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They hadn’t been lying, those who described Ni-chome in Shinjuku as an ocean of neon rainbows lighting up the darkness of nightlife.
Yonoi gets off the DiDi already somewhat dizzy from all those colours, and once he was standing among the fluorescent flashes, it takes him a moment to remember which direction he should be walking in. Here he is finally, at the heart of the the LGBT scene of Tokyo. He’s never been a Shinjuku regular at all, in the first place, so before his younger students and Lawrence mentioned it to him, he had no idea that such a thing even existed. He grew up in a rather conservative family, which although had adopted a certain flexibility with the turn of the century, adapting to novelties and relentless Westernization, had no ties to the ‘queer’ landscape of the new generations until he began to delve into it, and only after he had come out to them.
Yonoi thinks he was right not to come on a weekend. Holding his Thursday lessons a little later allows him to visit the popular neighborhood on a Wednesday night, which is certainly an advantage, for the area is only moderately busy, unlike the pictures he saw online before his foray, which showed women in sequined dresses and perfectly suited men, along with hordes of fashionably dressed teenagers walking in large groups. The reality tonight is rather more pleasant, with only a few people passing by: a couple of young salarymen discussing business while smoking tobacco, the occasional woman sneaking around dressed as if for a very particular kind of party - one of them handing out pamphlets - and even a few foreigners talking animatedly and dressed in traditional Japanese clothing, clearly enjoying their stay to the fullest. Voices mingle with the loud sounds of music emerging from some of the venues, and the stars are entirely invisible, obscured by neon lights and colourful flags.
As he marvels at how far the community has come, a group of what he recognizes as drag queens pass by, chatting quietly but still dazzling him with their colourful outfits and wigs. What remains most resonant in his mind's eye is the makeup, though, an art he has slowly learned to appreciate. He himself is wearing a bit of eyeliner, along with a lipgloss that highlights the thickness of his lips, a thoughtful Christmas gift sent by one of his sisters.
His family had taken his coming out with surprising acceptance, and his sisters were eager to teach him unsolicited makeup tricks that he secretly already knew, but didn't have the heart to tell them so; their enthusiasm made him suspect that everyone in his family was already in on his secret, and they were just waiting for him to be ready to take the step so they could breathe easy. Yonoi felt very lucky, obviously, although also, if he was honest, he harbored some guilt for making them go through such inconvenience, not recognizing himself as deserving of all the support for that part of him that he hid for so long with such a terrible sense of shame.
He does like the makeup, though. And now, more comfortable in his own skin, he wears it proudly.
Yonoi has always known he is an attractive person, a fact proven by all those Valentine's Day gifts he received as a teenager from the girls at his school, and later from some of his colleagues. He had never had any idea how to respond to them, however, leaving handfuls of confessions unanswered and the poor girls hanging by a thread when White Day came around, like a proper coward. And it wasn't just girls...
These regretful thoughts cast a shadow of shame that looms over him, leading him to regret and question all the decisions that have led him to be a man in his late 20s who visits a gay Host Club in an upper-middle class LGBT neighborhood.
No.
No, today he is determined to break those fears. Today he will dare to try to flirt with a man, with a person, for the first time, even if it is not entirely authentic.
It was Lawrence who gave him the tip about this place. They had been drinking non-alcoholic drinks right after a morning of training near the dojo when Yonoi finally felt comfortable enough to tell Lawrence the truth he had recently revealed to his family. He and Lawrence have been friends for years, ever since the Englishman signed up for Yonoi's introductory Kendo classes, and their mutual interest in each other's cultures, coupled with the fact that Lawrence is considerably older than most of Yonoi's students, older than Yonoi himself, helped the two quickly connect and the friendship blossom.
As Yonoi drank iced tea and Lawrence drank soda, Yonoi told him his secret, making Lawrence the first person outside of his family circle to find out about his sexuality. Lawrence immediately congratulated him and even suggested they go out to a bar that night to celebrate, because Lawrence loves Japan and would jump at any opportunity to wander around the far corners of Tokyo. Yonoi politely declined the invitation, as he really didn't feel quite ready to celebrate yet. As they continued talking, one of the two subtly brought up the topic of romantic relationships, and that's how Yonoi hesitantly confessed that he had never been in a relationship and felt uncertain about pursuing one in the near future, despite his desire to form a meaningful connection.
Lawrence then said, “Why don’t you just practice a little bit without any strings attached?” causing Yonoi to jump at such a bold suggestion.
“You mean to play with people’s hearts like they’re disposable?” he asked dramatically, prompting Lawrence to laugh loudly.
“Not at all, lad,” he replied with a laugh, the familiarity of his tone helping Yonoi relax. Yonoi suspects Lawrence sees him as a sort of son he never had, which comforts him in a peculiar way. He appreciates the open-mindedness and compassion Lawrence shows to everyone he meets, Yonoi included, and that’s why he knew he could trust him with this information about himself.
“You’ve heard of Host Clubs, I assume?” Lawrence asked, leaving the question hanging without elaborating further, giving Yonoi room to understand.
“You’re suggesting I visit… Do you know what a Host Club is?!” Yonoi shot back, as Lawrence clearly had a very misguided conception of how such venues work. Yonoi may not be a big fan of nightlife, but he has read the reports that talk about how those businesses prey on the most vulnerable people to exploit them for their money, often leaving them bankrupt and in very precarious situations.
