Chapter Text
There’s a car parked in his reserved spot: a blood red Lamborghini Huracan Performante, gleaming in the afternoon sun.
It shines bright enough to actually hurt his eyes.
Sasuke doesn’t drive to work and it’s really the club’s reserved spot, not his own, so it really shouldn’t matter, but it’s more the principle of it than anything else. At least I have a head’s up today, he thinks grimly.
He enters the shop, making his way under the washed out neon lights, pushing past the tinted doors, and comes face to face with Uchiha Itachi.
“Little brother,” he says, shooting him a smile behind the front desk. The arrival hall is small but comfortable: two lamps that shine gold frame the deep mahogany desk on each side, where the hallway that leads customers into the lounge breaks off on the right. On the left, there is a comfortable leather couch for new customers to wait.
Itachi’s hair is swept away from his face in an elegant ponytail, and dressed in a casual shirt and slacks. “I wasn’t expecting you.” There are neat stacks of paper laid out before him - he’s checking up on Sasuke’s paperwork.
“You’re in my club, nii-san,” Sasuke replies as he peers down the hallway. It’s dark and quiet, but he can hear clinks of glass from the expansive room ahead. The walls are papered a dark, lush green and edged with gold accents that trail high up, adorning the double vaulted ceilings that hang over the bar and lounge, making it look bigger than it is. In the lounge, rich brown leather couches are arranged in a neat grid. If he had to describe the style of his club, it would be art deco with an edge.
He still has the scar from when he was helping the contractors install the mirrors, where one cracked in his hands and sliced his palm open. The club is more than just a business - it demands his breath and time and blood, all of which he offers willingly.
It’s an Uchiha thing: if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing it so well that everyone else would wonder why they even started.
Itachi smiles. “Jugo’s here,” he says, “and the finances are looking good.”
“I’m catching up to you,” Sasuke says with the flash of a grin.
“Not with four hosts, you’re not.”
Amaterasu is the latest host club in the Uchiha portfolio, with Sasuke literally being the newest kid on the block here at Minami. He knows it can’t hold a candle to Itachi’s club - yet. Tsukuyomi is several streets away, within Osaka’s bustling nightlife district, running parallel to the Dotonbori canal. Surrounded by other clubs that Sasuke hopes to rival someday, it’s a glitzy monster of neon lights and glass in prime territory. It won’t be easy to come out on top, not when Amaterasu is a host club that markets itself to men instead of Tsukuyomi that is catered to a wider, more common audience: insecure college party girls and cash-rich female nightlife workers.
He knows he’s already doing better than other male-centric host clubs and even smaller, more established clubs because of his surname and the legacy of Uchiha Madara. It all began almost three decades ago, back when their uncle opened his first host club. He’s sure his uncle’s Yakuza ties helped, because soon The Sharingan was the most popular club in Minami. Seven years ago and a family fortune later, Itachi joined the business and like everything else he does, he excels at running a host club, molding raw talent into top-tier hosts, and relishing in the loyalty of high-spending customers. This was what sealed Sasuke’s fate, because anything his brother does, he has to do better. Fresh from university and with the generosity of his uncle, Sasuke opened his own club.
That was a year ago.
“I prefer running a more intimate establishment. You know we don’t get half as many customers as Tsukuyomi.”
“Naturally. But I read your business plan, and I know expansion is all part of the timeline.”
Every time he’s around Itachi, he questions why he ever got caught up in the family business. He should have just taken the safe route and been a programmer, or something. Instead, he’s trying not to argue with his brother in a host club he named after a Shinto Sun Goddess and the antipode to Tsukuyomi in the middle of the day. “I am. Jugo and I are interviewing candidates next week.”
“Relax Sasuke, this is not a test. Not everything is a competition.” Easy for him to say, when he goes home in a Lamborghini to a sprawling home in the outskirts of the city, surrounded by fresh air and green grass and open blue skies, but still Sasuke feels some tension melt from his shoulders when Itachi reaches out to ruffle his hair, just like he used to do when they were kids.
“Sasuke, hi” Jugo says, emerging from the lounge area. “I was replenishing the alcohol at the bar and chilling the glasses.”
“Thanks,” he replies. Jugo is assistant manager, with a heart bigger than the sheer bulk of his frame. It helps that he also looks like a bouncer. Sasuke likes their synergy, the way Jugo can see the greys while Sasuke deals with their world in black and white.
