa paused to admire it, captivated by the grandeur, taking one too many moments to enjoy the scenery. His eyes drifted past an illuminated white swan lantern, landing on the one person in his life that he did not want to see.
To his great misfortune, the man also noticed him.
A young woman stood with him, light brown hair combed up in a prim style for a married lady. Golden hairpins adorned her locks, strands of pearls swinging elegantly by her cheek with perfect aristocrat poise. She wore an expensive sable furred cloak, fastened with deep purple ribbons. A golden eagle clasp gleamed in the lanterns’ light where it was pinned under a fair chin, the reflected light burning into the bottom of Oikawa’s eyes.
The person leaned over to the young woman, whispering something Oikawa couldn’t hear, and started heading towards him. Kunimi narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t familiar with this man, but Oikawa’s immediate tension beside him was enough notice for him to act. Kunimi pulled on his arm, signaling for him to walk away.
Everything inside his mind was screaming for him to run, to flee, but his legs were shaking under his robes, his entire body pinned to the spot under that piercing gaze. How could they look so indifferent, so calm? Oikawa’s heart was pounding in his chest, jamming up into his throat, making him want to throw up. Those eyes had haunted his nightmares, and now they were upon him again, stripping away every sense of security he had finally thought he had. He felt like he was kneeling on that unfamiliar floor again, with nothing to cover himself with, suffocating with his jaw clenched in an iron grip. The sweet cakes he just ate tumbled in his stomach, raising the taste of bile on his tongue. His hands shook where they were hidden in his autumn cloak. Something hit his foot, but he was too numb to register what it was.
Everything came crashing back to the front of his mind, the way he was pinned down and torn open, how his mouth was wrenched open, the ache in his jaw, the smell of his own blood in the air mixed with things he didn’t want to remember. Pain curled around his knee like claws, sinking into the old injury that had been tenderly cared for these past two months, drawing a cold sweat across his skin.
The tall man came to a stop before him, looming over him like a monstrous shadow. He wasn’t even that much shorter, but Oikawa felt the shivers shrink his shoulders inward.
“Oikawa.” The low voice sent pinpricks up his spine, mirroring the frost crystallizing into his bones. “A surprise seeing you out at this hour.”
It was such a normal sentence. Bystanders might even think they were friends. But Oikawa knew, he knew. This was the hour when brothel workers started their evening preparations. This was the hour he was sent off under the guise of a requested musical performance, all because someone with too much wealth had an interest in him. He felt like he was trapped, ensnared, scarred and branded with all of the history that he wanted to escape.
Someone edged himself between them.
“It’s none of your business.” Kunimi’s voice was cold, anger running under his usual calm tone as he spoke up. He put a palm under Oikawa’s elbow, providing a much-needed point of support.
“The main festivities are today. If you prepare early, you could be tipped better.”
Oikawa felt disgusted, his stomach twisting into frustrated fury. How could he be so nonchalant, as if he wasn’t the one who took away his opportunity to enter the palace as a regular musician, as if he wasn’t the reason he was forced into the trade, the reason behind all of the bleeding between his legs and still stinging pains in his knee? All of the torment wove into ropes around him, tightening around his throat in the years as he tried to shake it off, but it was no more than a vague memory for the other.
“If you didn’t reject my suggestion back then, you wouldn’t have to work today.”
“If you didn’t buy someone not for sale back then, I wouldn’t have to either, would I?” Oikawa hissed. “What, do I deserve to rot in the hell you left me in?”
He was done with this. He hated everything about this man. From the way he sounded so casually acquainted now to the way he had once pinned him into a bed – there was nothing he liked about any of their encounters. The light of the lanterns spilled over them like blood, tinting everything the same shade of red as that night.
“Your pride left you there, Oikawa. I told you you could stay with me.” He continued on, as if he didn’t notice that no one wanted to listen to him. With every word, it felt like the noose tightened around Oikawa’s neck, dragging him back into the darkness that he tried to crawl out of. ”If you could overlook-”
Oikawa laughed, a strangled sound escaping his throat like a mocking sneer. His anger overtook him for a moment, roughly shouldering all of his fear to the side. Some people looked over at the noise, and he glared the prying eyes away.
“If I what? What if you just didn’t?” He snapped.
“Oikawa. You-” The tone didn’t even waver as the man tried to continue.
“Shut up.” Oikawa snarled through his teeth, clenching his jaw as his emotions boiled over into an uncontrollable chatter. “It has fuck all to do with you. I’m no longer working.”
A helplessness was sinking into his limbs as the eruption of anger passed. Cold numbness sank into his collarbones, spreading outwards until his shoulders and arms felt stiff. There was no value in arguing. All of Oikawa’s fury and suffering meant nothing to him. He would never feel guilt or shame or anything that would result in an appropriate apology.
“Oh. Well, congratulations.”
Because he didn’t care, and Oikawa did.