Lawrence took a sip of soda, seemingly lost in thought, and then simply replied “I know a place. Don’t ask me how… I heard about it from someone I work with.” Lawrence works as an interpreter and teacher of English and Japanese, and knows all kinds of places and all kinds of people, so this could really mean anything. However, something in his tone sounded amused, as if he was deliberately withholding information. “It’s a legitimate place,” he continued, “the things they told me are good. I’ll send you the information.” And he immediately proceeded to take out his phone to send a link via LINE. Yonoi opened it instantly, more out of curiosity than anything else. He wanted to know what kind of business and people his friend was associating with, that was all, he said to himself.
When he opened the website, he was struck by a glossy burst of muted colours, the simple, classy layout showcasing a carousel of handsome young men immaculately dressed, accompanied by the name of the venue written in elegant calligraphy: “Rose Mallow Host Club”. The design of the site was minimalist in a way that allows the beauty of the Hosts to shine by itself, each man more beautiful than the last.
The photos rotated slowly in a seamless dance of idealized male beauty, making Yonoi feel as if he’d been transported to a whole different world without warning. All the men wore suits that seemed tailored to perfection, as well as carefully groomed, striking hairstyles, and some of them appeared to be wearing makeup and contact lenses, curating a diverse, exotic selection. Beneath each photo there was a small square containing three attributes about the host, as if just those few words were enough to encapsulate the whole essence of a person.
He had to give it to Lawrence: The site looked legit, a reassuring little icon of a locked padlock at the bottom confirming that it is indeed safe for transactions. Still, the whole thing felt forbidden, like something that no reasonable person would even consider spending time and money on.
Still…
“Think about it,” Lawrence said gently as he gestured to the waiter to bring them the bill. “You don’t lose anything by trying it once, of course, as long as you don’t spend all your money on drinks in one night.”
“Thanks,” Yonoi replied, still staring at his phone screen in dismay, his eyes fixed on the photo scroll that continued to rotate and show new flawless faces. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿
Yonoi couldn’t stop thinking about the website.
After he and Lawrence parted ways, he went to the konbini to buy some bottled tea and other stuff he needed for the rest of the week, and the images of the hosts kept circling his brain like obsessive thoughts, even though he wasn’t particularly attracted to any of them. Perhaps that was a good thing, he thought, since what Lawrence had had in mind was precisely to find an opportunity for Yonoi to learn how to talk to people in a personal manner without the risk of hurting his or someone else’s feelings in the process. No expectations, just an afternoon or evening of drinking with someone and sharing trivial information in a relaxed manner, without fear of messing it up.
Walking home with the shopping bag hanging from one of his arms, Yonoi passed by a random store window, and saw his own reflection by accident. Yonoi never had too many worries regarding his physical appearance, always procuring to stay fit and taking care of his hygiene and grooming on a daily basis. However, with the images of those overly adorned boys still bouncing around inside his head like a bizarre, dazzling screensaver, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe the problem was that his looks were too plain, and if maybe that was why he had never had a partner. Perhaps he needed to highlight his hair or wear flashy contact lenses, like those men who looked like beautiful vampires pulled straight from romance novels. He tried hard to keep those vain thoughts out of his head, although they continued to persist for the rest of the day, as he climbed the stairs of his complex and as he put the groceries away in the cupboard.
Before going to bed, he spoke to one of his sisters on the phone, though he didn't mention the Host Club to her, for fear that she would reproach him for stooping so low. Knowing Yukiko, she would never actually do that, at most she would worry a little about Yonoi's safety, but he knew that his family fully trusted his decisions as a responsible adult. Perhaps precisely because of that, because his sisters looked up at him with admiration, he didn't want to reveal his openness to such a risky and borderline stupid possibility.
Just as he said goodbye to Yukiko, he received a text from Lawrence saying “Don’t forget to mention that you speak English!” referring to the specifications of the booking. Lawrence had mentioned this to him earlier, but Yonoi didn’t see the point of clarifying something like that on a reservation form for a place like this. What difference would it make?
He sat on the bed, drying his short hair with a towel, contemplating whether he should grow it out and ditch the crew cut to blend in better with current fashion. For convenience, he opened the website on his laptop this time instead of his cellphone. There they were again, all those impossibly attractive men, tormenting him, giving him mixed feelings as he took in the contrast between glamour and absurdity, their looks as polished as their poses were exaggerated and cartoonish.
Without further ado, he opened the tab for booking, finding a simple form that included spaces for the client's name, the number of hours they wanted to book, the host of choice, and a larger box for any specifications the client wanted to add. Below that was a list of terms and conditions of use, along with the section on card payment, which required a minimum payment to book that would then be deducted from whatever the client ordered at the venue.
The prospect of choosing a host immediately intimidated him. How could he make the right choice without even having these people in front of him? Based on just photos and three sentences, it was very difficult to know which host would be the right one. In addition, Yonoi was not even very clear about the type of man he liked… Not only had he not had a romantic relationship, but he had only been infatuated with a couple of people in his almost 30 years of life, and both cases had ended catastrophically, to the point that he preferred not to have to think about it any more.