“Sasukeeee, I’m clocking in early today. Again!” A voice rings out as a figure steps into the club. “Ah, Itachi-san,” the dark-haired guy says, dressed in his signature style: streetwear with a fancy pair of sneakers. He stops in front of the desk to bow at the waist.
“Hello, Kiba. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Kiba is the rising star Jugo had poached from a different host club. Sasuke didn’t see the appeal at first - when Kiba speaks, it hurts his eardrums and he always comes to work with dog hair all over his bag - but Jugo said they need someone funny. Everyone else we have here is too much like you, he said.
Sasuke couldn’t argue with that, and that was four months ago. Kiba is a hard worker who always comes in early, even though he never fails to remind both Sasuke and Jugo, and they’ve seen an increase in a different type of clientele at the club, which is always good. These days, the place feels a little more upbeat, and definitely much louder.
Kiba’s cheeks actually colour slightly. “Thank you, Itachi-san. My only goal in life is to join Tsukuyomi.”
“Your boss is standing right here,” Sasuke grits out.
“A guy can dream, right? Anyway, I’m just kidding,” Kiba says, grinning sharply.
Itachi chuckles. “I’ll take my leave now. Don’t be a stranger, Sasuke. See you soon.” He pats the papers on the desk, ruffles Sasuke’s hair once more, and disappears out the door.
“Help me clean the lounge?” Jugo says to Kiba, who nods before shrugging off his crossbody pouch and storing it under the front desk.
They leave Sasuke in the arrival hall. He glances at his watch; it’s 3pm. An hour before the other three come in, two hours before the club opens. Just enough time to go through the thick stack of applications before the start of another busy Friday night at Amaterasu.
Uchiha Sasuke sells dreams.
A fantasy in the form of a listening ear, the comfort of companionship, the spark of a bond, overlaid on the harsh reality of a lonely, meaningless existence. These simple things cannot be bought, but here, they’re abundant, hidden between the smiles of the hosts and the warmth of their words and expensive drinks.
It’s where black flames burn away the shadows and the fears, leaving nothing behind but hazy, perfect moments.
When you live in a constant illusion, it’s not difficult to lose sight of what’s real. It’s all part of the job; it’s the cost of fake happiness. Sometimes, Sasuke feels like he’s going blind.
It’s been four days of a soul numbing search and Sasuke thinks he would rather clean every toilet in every host club within a 5 kilometre radius than do any more of this.
“Only a few more applicants left,” Jugo says soothingly.
Sasuke has complete trust in Jugo’s taste and hiring skills, but as an owner, he can’t take the easy way out. He knows Itachi still screens every single applicant that applies to Tsukuyomi, and if Itachi can do it, then so can he. There’s also the fact he hopes Jugo won’t hire another Kiba-esque character.
So far, they haven’t come across anyone impressive. Most who apply think it’s a quick way of getting rich, but it takes a certain type to last in this industry.
“Who are we waiting for?” Sasuke asks, bringing his fingers to his temples and massaging vigorously, wondering if it’s possible to get rid of a headache with pure will.
Jugo smiles sympathetically at him and before he can answer, the glass door swings open. Light floods the club, and Sasuke squints.
“Hi, I’m Uzumaki Naruto! I’m not late, am I?”
The boy that stands before them is loud in more ways than one. His voice is deeper and smokier than he expects, and he’s dressed in an offensively bright orange jacket, thrown over a mesh shirt and black pants. Skin almost as tanned as Jugo’s, with blonde hair that looks natural and blue eyes that look a little too blue. Sasuke wonders if they are contacts.
“No. Welcome to Amaterasu, Naruto,” Jugo says.
“Okay, great!”
Sasuke’s headache begins in earnest.
“I’m Jugo, the assistant manager. This is Sasuke, Amaterasu’s owner and manager.”
He shakes Jugo’s hand first, before reaching for Sasuke’s outstretched hand. The handshake is a good one, strong and firm, but Naruto’s skin feels a little too warm. “Thanks for giving me this chance.”
His smile is a laser beam of genuine enthusiasm.
“We’ll take the interview inside,” Sasuke says, turning away from the blinding smile and gesturing down the hallway.
Naruto takes this time to check out the space as they make their way into the lounge, which surprises Sasuke. Too many applicants breeze right through the interview, eyes glued to only what’s sitting in front of them. Amaterasu is a character on its own, and hosts need to work together with the space - not the other way around.