The longer Oikawa stood here, the more he was reminded of his past. That face burned in his memories, making him vividly relive the searing pain from his first experience, digging up everything he thought was buried and resolved. His knee threatened to give in, trembling and weakly aching under his robes. Kunimi’s hand squeezed his arm, giving him something else to think about as he desperately tried to rein in the fears that crept back into his mind.
It was not fair. It was not fair he was still being haunted by everything that happened when that man was out there, living his life like nothing ever happened. Talking to him without a twinge of guilt, making it sound like he wasn’t forcibly taken, making it sound like they were some kind of amicably parted lovers when they had nothing but bloody history.
“We’re going home. There are people waiting for us.” Kunimi said, volume raised perfectly for him to be overheard. “Excuse us, Sir.” He squeezed again, harder, giving Oikawa a little tug that seemed to prompt his legs into motion.
Oikawa seemed to come back to his senses, breaking into a brisk pace as he fled.
-
The man glanced at a fallen package by his feet. Round white cakes rolled into the dirt, stained with dust and grit. He turned to return to his wife’s side. She smiled innocently as she waited for his reaction, holding up a glowing swan lantern as it cast a rosy look over her cheekbones.
**
-
As soon as they had returned from the festival, Oikawa slammed himself into his room and ordered for a bath to be drawn. Kunimi, half out of habit and half out of concern, hovered by his door, asking if he wanted any assistance. A floaty laugh pushed him away, reassuring him that he was no longer just an errand boy and had no duty to tend to him.
Kunimi sighed.
Between the two of them, the one who hadn't moved on was on the other side of the shut panels.
When the other residents returned from their business at the base, Kunimi gave a general explanation of the argument in the streets, keeping the wretched history to himself. It was not his story to tell.
Iwaizumi had thanked him for his recount and urged him to go have dinner with Kindaichi. They had brought home an excellent duck.
“You think they will be alright?”
Kindaichi peered over at the door worriedly, watching Iwaizumi disappear into the room when he finally received permission to enter.
Kunimi didn’t quite have an answer for him. Some things in life have no reason, no solution, no luxury of painless forgetfulness. He shrugged.
-
“Oikawa!”
Iwaizumi was furious. Furious with Oikawa’s self-destructive tendencies that had him half kneeling half sitting on the cold floor, alcohol shining where they spilled over his mouth and ran down the front of his shirt. Furious with whichever bastard set Oikawa off in the streets to the point he reeled back months of progress that had him finally caring for himself like the average person. Furious with himself for not accompanying him to the festival so all of the above could have been averted. He crossed the room in a couple of strides, grabbing the man by the collar and hauling him up off the ground onto a stool.
“What are you doing on the floor? Get the hell up.”
Oikawa swayed on his seat, eyes fixing on him but not quite focusing.
“Iwa-chan…”
He toppled over as if he couldn’t sit right, Iwaizumi catching him by instinct. Arms wound around his shoulder, tightening to bring Oikawa’s breath up against his ear. Hot air blasted his neck where the other man gasped for air, breath hitching as he tried to choke down wracking sobs.
Oikawa found his mind crawling with thoughts that haven’t come up for months, and realized he wasn’t as free as he thought he was. From the bottom of his heart, despite all of the kindness Iwaizumi had given him, he still feared. All the happiness seemed to have smoothed over the tattered pieces, but he never truly recovered from how he was broken.
A gentle hand laid on his shoulders, warm and steady. Iwaizumi didn’t say anything, leaving Oikawa to fill the space in the air with what he needed.
“Iwa-chan.” He felt the tears welling up, and he had no energy to hold them back.
Light pressure built in the palm that pressed his shoulders, another hand rustled his hair, the touches so soft and tender it brought the tears down over his cheeks. Oikawa pressed his face into Iwaizumi’s shirt, a bitter taste in his mouth, hating himself for still thinking about his haunted history when he was so close to love. Gentle hands held him, keeping him from the ghosts that ran unwanted caresses against his skin.
“I lost.” He admitted, his voice dropping with every syllable until it was no more than a feeble whisper against Iwaizumi’s neck. “I’ve always been losing… and losing… until I don’t have anything left.”
Iwaizumi pulled him up to knock their foreheads together. Breaths entwined between them, a ragged heave slowing down in pace with deep inhales. Oikawa tried to peek at his expression, eyes crossing at their proximity. He closed his eyes.
“It’s not over, Iwa-chan.” He mumbled, fingers digging against Iwaizumi’s robes. “I thought it would be over once I left and it’s not. It’s still here. I’m still there. I’m still losing.” Thoughts wrestled in his mind, tumbling over his tongue as he rambled on senselessly. The reassuring pressure between his shoulder blades increased, keeping him close as he used the touch to ground himself. “It’s never going to be over.”