Luckily, he noticed that in the same tab there was the option to leave the host box blank, so that he could choose one when the reserved day arrived, and in case his preferred host was not available, another one would be assigned to him depending on the availability. Checking that box, he sighed and completed the form feeling much calmer, to the point that he did not even think much about the matter of the basic payment. In the specifications section, he remembered to indicate that he spoke English, as Lawrence had insisted, wondering if that would have any bearing on the host he would be assigned when the day came.
He went to sleep feeling surprisingly confident and hopeful, and for the next few days he barely thought about the potential implications of his decision, a strange confidence having taken hold of him by the knowledge that he had taken a step in this new direction. But as the date drew closer, he couldn’t help but re-experience the nerves he’d had before making the reservation. What if he made a fool of himself? What if he did something stupid that he shouldn’t do? Yonoi devoted himself to rereading the single paragraph with the terms and conditions for attending the Host Club every night before going to sleep, telling himself that they were pretty standard rules for any kind of nightclub, and it was enough to have some common sense, which he had. Still, what if the host got upset by some action or word of Yonoi’s? What if he made such a terrible mistake that he ended up being banned? What if…
He hadn’t been this anxious in a long while. It reminded him of being a teenager with a crush, uncertain and clumsy even in his imagined scenarios. He needed to get his stuff together, he was a grown man, and this was just an experiment whose results would have little weight in the grand scheme of his life. He could do this. He was going to go to the club, have a random host assigned to him and have some fun drinking a soft beverage and making small talk, and then he would leave and never go back again, and that was all. That was the plan. He was going to confront his fear of personal interactions with strangers and at worst walk away with a slightly embarrassing story to tell Lawrence, should he end up making a fool of himself.
It’s not as if he’s going to find his soulmate in a place like this, so he doesn’t hold any sort of grand expectations as he walks up to the building that displays the direction he was looking for.
The building looks slightly out of place, its marble façade and tall doors looming before him invitingly. No flashing lights, no raucous crowds spilling out into the streets, just a sleek, understated appearance that has him freezing at the threshold of the club, where a young woman, dressed in the same colour patterns that adorn the venue's website, greets him while standing beneath the billboard that displays the club's name. He would’ve never suspected such an elegant looking edifice to be the headquarters of a Host Club.
“Welcome to Rose Mallow! Do you have a reservation?” she asks cheerfully.
“Yes,” he answers shakily, “Yonoi Haruhiko, at eight o’clock in the evening.”
The girl intently searches for information on a tablet she holds in her hand, scrolling down the screen until she finds the name.
“Ah, Yonoi-san,” she announces with a smile, “I see you didn’t choose a host.”
“No,” Yonoi says shyly, “I don’t really have a preference.”
She appears deep in thought for a second, but seems to light up again when her eyes land on the specifications Yonoi wrote in his form. “You speak English!” he exclaims, as if it’s some kind of relevant revelation to her. “Follow me this way, please.”
The young woman leads him through the interior of the club, where the atmosphere is completely different from the outside:The lighting is dim, but precise, enough to illuminate the space without giving too much away, with walls painted a deep velvety purple accented by clean lines of gold. A long bar stretches across the far side of the first floor, and its surface gleams under a low-hanging pendant light. Behind the bar, bottles of liquor are arranged in perfect rows that catch the light like jewels. There’s smooth house music pulsing throughout the room, more soothing than the raucous, boisterous energy he’d expected, and the soft murmur of conversation and occasional laughter from the few occupied tables, but there's no clinking of glasses or the shouting typically associated with nightclubs. Most of the tables remain unoccupied, likely because it's a weekday, and the lights cast a soft glow over their sleek, dark surfaces.
The voices of the handful of patrons and the hosts that accompany them blend into a low hum as he walks behind the waitress, and the availiable hosts, the same ones he saw on the website, smile at him as he passes them by, bowing slightly and looking as resplendent as in their promotional photos. Unused to any kind of nightclub, their wide smiles and sensational hairdos make him feel like he's in another dimension, but he bravely smiles back as he follows the woman up a narrow metal spiral staircase to the next floor.
As she climbs the stairs, the waitress can’t contain a giggle. “They must think you’re a new colleague, rather than a customer.”
“Why?” Yonoi asks in surprise, almost tripping on a step.
“Because you’re so cute, you’d make a very popular host,” she answers bluntly, making him blush. “You know, we’re hiring, by the way,” she adds conspiratorially, and Yonoi is perplexed, stopping behind her in the middle of the stairs.
“Oh, no, I appreciate it, but I already have a job,” he rushes to clarify, and the girl laughs simply as she climbs the remaining steps without adding anything else.
The second floor is a considerable contrast to the first. Far fewer people sit here, perhaps because it is a reservation-only floor. This makes Yonoi nervous again. Maybe he shouldn’t have made the reservation? But he remembers that Wednesday is the day that suits him best, so he pushes his worry to the back of his mind and sits down at a table in the corner of the room, near a window with a beautiful view of Shinjuku, with its lights and rainbows bursting out and decorating with their warmth the residual cold of the February night.
“We'll send your host over right away. In the meantime, would you like to order something to drink, or a snack?”
