Chapter Text
What illusive words they were.
“I’ll come back for you, so wait for me.."
However, as time trickles by and seasons roll on, I still wait and believe in those bittersweet tasting lies.
You, whose hair was starlight, glistening from the faint raindrops of that dim evening. A male who didn’t look typical, with those scrying eyes that reminded me of the wavering ocean. You weren’t from here; no, not from the autumn lands of Kyoto, not even from Japan. You were a foreigner. Why were you here? That, I don’t have the slightest clue. All I knew and remembered was that fleeting moment when you stumbled upon the wet, green yard of the brothel. At the time, I recall I was folding one of the worker ladies' under-robe, a hiyoku; soft to the touch and as white as the clouds. I had quite a pile next to me on the wooden edge of the house, and knew I shouldn’t get too distracted. However, I couldn’t rip my eyes off of you.. You seemed too unreal. Never have I met a foreigner in my small life; I’ve heard plenty of stories from the older roommates of the palace, but they were tales of men with stern shadows across their faces and crystal blue eyes. I’ve also heard that the majority of them had honey blonde hair- but you.. Your hair was long, and the color of the grey sand at the nearby shores; sprinkled with silver sediments that seem to glimmer, and littered with leftover milky seafoam. I must have looked like a fool with my mouth agape, jaw slightly aching from the pure astonishment I felt towards you.
Despite my obvious discourtesy to you, you cast a grin towards me. The apples of my cheeks felt warm at that, even with the chilly damp air brushing against us. Then my movements became clunky; I had noticed that I froze while folding the garments, and quickly tried to snap back into my reality. Eyes shifted downwards, I fervently tried to get back to my duties while you took a few strides towards my way. I could feel my breathing slow.
I remember thinking to myself, ‘Is he going to talk to me? Why would he want to speak to me, a common youth?’. All those jumbled up thoughts racing through my head were halted by a warm brush of skin against the side of my jaw. I stopped my actions midway, a hand raised to grab another hiyoku as my eyes reached upwards, landing on his features; he was breath takingly beautiful.. As if he was carved from pure marble stone. Pale ivory with droplets of faint rain casted upon, strands of his tied-back hair loosening against the weather. I knew I must’ve been as red as the autumn maple leaves on the ground behind us.. I was extremely embarrassed at the lack of hospitality I was showcasing. The other male spoke of a laugh, crisp through the rain.
“What’s your name?” I could hear his accent, thick. It made me wonder where he was from.
“My name is Yuuri, K-Katsuki Yuuri..” I internally kicked myself at the stutter.
Swallowing a breathe I didn’t know I was holding, I casted a glance to the puddle on the ground. Should I even be talking to this stranger? He couldn’t have been a customer could he..? He did seem to look as if he was four or five years above my own age at the time.
The stranger released his touch on my cheek and i shuddered at the loss.
“My name is Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov.” Viktor. It sounded as if the name belonged to a prince, a king even. Viktor.
“Yuuri.” I instantly straightened up at my name. The way it rolled off of his tongue made me feel warm inside, blossoming throughout my chest. He repeated it a few times before settling down besides me, on the other side of the clothing pile.
“What are these?” He points down at the garments with such a pure sense of curiosity. I dared to crack a tiny smile at that, the pink of my cheeks seemingly toning down at noticing a sense of innocence on the other. I clumsily brought one of the robes up in the small space between us.
“These are called Hiyoku. People wear them under their kimono, it’s one of the many layers that completes the outfit and keeps you warm.” I reply, feeling a tiny gush of pride at my faint knowledge. This causes Viktor to nod, a small ‘o’ shape on his lips.
“Do you wear one too, Yuuri? Do you wear the kimonos that the other women wear in this establishment?”
I didn’t know how to reply to that. Of course, at a brothel, all the prostitutional workers are looked upon to receive such extravagant silks and fabrics. It attracts the eye and attention of the male passerbys.. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think they looked beautiful. Bright patterns of chrysanthemums; reds and golds, the occasional purples and blues. The garments were long and trailed behind you as you walked, heavy but warm and comforting, especially in the colder seasons.
However, such pretty silks were worn by the older ladies here for that very reason; to attract customers. I was past the age where I was to start real work amongst the others in the household, but our caretaker and head housewoman was a kind old soul who felt sorrow for the occasional younger workers. She had let me and my other friend wait until we reached the age of sixteen, when usually you were to start at ten or eleven. I was eternally grateful for that stretch of dignity, and remember feeling slightly bothered by remembering the information at the time.
“No.” I started, unknowingly starting to lean against his shoulder.
“I won’t be wearing them for another three years.” I remember feeling pained at those words, smiling ruefully. Viktor seemed to notice though, and I was sure he knew what the place was and what the workers did. I was sure of it; most of the fabled foreigners that came around the area eagerly come to this house to buy night upon nights of women and the services that they advertised. The thought made me stiffen a bit and I turned away from him. However, Viktor seemed to have noticed my discomfort and pulled away from our proximity anyway.
“You won’t have to, Yuuri..” He started, trailing off at my name. The silver haired foreigner moved to grasp my hand against his lap. It felt warm against the softening rain.
My shoulders eased as I hummed in slight appreciation, glancing up at him through raven eyelashes. What did he mean by those words? Viktor probably sensed my confusion and pursed his lips. He suddenly stood up and took a few steps forward, away from the coverage of the roof. The rain was dying, but tiny sprinkles and droplets made his hair shimmer.
He didn’t turn around, he kept his eyes on the thin maple tree in front of us, it's leaves thick and red. Back towards me, he spoke again, with words I thought I would never forget-
“I’ll come back for you, so wait for me.”
With that, he walked out of the yard. That was the last time I saw him ever again.
The thought was soft and reassuring, I poured my entire being into that one small phrase. I had just met him, was there a reason to believe what he had just spoken? At the time, my naive self thought Yes, that Viktor with his sea dusted greyblue eyes and sandy starlight hair said he’s going to come back before I have to start my life in shame as a brothel worker..
It wasn’t his job to keep his word, of course not. I should have known that a stranger wouldn’t do something like that for me, especially someone so far away from my world like Viktor. I was useless; an utterly helpless young boy who was sold at age nine. I wasn't bitter about it at the time, I was so clueless.. In a sense. I knew what the older women did, I could hear them late at night when they gossiped with each other; smoking from long thin pipes and wiping their makeup off, speaking of stories about how they were ‘too rough’ or ‘ruined their garments’.
I picked up on it all, I really did.
Yet, a small sense of hope that was cast in front of me in the shape of that male nobody was something I held onto dearly.
And I hate to admit it, to my woeful self. I still hold a tiny speck of truth to those accented words.