Jugo takes the edge of the couch, gesturing for Naruto to sit across him. Sasuke heads off to the bar to bring back three cold glasses of water. He can hear Naruto’s voice from here, throaty and deep, in place of the higher voice he expects someone like him to have. Objectively, it’s a nice voice. Sasuke comes back with the water, placing it on the low table before sitting down next to Jugo.
“Uzumaki Naruto,” Sasuke begins, “tell us why you want to be a host.”
“If you read my application, which I’m sure you have, you’ll know I have no experience hosting. I’ve worked in tons of different places - a fish market, handing out flyers, a sales person at a department store, a janitor at a clinic. I guess the reason I applied here is the same reason I applied to all those different places: I want to experience something new.”
Experienced hosts settle in easier, but they’re also so jaded it practically drips out onto their customers’ expensive suits. The problem with fresh applicants is that most underestimate the nature of the job and only last a few weeks. This is how their last two hires went.
“If you’re worried I won’t be able to make it, don’t be,” he adds. “My motto is to never give up.”
Jugo nods sagely. Sasuke thinks it’s way too early in the interview to be showing any approval for this Uzumaki Naruto.
“Why did you apply to Amaterasu?” This question is from Jugo.
“I saw the posters outside. It looked really cool, but maybe...a bit too cool? Like, intimidating.”
Sasuke feels himself bristle. “We’re not the place for gaudy neon lights and velvet couches. Our clients aren’t party girls, they’re men who seek good company and have money to burn. It’s supposed to be intimidating.”
Naruto’s eyes go wider, and it’s almost like they grow bluer. “I don’t mean it that way! It’s just...this place could do with some of my energy, you know? I’m a really friendly guy, and I could really brighten things up around here.”
He might be confusing the idea of being friendly with overbearing.
Sasuke swallows a sigh with some difficulty. “Do you drink? How’s your alcohol tolerance?”
“Unrivalled. I don’t get drunk - it’s a genetic gift.”
“Monster,” Sasuke says under his breath, a little bitterly. For someone in the industry, he’s terrible with alcohol and he knows how lucky he is to be a manager, not a host. Naruto throws him a grin.
“High tolerance is vital to the job,” Jugo says calmly. “Do you know how a host club works, Naruto?”
“It’s a place for people to heal.”
Jugo’s phone rings chooses this moment to ring and he turns to Sasuke, who nods at him. “I’ll be right back,” he says, disappearing down the hallway.
“Heal?” Sasuke asks, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms.
“To be heard, to have a friend, even if it’s just for a few hours.”
He’s never heard it put this way before. It brushes up against something uncomfortable in his chest, and he doesn’t like it. “We sell dreams,” Sasuke says instead. “We offer our customers what they can’t buy anywhere else.”
Naruto nods. “I have a few questions about being a host…”
Sasuke nods.
“What’s the working hours like?”
“Six days a week, 6pm to...late. We close on Mondays.”
“The pay?”
“Amaterasu is the only club who pays a base salary every month. Everything else is by commission.”
“How do we earn commission?”
Sasuke turns to the bar, where alcohol is lined up into the walls. “Sell decanters or champagne towers to your regulars. The more they like you, the more they visit. The more they visit, the more they drink.”
“Got it,” Naruto says. “So when can I start?”
Sasuke is reaching for his glass of water, which he almost spills across the table. Lifting his eyes at Naruto, he glares and Naruto meets his gaze with another grin. This one is slightly different, more glib. It’s almost a challenge.
Maybe he’s read Naruto a little wrongly - there is a darkness within him, something all good hosts need to survive.
“If you give me a chance, I swear you won’t regret it,” he adds.
Sasuke curls his fingers around the cool glass. He sips the water, eyes never leaving Naruto, and stays silent. This boy is equal parts infuriating and intriguing.
Naruto keeps smiling at him, like he already knows what Sasuke’s answer will be.
“No,” Sasuke says. “We are not hiring a buffoon.”
It’s a Monday and the club is closed. Sasuke knows it’s The Day to finalise their hire, and so far, it’s not going well.
“If you keep rejecting those with potential, we might as well hire an actual buffoon.”
“Ha,” Sasuke replies dryly. “Wasn’t the one with nice hair all right?”
“You said he was freaky,” Jugo says patiently.
“A freak will be better than Uzumaki Naruto.”
Jugo is quiet for a beat, allowing the name to ring out in the air around them. “You remember his name.”