As the girl walks down the stairs, Yonoi looks around. From where he’s sitting, he can just make out a couple at a table across the room, by the window facing the opposite direction. One of the men talking is Japanese and the other is a gaijin, with dyed red hair and Caucasian features, who from what little Yonoi can hear speaks fluent Japanese. He must be the host, Yonoi can tell from his general looks and the peculiar suit the man is wearing. The other man, the client, does most of the talking, taking over the conversation while his companion merely nods with a smile or complements what the other says with some insignificant comment. Yonoi can’t help but feel a little sorry for the host, having to entertain someone lonely and desperate who clearly needs someone to listen to him talk. But he soon shakes off these observations, realizing that he is only projecting his own insecurities onto the couple. He doesn't quite know what bug has bitten him; he teaches Kendo, he is a professional martial artist who should not feel inferior among people who simply belong to a different subculture than him. He knows that these doubts lack logic, and yet they creep up his spine like weeds as they have only done a couple of times in his entire life.
Of course, he doesn't deny that his recent coming out has a lot to do with this, with his self-questioning. His sexual orientation has long been one of his greatest insecurities, the fear of being rejected by his environment. He thought that once he came to terms with it he would be free of his fears, but now he finds himself once again trekking into uncharted territory, and it terrifies him. He feels like a soldier adrift, left behind by his troops in a minefield. For a second he contemplates calling or texting Lawrence, who doesn’t know Yonoi has come, to talk to him about this, and maybe Lawrence has words of wisdom to share with him, to make him feel more at ease, but his pride is as great as it is fragile and he doesn’t dare even look at his phone for fear of falling into temptation and asking for help.
Before he can get up and run away, making up some emergency excuse—even though he knows he doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone, and that his reservation has already been paid for—a man appears on the stairs and walks toward him, his steps confident, even swaggy.
The man is as elegantly and fashionably suited as the others, and is very tall and slim, looking like an effortlessly stylish rock star.
He is also a gaijin like the other host, and a bit older than Yonoi, but still young, in his mid-thirties perhaps. He is strikingly handsome, his face pale and chiseled but still preserving a youthful softness, his eyes staggering and heterochromatic like those of a cat, one pale blue and the other grey or perhaps hazel. His lips are thin and pink, spread in a charmingly crooked, razor-sharp smile, and his hair is a snowy shade of blond rarely seen even in a foreigner. He looks like something out of a fairytale, a prince or an angel perhaps, and Yonoi’s heart stops beating at the first sight of him.
That's why he doesn't hear him at first when the man asks him a question in English, prompting the beautiful stranger to chuckle softly and try again: "You must be Yonoi-san, right?"
If Yonoi had no preference in his taste in men until now, then he has finally developed one in the last ten seconds.
“Yes, it is me.” He answers with surprising calm. Perhaps he really is having a heart attack and has lost the sensation of his own body, his brain totally disconnected from its physical receptacle.
The man smiles again with a strange tenderness in his beautiful eyes, and looking closely at them Yonoi notices that they are not of a different colour, but rather it seems that the man has some kind of coloboma in his left eye. He is the most unique person he has ever seen.
Having been raised with good manners, Yonoi quickly gets up to pull out a chair and offer it to his host, who immediately accepts with pleasure. “You are quite the gentleman, and so handsome as well. How lucky I am!” he exclaims dreamily.
Despite knowing himself to be conventionally attractive, Yonoi is smart enough to also know that this man, this supernatural being, probably wouldn't be saying all these nice things to him if money wasn't involved. But since that's the deal, he smiles anyway as he takes his own place back in his chair.
Yonoi has the urge to refute the host’s words, to claim that he is the lucky one. Heck, he is paying for this service, he might as well say it.
“I feel like I’m the lucky one.” He utters surprisingly smoothly, though his heart is violently trying to escape his body. This makes the host smile even brighter, showing off his uneven teeth that are proof that he’s human and not some creature of myth.
“Oh, you flirt!” he chides sweetly with a swift gesture of the hand, and Yonoi lights up at the prospect of having flustered such a gorgeous man.
This is going incredibly well. He should’ve done it way before.
“By the way, my name is Jack,” the man continues, "Would you mind telling me your first name, or would you prefer I call you Yonoi -or perhaps Yonoi-san?" He pronounces the name in a sultry tone accompanied by a hypnotic grin, and Yonoi can't help but blush ever so slightly.
“Haruhiko.” Yonoi replies quickly, still riding his confident streak.
“Haruhiko,” Jack repeats, the name rolling on his tongue charmingly. “Something like ‘child of spring’, if my Japanese classes are bearing any fruit, right?”
“Yes, you got it right!” Yonoi exclaims, feeling relaxed and happy for the first time tonight.
“What a pretty name! Ha-ru-hiko. ” Jack comments playfully, smiling with a placidity that passes for genuine.
"Thank you… Jack. " Yonoi replies shyly, unsure if he should really be using the stranger’s given name, even though he’d offered it freely. "Are you from England?"
“More or less.” The man answers casually, his gaze thoughtful. “My mother is English and my father is South African, which led me to live in several different places growing up. But yes, I was born in England.”
“How intriguing it must have been, seeing and living in so many places.” Yonoi muses, his tone thoughtful as he considers the experience.
“Yeah, well, it didn’t seem that different to me to be in Oxford than in Bath, really, or Cape Town or Bristol.” the man softly titters, citing cities that Yonoi only knew from books and movies, except for Oxford, which he once visited.
“I lived in England for a year,” Yonoi comments, and the man looks pleasantly surprised.
“Really? In London?” He asks brightly.
“Yes, when I was sixteen.”