“Look at me, Toru.” Iwaizumi drew back a little so he could come face to face with Oikawa. “Look at me. No, look.” He bit back the urge to shake him as he would normally, choosing to put the firmness in his voice instead. “Toru. It is over. You’re not there anymore.”
“I saw him, Iwaizumi.” Brown eyes suddenly flared with panic, pupils shrinking into pinpoints as his entire body tensed up. “He came up to me and I’m… I’m angry, I’m so angry!” His chest was stuffed with all the air he was drawing in, with no thought to exhale, feeling the blood race in his veins as his emotions exploded into a wild expanse of pain. “I’m not okay at all and he is and I’m even less okay with that! He took everything from me and now he’s acting like… like…” His shouting trailed off, shaking where he clutched Iwaizumi’s arms, his nails digging against skin through the fabrics.
Iwaizumi didn’t know who “he” was, but it also didn’t take perfect synchronization with Oikawa to understand it was not a good time to ask. He gave a slight squeeze across the tightened back muscles with his fingers, feeling Oikawa relax the tiniest fraction with that.
“I can’t do this. I can’t… Why am I the only one still hurting?”
“Breathe, Toru.”
“I want him to hurt. Like I have.”
A chain of shallow gasps picked up in urgency as thoughts raced.
“Toru, breathe.” Iwaizumi repeated.
A deeper breath followed, a bigger gulp of air, changing the pace just a bit for the better.
“Yes. I…”
Oikawa’s forehead fell against his again, their breaths mingling as the tide of emotions crashed into the shore and ebbed away. The taut muscles came undone, his body crumbling into the waves like etchings in the sand. Iwaizumi held him steady as he cried.
“I don’t know… I don’t. I can’t.”
“And that’s fine.” Iwaizumi gave him another squeeze. “Remember to breathe, Toru.”
“Okay…”
“Can I get you anything? Dinner?”
Oikawa shook his head, scattering drops of cold sweat from his forehead onto Iwaizumi’s top, putting darker spots on the cloth. He clung on tighter, sinking himself into the comfort of safety. Iwaizumi pulled him in, resting his chin on top of Oikawa’s head. A raspy voice mumbled into his chest.
“Am I just a whore?”
“No. You are Toru Oikawa.”
There was a brief pause.
“There is nothing left of him.”
“Then I’m sure he will find something new. He’s tougher than you give him credit for.”
They both fell silent. Faint whistling echoed with the rise and fall of Oikawa’s sniffling breath, drawing a wheezing underline through the night. One of the candles sputtered out, dimming the room and stretching out their joint shadow.
“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.”
“There’s nothing you need to apologize for.”
-
Iwaizumi woke to an aching numbness across his chest to his shoulder. Sunlight cast a bright red glow across his eyelids, and he groaned as he tried to move. The heavy weight on top of him made him fall still again, succumbing to his fate as a cushion.
They had found their way to the bed at some point in the night so they didn’t have to sit on a stool for hours. Oikawa was sprawled out over him, long limbs tangled between his and the blanket. His face was pressed up against Iwaizumi’s shirt, puffy eyes still shut from their exhaustion the night before. The weight of his torso pushed down uncomfortably against a belt, probably digging a buckle shaped imprint into the skin over his ribcage. Iwaizumi was glad they were both still mostly dressed. Autumn nights were chilly, and that blanket was completely useless where it was pinned down under Oikawa’s leg.
With the one hand spared from sleepy grips, Iwaizumi rubbed his forehead. In the middle of the night, Oikawa had calmed down enough to tell him a story.
He spoke of his family, hailing from the far east, once a great force in the court until they collapsed into the pages of history from a scheme by their opposition. His brother-in-law was lost on the battlefield, betrayed by his closest confidant. His older sister fled for the capital with him and his nephew in tow, seeking refuge from their parents’ old allies. The long journey and their enemies’ pursuit tore her away from him, and his nephew was stolen one night when he had slept too soundly.
Becoming a musician was a final effort when he couldn’t find who he set out to seek. He wanted to find his way into the court, to dip his hands in that pool of power that could help him find his family.
He spoke of how he was first sold, how he was shoved from the carriage the next morning and discarded like trash on the front steps, how he was wrestled into taking more customers. He had drifted from bed to bed, feigning pleasure and charm until they met that one night.
Oikawa had cried again, until the skies turned pitch black, spreading all of his broken pieces out for Iwaizumi to understand, apologizing endlessly for how much of a ruined mess he was. Tears fell into the pit of Iwaizumi’s stomach, drenching him in a stinging heartache. Iwaizumi didn’t really mind all the colourful history - who was he to judge Oikawa for his customers when he was one of them himself?
His hand combed through the soft brown hair, drawing the other man closer, until their heartbeats echoed into one another. It was how they fell asleep, connected with the gentlest touch, seeking the warmth in a spiraling world of cold.
“There is nothing you need to apologize for, Toru.”