This is the moment Sasuke changes his mind: he will hire Naruto so he can kill him with his bare hands. “Don’t we already have Kiba? He’s the funny one. We can’t have two of the same type.”
“He’s unpredictable and a breath of fresh air. He’ll be perfect for those who don’t know what they want.”
He sighs, even though he knows Jugo is right. He knew that Naruto was the one he would sign off on the moment the interview was over, even if one of his main reasons is to see just how long he can last in an industry like this.
Of course Jugo knows him too well, because he peels out a piece of paper from a folder and hands it to Sasuke. It’s an employee form, filled up with Jugo’s neat writing and all ready to go. “Once you sign it, I’ll let him know.”
Sasuke snatches the paper from Jugo. It’s almost mocking how the form flutters like a white flag in his hand.
He arranges for them to meet at Amaterasu the very next day, two hours before opening.
“Sasuke,” Naruto says happily as he enters the lounge, wearing the same orange jacket. He holds a hand out for a handshake, which Sasuke looks down at and ignores.
Handshakes are for strangers.
“There’s a four-week training period,” Sasuke says, going straight to the point. “If you pass, you’ll be brought onboard as a host at Amaterasu.”
Naruto tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans casually. “Sure.”
“Some ground rules. Our hosts typically go through three or four full bottles of champagne per night. If you can’t handle it, puke it out at the staff bathroom to the left. Don’t use the customer’s bathroom,” he says, gesturing to the back of the club.
“I’ll be fine,” Naruto says easily.
“Sex is not part the job. We sell dreams and companionship, not bodies. What you do on your own time is up to you.”
“Got it.”
“We don’t call our customers by name because we don’t want the entire club knowing their names. Some customers are recognisable, and others keep an extremely low profile. We always refer to them as ‘sir’.”
“Yes...sir.”
Sasuke swallows a cough. First he will kill Naruto, and then he will kill Jugo.
“How did I do, Sasuke?” Naruto asks, eyes sparkling.
“Try harder,” Sasuke responds coolly. “We’ll go through the drink list now. I hope you have a good memory, because the brands and their prices will be on the test.”
By the time Sasuke goes through Amaterasu’s entire alcohol menu and inventory, his watch tells him it’s almost 6pm and there’s just enough time to introduce Naruto to the other hosts.
“Kiba, meet our newest trainee. Naruto, Kiba.
“Yo,” Kiba says loudly, reaching out a fist towards Naruto. He bumps it enthusiastically, and Sasuke feels tired just looking at them. Kiba drifts off towards the bar, where Jugo probably has something for him to do.
“The other two over there,” Sasuke says, pointing to the corner, where two other dark-haired men are applying makeup. The one with sleek, straight hair is drawing his eyebrows, while the other with shoulder-length hair tied up in a sharp, gravity-defying shape, is patting his face with some sort of toner. “Guys, this is Naruto. Neji’s the one with long hair. Shikamaru’s the one who’s always lying around.”
Shikamaru sends a lazy wave over, and Neji doesn’t even look over even after Naruto yells back a Hello! . Neji practically lives in his Airpods, but at least he’s quiet.
“There’s one more guy, right?”
“Kimimaro. He’s our top host, and he’ll be here soon.”
“Cool,” Naruto says, hands back in his pockets. “I like it here already,” he adds.
“Why?”
“You’re young, but you really know what you’re doing. It’s impressive.”
Pride diffuses gently, easily, within his chest. He hates how much he enjoys the validation, but he can’t help the way it relaxes his shoulders and makes it a little easier to breathe. “I’m not that young,” Sasuke says instead, brushing away the compliment with a shrug. He remembers Naruto’s application form, the headshot and the simple bio data that followed. “We’re the same age.”
“Well, we’re young,” Naruto replies, and for a single, crushing moment, Sasuke feels it. Somewhere deep down, they are still hopeful and optimistic, with the entire world stretched out before their fingertips. Most days, they don’t have the luxury of remembering that because this is their shared reality: masks over faces and tarps nailed over their hearts.
Kimimaro glides into the lounge, ethereally beautiful as always, and Sasuke unravels this unwelcome thread of thought and brushes it away. “Stay behind the bar and help Jugo out when he needs it. Tonight, you’re a ghost - observe and don’t get in anyone’s way.”
It’s showtime; they have an illusion to cast.
Naruto only trips at the edge of the bar a few times and almost breaks a glass a couple of other times, but other than that, Jugo tells Sasuke he’s doing fine.