"So that's why your English is so good!" Jack exclaims enthusiastically.
"Thank you," Yonoi replies, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks.
"And how did you like London?" Jack continues, oblivious to Yonoi’s unease.
For a second Yonoi hesitates whether he should have brought up the subject, due to certain unpleasant memories, but his experience had been, in a word, enriching, and he focused on that gain to craft a response. “Of course, the rain and constant cloudy skies are no myth.” This makes Jack chuckle, which in turn makes Yonoi smile. “But I was fascinated by the landscapes and the literature.” These memories make him cheer up just by invoking them, like now.
“Fan of Shakespeare?” Jack asks curiously, and Yonoi nods immediately.
“Big fan!” He exclaims, “I think I can recite Hamlet by heart.”
“Quite a memory you must have!” Jack laughs warmly, and Yonoi feels himself falling in love with that laugh, wanting to hear it forever. “I must admit that my relationship with Shakespeare is not the best.” Jack continues in his lovely British accent, crossing his legs and settling himself more comfortably into his chair. He places an exquisitly pale, bony hand on the table, adorned with rings—none of them engagement rings, though this is no indication of anything, considering the place probably has strict dressing codes for the employees. “It’s different when they force you to read him for school for years and years. But I love ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’” As he says this, he drums his slender fingers on the table, and becomes absorbed in thought, looking down until his long, golden lashes shadow his cheeks.
Yonoi marvels at the sight. This person could easily have been a muse for Oscar Wilde's writings, or for advertising illustrations from the 1930s, perhaps those of Leyendecker, with his Elysian men, other-worldly in their appeal. His presence radiates the timeless allure of a bygone era, where every line and contour was deliberately designed to showcase the pinnacle of male beauty and sophistication.
This time Yonoi does feel a bit light-headed and has to clear his throat, giving himself a moment to regain his focus.
“I love it as well,” he finally says, not looking at Jack but at his hand on the table. “Every time I read it I fall in love again and laugh with the plot and the characters as if I were reading it for the first time.”
“Yeah?” Jack asks coquettishly, and his posture shifts again as he rests his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the table. A charming smile curves his lips, his expression now reflecting a deeper interest in the conversation.
Yonoi repeatedly tells himself that Jack is just a paid professional, hired to pretend he’s interested in him, but some crazy part of him can't help but believe that he truly cares about what he's saying.
He pauses, mulling over how he will respond. He's unsure if admitting this will be too embarrassing, but after a moment of hesitation, he summons the courage and says, trying to sound confident, "I know by memory a musicalized version of ‘You spotted snakes’ I once heard in a play."
"No way!" Jack exclaims in amused disbelief. "Come on, you have to sing it now! Don’t be shy!" He grins, teasing.
Yonoi flushes red but can’t suppress a small smile. "I can’t really sing," he admits. "But I can recite it, if you want."
Jack pouts dramatically, though he’s still smiling widely. "I would’ve loved to hear you sing, but sure, I’d love to hear you recite it. If you’d be so kind."
To his own surprise, Yonoi manages to push past his nerves and recites the poem with perfect recall:
“You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen.
Newts and blind-worms do no wrong,
Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby.
Lulla, lulla, lullaby,
Lulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm, nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh.
So, good night, with lullaby.”
Jack claps softly, careful not to disturb the other patrons. "Wow, you’ve truly got a wicked memory!"
Yonoi smiles shyly, his cheeks still pink, but there's pride in his heart.
“Would you like a drink, Haruhiko-kun?” Jack asks, his tone still friendly but with a hint of seriousness now. “I’m sorry, I have to ask...”
The question snaps Yonoi back to the present, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Yes, of course!” he responds, a little flustered. “What would you like to drink?”
Jack hesitates for a moment. “Hm… Whatever you prefer,” he says, then adds, “Do you like tea?” as he pulls his phone from his pocket.
“Of course,” Yonoi answers, wondering what Jack is doing as he watches him tap away on the small screen.
“Oolong tea?” Jack asks without looking up.
“Yes, that sounds good.”
Jack taps a few more times on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket with an abrupt motion.
“The tea will be here soon. I asked Saya-chan to bring it to us,” he explains, smiling as always.
“Saya-chan?” Yonoi asks, slightly confused. “Is she the one who greeted me at the door?”
“Oh no, that’s Yumi-chan.”
Just then, Yumi-chan hurries up the stairs, carrying a small tray.
“I’m so sorry, I forgot!” she says apologetically in broken English as she approaches. “Yonoi-san asked for a mineral water when he arrived. I also brought some salty crackers and fruit sodas to make up for it.” With impressive speed, she sets everything down on the table without spilling a thing. “I’ll bring your teas right away!”
“Relax, Yumi-chan,” Jack says gently in English. “Saya-chan took our order.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Yumi-chan sighs with relief, looking like she’s just finished a race.
“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Jack adds, giving her a pointed look, gesturing toward her abdomen. It could signify a number of things, from an illness to a pregnancy, but whatever the case, the young woman smiles gratefully.
“Thank you, Jack, you’re right. Sorry for getting so worked up!”
“I understand,” Jack replies, offering her a few encouraging words in Japanese.
She smiles back at him, then turns to Yonoi. “Is everything okay? Are you comfortable?” She asks him in Japanese.
“Yes, don’t worry. Thank you,” Yonoi replies, feeling a little sorry for the girl. She smiles in relief and heads back the way she came.
“You seem to know everyone here,” Yonoi comments when the girl has walked away. “May I ask… Um…” Yonoi begins, hesitating.
“Yes?” Jack prompts, gently nudging the bowl of crackers toward Yonoi and offering to pour his soda into the glass. Yonoi doesn’t stop him.
“Can I ask you something about yourself?”
Jack continues with his task, focused on pouring the soda just right, offering the best service he can. He doesn’t even hesitate before responding. “Go ahead.”
“How long have you lived in Japan?”
“Let’s see…” Jack throws his head back in thought, exposing his delicate and lovely throat. Yonoi didn’t know he had a thing for throats and prominent Adam’s apples, but Jack is teaching him a lot today about himself. “About three years,” Jack estimates, turning to look at him, and Yonoi looks away so as not to be so obvious in his admiration. “the same amount of time I’ve been studying.”
“You study?”
“Yes. Law.”
“…Wow,” Yonoi replies, authentically impressed.
“What? Did you think I was just a pretty face?” Jack teases with a smirk. God, those incisors…
“Of course not!” Yonoi defends himself, “It’s just that… Well, Law! And in a different country. It sounds complicated.”
Jack nods and takes a sip of his soda. “I already had my degree in England and was working as a qualified Lawyer. However, as you probably know, Law varies greatly from one country to another, so when I arrived here, I had to begin again from the ground up.”
Yonoi doesn’t know what else to say, or if he should say anything now. He can tell that Jack’s reasons for moving to Japan are very personal. All he can manage to say is a sensible “That’s very admirable.”
Luckily, Jack also chooses to change the subject. “So, Haruhiko-kun, what do you like to do?”
“Well… Oh, can I talk about my job?”
“I’m not supposed to ask about it, but you can talk to me about whatever you want.” Jack answers in a relaxed manner, holding his glass of soda in one hand gracefully as he waits.
Yonoi decides to just go for it. “I’m a professional Kendoka, I teach classes, mainly, although I also participate in competitions. It's more than a job to me, it's my whole life.”
Jack raises his eyebrows in wonder. “How exciting! That’s what Samurai did, right?”
Yonoi chuckles softly. “More or less. In our case, we use wooden implements instead of Katana.”
"And have you ever held a real Katana?" Jack asks, leaning his chin on his hand, his gaze focused and intent on Yonoi's words.
"Rarely, but yes," Yonoi replies, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips as he recalls the moments he held real Katana, especially the ones his father had collected. "It's something truly unique."
"Your passion for what you do is clear," Jack remarks with a placid smile, meeting Yonoi's gaze. For a few moments, Yonoi feels like the most important person in the world, captivated by the intensity of those witchy eyes.
At that moment, another young waitress—likely Saya-chan—arrives with a friendly smile, carrying their teas.
"Sorry for the delay," she says as she places the plates, cups, and a teapot filled with wonderfully fragrant oolong tea in the center of the table.
"Thank you, Saya-chan," Jack responds, serving Yonoi first before pouring some into his own porcelain cup. "Ah, a good tea!" he declares, raising his cup in a mock-toast. "One of the things that unites both the British and the Japanese!"
Yonoi softly laughs and adds, "I think you mean it unites those with good taste."
Jack smiles conspiratorially and nods, then takes a sip of his tea. Yonoi follows suit, though the tea is scalding hot and he quickly places his cup back onto its saucer, forcing himself to swallow the almost boiling liquid.
“How long have you worked here?” he asks Jack after finally managing to gulp it down.
“I started working here almost the same time I came to Japan, three years ago,” Jack replies, placing his teacup on the saucer with much more grace and finesse.
“That’s why you get along so well with everyone here.” Yonoi observes.
Jack smiles again, this time with one of his enigmatic smiles, just as captivating as his more cheerful ones, his pale eyes lowering in quiet contemplation. “Yeah, well, when I came here I urgently needed a job to support myself while I studied.”
“So, it’s part-time?” Jack nods, and Yonoi raises his eyebrows in wonder. “It must be really hard.”
“It’s not that bad,” Jack replies airily, “I get paid decently, as there seems to be a high demand for us gaijin, and I get to meet and have good conversations with cultured, handsome men.” As he says that, he stares at Yonoi, the message clear. But Yonoi hasn’t forgotten that this is just a transaction. A good time, sure, but with a monetary price. He doesn’t even know if Jack is even gay or bisexual. He might well have someone waiting for him at home after this, who knows, and then he’ll forget about Yonoi and go live his real life.
“Are you alright? Did I say something wrong?” Jack asks kindly, and Yonoi snaps awake from whatever thoughts have consumed him, realizing only now that he had been staring blankly at a point above Jack's shoulder, lost in rather negative reflections.
“No, sorry, I got a little distracted,” Yonoi apologizes, regaining his composure. Jack looks at him for a moment and then pours him more tea from the fine teapot, and they both drink in silence for a while. Surely Jack must be focused on finding a way to regain his client's attention, lest he slip away prematurely and leave him to have wasted his time flattering him without receiving the generous payment he undoubtedly expects for the night.
“And what else do you like to do, besides Kendo?” he asks politely.