Today, Sasuke is introducing him to an Amaterasu tradition while his other four employees surround them. Jugo is out running errands.
“All our hosts have a signature drink. You’ve been here for almost two weeks, so you should know the bar quite well. Your seniors will show you how it’s done.”
“I’ll go first,” Kiba says, moving behind the bar quickly.
“I’ll go last,” Shikamaru says, crawling into one of the bar seats to watch. Neji stands next to Kimimaro, and they make an arresting sight: darkness with light, yin and yang.
Kiba brings out a shaker and pours cranberry juice, maple syrup, soda water and Etsu gin in it. Making sure Naruto is watching, he cracks an egg with one hand and drops the yolk down the sink. With the top screwed on tightly, he combines everything by shaking it furiously.
Kiba stops, adds some ice, then shakes it once more.
He grabs an old-fashioned glass from the rack and strains the cocktail in gently until the foam rests on top of the drink, creating a light, domed cloud. Sasuke glances from the side of his eye, finding Naruto watching in rapt attention.
“The finishing touch,” Kiba says, taking a toothpick and dipping it into the bottle of maple syrup. Shielding the glass from view, Kiba does his magic and when he straightens up several seconds later, there’s a perfect paw print painted onto foam. “I call this Akamaru, because of its colour,” he says, pushing the red cocktail at Naruto.
It’s a beautiful drink, one that Sasuke remembers as sweet on the tongue and easy to swallow.
“Wow,” Naruto says after the first sip.
Neji goes next, and his go-to concoction is one so smooth and strong that it makes your eyes go white by the way they roll all the way to the back of the head. Unsurprisingly, it’s called the Byakugan. It’s definitely not one of Sasuke’s favourite cocktails, but Naruto downs the entire thing without a flinch.
Kimimaro signature is always slightly different, but they all retain the same sharp, bitter flavour profile. Today, he adds lemon juice to a gin and tonic before garnishing it with a twist of lemon. It’s a drink just as sleek and bare bones as himself.
Shikamaru stretches out languidly before picking out a classic cocktail glass. He mixes gin and vermouth into the shaker, and he pours it carefully into the glass. With a flick of the wrist, he drops an olive into the martini and pushes it to Naruto, together with a folded napkin.
“What’s this?”
“Part of the surprise.”
“I hope it’s not your number,” he says unfolding it gingerly in his hands, revealing two scrawled sentences. “A riddle…?”
“My patrons like to be kept on their feet.”
“I’ll settle for the martini,” Naruto says happily.
“Are you ready?” Sasuke says, and Naruto turns to him to nod. His eyes are clear and steady, and Sasuke can’t believe this guy. Maybe he really is a monster. He’s had four consecutive cocktails and his cheeks are not even tinted.
“Prepare to be dazzled,” Naruto replies as he makes his way towards the bar, five pairs of eyes trained on him.
He scans through the bottles of alcohol, before pulling two bottles of vodka from the towering shelf. A carton of generic convenience store orange juice appears from his pocket, making Shikamaru’s eyebrows rise dangerously high.
“Isn’t this a health violation?” Neji asks, throwing a glance at Sasuke.
“It’s new, don’t worry,” Naruto says as he pokes a straw into the carton, before Sasuke can open his mouth.
With ease, he adds all the liquids into a shaker, and swirls it around.
“We usually make screwdrivers with fresh orange juice...” Kiba says and Naruto just continues swirling the shaker around with big, exaggerated movements.
“This isn’t a screwdriver,” he says, pouring the cocktail out into a highball glass. “It’s a Rasengan.”
Naruto nods at Sasuke, who takes the first tentative sip. Surprisingly, it’s good. The strong, sweet orange juice is complemented by a blend of smooth, expensive vodka, creating a flavour profile that is surprisingly honest. Unpretentious, but definitely not something that wants to blend into the background.
“Hn,” is all Sasuke says before pushing it to Neji, who continues to eye it apprehensively.
“Not sure if I’ll consider myself dazzled,” Neji says after swallowing, “but it’s not as bad as I expected.”
Shikamaru doesn’t say much, Kiba tells him it’s all right, but when it reaches Kimimaro, he is enthralled. Kimimaro, the one who’s never impressed, is impressed. “This is really good,” he says with a slow, appreciative nod. It’s enough to make Kiba swipe at the drink to take another sip, savouring it properly this time.
It sends Naruto glowing with happiness behind the bar.
Definitely a monster, Sasuke thinks, vindicated.