“I like to read.” Yonoi replies dryly, still regaining his spirit and confidence. He can't shake the feeling of being unremarkable. The stunning man before him has traveled the world, met countless people, is a Lawyer by profession, and works part-time at a nightclub. How could someone like him possibly be interested in someone like Yonoi, who has only left Japan once, only started accepting himself in his late 20s, and whose greatest passion is simply reading?
“Only Shakespeare, or do you have other favourites?” Jack asks, trying to save the flow of the conversation.
“So many! I read all kinds of things.” Yonoi tries to think of an example that isn’t so generic. “I like reading about History.”
Jack smiles, dazzling. “Oh? What periods of History?”
“History related to wars, empires, armies…” Yonoi answers too quickly, and fails to land the possible implications of his statement. Once he realizes it, he feels his heart turn into an iceberg in horror. “Oh! Please don’t think that…”
But Jack cuts him off with a relaxed laugh. “Haruhiko-kun, don’t worry, I understand. I’m also interested in History. I come from a country that colonized practically the entire world, and for that very reason I recognize the importance of knowing and understanding the events of the past so as not to repeat our most shameful actions in the present.”
Yonoi nods emphatically. “That’s precisely why I joined an NGO that works for nuclear disarmament and the prevention of nuclear disasters in the world.”
“Now that is admirable!” Jack affirms with equal fervor. “You know, I have a friend-well, he’s technically my teacher, but he has also told me about something like that. He is also a Kendoka like you, and the institution he trains at contributes financially to one of those very organizations you mention.”
Yonoi feels cold inside again, and stares dumbfounded at his empty cup. “Who is your friend?”
“Hm?” Jack asks innocently, not having noticed Yonoi’s sudden uneasiness. “Ah, he is an Englishman like me, and he also lives in Japan. I think you two would be good friends. His name is-“
“Lawrence.” Yonoi completes the puzzle with certainty.
“You know him?!” Jack asks, startled.
Yonoi nods again mechanically, still not looking at him. “He was the one who told me to come here.”
An eerie silence stretches between them for a few moments, until laughter from both of them cuts through the tension.
“Wait,” Jack says, taking a moment to put the pieces together. “Did he tell you to put that you speak English on your reservation form?”
“Yeah,” Yonoi answers, finally looking at him, hoping to once and for all be told what the hell that seemingly innocuous detail means.
Jack laughs heartily again. “That’s code for asking to be assigned to me, since I’m the only foreign host who still has trouble speaking Japanese.”
“Oh my god,” Yonoi groans, burying his face in his hands with a mix of mortification and amusement.
Damn Lawrence.
Jack smiles at him in a sad sort of way. “Hey, he’s spoken highly of you,” he says, trying to comfort Yonoi. “He loves your classes, always telling me how great his young sensei is!”
Yonoi only sinks deeper into his own misery as he wonders about what Lawrence might have told Jack about him.
He sighs in defeat, finally taking his hands off his face. “How do you know him?” he asks, this time looking directly at him. “Are you one of his language students?”
“Yeah, he’s one of my teachers,” Jack confirms with a half-smile. “From what I can tell, he’s never spoken to you about me.”
“Not that I can recall.” Yonoi replies, his mind racing a thousand kilometers an hour trying to make sense of the situation.
“Why hasn’t he tried introducing us before?” Jack wonders, and then realization hits Yonoi like cold water.
“Because…” He starts, stops when his voice catches, and then inhales deeply and starts again. “Because I only came out three months ago, and to him, even less.” It’s only been a couple of weeks, true, but why do this, instead of telling Yonoi directly about Jack? Yonoi isn’t upset with Lawrence, he just wants to understand him. “And he probably would have hooked us up, if I hadn’t told him clearly that I’m not ready for a relationship, since I’ve never been in one.” Surely this is Lawrence’s way of gently nudging the two of them in each other’s direction without the pressure of a real date.
When Yonoi looks up at Jack again, he sees that he’s become very serious, and there’s clear compassion in his gaze, something Yonoi hates being the target of.
“I understand.” Jack says with terrible sweetness, as if he really believes it. But no, he doesn’t know anything, he doesn’t know Yonoi.
Suddenly Yonoi feels like crying, although he hasn’t the slightest idea why.
“I consider you a very brave man, Haruhiko-kun, for daring to take such a step.” Jack offers in a sincere voice, and this time he is the one who doesn’t seem to dare to look Yonoi in the eyes.
Jack is being polite, likely engaging with dozens of men like Yonoi every week: Lonely men who lack the courage to be their true selves, which is why they seek the anonymity of a nightclub and services like this. Yonoi isn't brave; he never really has been. It took him years to accept who he truly is, and he knows he’s hurt more than a few people along the way. Perhaps the reason Lawrence never introduced him to Jack sooner is because Jack isn’t genuinely interested in men, and he’s just in it for the money.
Yet, despite it all, Yonoi still has pride. So instead of letting the tears spill, he forces a smile.
“Thank you for saying that,” he almost whispers, with a smile of his own. “I’ll order one more drink, it can be whatever you want, it can even be something from the ‘fancy’ section of the menu. But after that I’ll be leaving.”
Jack looks genuinely taken aback, his smile gone. “Oh, so early?” Clearly the host wants Yonoi to keep paying for more hours of stay at the club, and Yonoi doesn’t resent him for it, knowing it’s part of his job to keep customers engaged, ideally making them choose to come back in the future.
“I’m afraid I have to teach an early lesson tomorrow,” Yonoi lies.
Jack looks disappointed, his smile still not back, and he looks down at the table with resignation in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then finally asks the question, “Did I do something to upset you?”
“No.” Yonoi answers, sincerely and immediately, “You’ve been perfectly gentlemanly tonight. You’ve given me something I’ll remember fondly.” I have met a prince tonight, is what Yonoi thinks to himself, but the midnight bells are about to ring.
Jack finally smiles, a sight that suits his fae-like face much better than the pout he wore earlier, though it’s still a bittersweet expression. “I see.” He finally relents, “Will you at least stay with me for that last drink?”
As Yonoi sees that there is no trick or deception possible behind the request, he nods and stays a while longer with his prince.
Jack’s face now truly lights up, and he proposes, still with a hint of something else in his eyes, “Let’s discuss some more literature.”
‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿
The rest of the evening is pleasant, and having made peace with the whole situation, Yonoi finds that he is actually having quite a bit of fun. Jack is like a dream, beautiful, fleeting, just out of reach, like a wave in the sea. He really does make him feel like he has unwittingly stepped into a fairy tale, one that unfortunately, like all fairy tales, has an ending that draws closer with every round of drinks, with every word exchanged about the Bard.
When the bottle of drink is empty, they stare at each other for a long time, and Yonoi still senses a connection, something that shouldn’t be there. But there’s no point in entertaining the thought, since after this, he’ll never see Jack or set foot in the Rose Mallow Host Club again.
“I really wish you could stay longer,” Jack laments with a deep look into Yonoi’s dark eyes from the opposite chair. “I had a great time.”
“Me too.” Yonoi confesses, for there is no longer anything left to hide. He knows now that Jack possesses the rare gift of looking into his soul, seeing the very thoughts that dwell there, and Yonoi does not resist this truth, he just welcomes it as an inevitability.
A silence falls between them again, this time thick with sorrow.
“Shall we?” Jack stands and extends his hand, and Yonoi takes it.
When they reach the main gate after Yonoi pays, the voices of the other hosts and their clients can still be heard. It is still early in the evening, and Yonoi almost regrets it, almost suggests to Jack that they go back up the spiral staircase and return to their seats, so Yonoi can hear about his life, about the reason why he has come to Japan, about the past that he is clearly escaping from.
But he keeps all this to himself, not wanting to spoil the end of such a charmed evening.
Jack is standing in front of him at the door, where they have been lingering for a few moments. The young waitresses throw them a few curious glances, but no one intervenes in the interaction.
“I almost forgot.” Jack speaks suddenly, digging into his pocket and pulling out a pink, woven card. “It’s my card.”
When Yonoi takes it, he sees that it’s a customized card from the club, the name of the establishment written in white cursive in the same font as the neon sign at the entrance. In the center, it simply reads ‘Jack C.’ and his number, perhaps a separate phone assigned by the company and not his actual personal contact.
“Thank you.” Yonoi says simply, tucking it into his coat.
Jack hesitates, slowly raising his hand and lowering it again. Yonoi just looks up at him, into his cat-like eyes. Yes, indeed, it is not heterochromia, but some other kind of condition that Yonoi cannot identify.
Silence again, and then…
Jack brings his uncertain, trembling hand up to Yonoi’s face, adjusting his own larger body to shield them both from the gaze of others. His wonderful eyes look at him doubtfully, and Yonoi doesn’t know what to do, so he just stands there, motionless, until Jack brings their faces closer and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, and then, without delay, turns around to reach the opposite cheek, pressing his mouth there as well, long and sweetly. His lips are dry, Yonoi notes, even though at first glance they look healthy and lustrous. There is a faint trace of stubble scraping his skin, and it is a sensation he will never allow himself to forget.
As abruptly as it happened, it ends, and Jack pulls back, still staring at him, his warm, bony hand still lodged on Yonoi’s face, brushing his ear, his thumb gently rubbing circles around his cheekbone.
Jack nods with finality, and Yonoi must be going delirious, for he thinks he sees a moisture clouding his crystalline eyes before he reluctantly turns and walks back into the club.
Yonoi stands outside the building for a moment, uncertain of what he’s supposed to do with the card he’s lodged in his pocket. Part of him wants to rip it apart, tear it to shreds with his teeth. A stronger part decides to be mature about it and decide later whether or not to get rid of it, once he gets home and his head is cooler.
He brings a gloved hand to his cheek; absurd, but he almost feels Jack’s face pressed hard against his still.
He truly is glad he did this. He feels a quiet satisfaction, a gentle warmth spreading within him, and a smile tugs at his lips as he gazes up at the moon, a serene gleam in the night sky.
In this moment, he realizes he’s eager for tomorrow and for all the endless days ahead, all of them now brimming with untold possibilities.
He pulls out his phone to summon a DiDi. As he does, he feels the first drop of rain kiss his screen, which is strange, since it wasn’t forecast. He touches his face once again, and through the fabric of his glove, he feels the tears that had longed to escape earlier now finding release.
The vehicle arrives, its blue hue much duller than Jack's eyes. Without hesitation, Yonoi wipes his tears before sliding into the warmth of the car, seeking refuge from the cold.
And with his goal for the night fulfilled, the hum of the engine is like a soft lullaby, and the drive home feels like the quiet closure of a book whose story he’ll cherish forever.