Jongdae’s cheek throbs for days after Oniyuri’s slap; it is true that the pain is real, but what hurts more was possibly the humiliation – Jongdae has never been one to play meek and mild, but nor has he ever really been hated before.

And all of a sudden, he begins to have a startling realisation of just what it must be like for Yixing – his beloved Yixing, who never gets customers who tell him he is handsome, or intelligent, or full of scintillating conversation. Generally, Yixing doesn’t even talk – which is rare for a zinnia; they are supposed to be educated courtesans above all.

Yixing likes to joke that his status verges on jukeungot, and sometimes, that epithet is all too believable.

***

Mama-san, meanwhile, is beginning to despair of Yixing; so much so, that she has honestly considered casting him out on the streets once or twice – but then she remembers that he has not yet paid back his purchase price and that even as high on ambrosia as he is, he still brings in a substantial amount of money.

There are some men who like a partner who can’t fight back; mama-san knows that from experience.

So she sends Lay out into the cage with his hair bound tight and his eyes wider than is strictly healthy – in some ways, he looks more attractive than ever – but he attracts a particular kind of crowd, and some of his…admirers are willing to pay a lot of money to enact out certain fantasies with a boy who makes such a good scapegoat.

It’s true that she winces when she hears a thud or a slap – she might be cruel, but she’s not a sadist – but the glint of coin is always enough to assuage her guilty conscience. Her strictest rule is never above the neck; they damage her wares, and they pay a fine. It’s just how it is.

You’ve got to make money in this world somehow.

***

Yixing himself is aware of a lot of pain, and a strange, detached air of distaste for his own body. Ambrosia is not exactly legal anymore – oh, if you’re rich enough, well-connected or something along those lines, you can probably find it without much fuss – but it’s no longer an institution among zinnia. Some say this is a pity; these complaints usually come from men who like to pretend their partners are willing.

Mama-san has never paid much attention to any rules but her own – she obtains ambrosia from some seller who visits on the third Thursday of every month, and he learnt from a young age that it might not be perfect, but it sure as hell deadens the pain.

He thinks he should be used to this by now, as a man he’s said not more than two words to incises a sharp line across his abdomen; he barely even complains when the force of the man’s s makes him bleed. Pitiful, perhaps – but Yixing’s not in the habit of self-reflective soliloquys.

And Jongdae is no longer here to whisper his love for him; Jongdae is not here to pick him up and hold him close when he’s scared. Instead, he retreats into himself – he takes more ambrosia than he should and lets men who pay the required amount throw him around, cause him enough pain to think he’s split in two and all he can really do is dully wonder if they’ve broken him yet.

But then he remembers that Jongdae has left for a life that has no place for him, and he remembers he was broken already.

***

It’s been more than four months by the time Jongdae manages to secure a day out of his very own; he is canny, careful – he behaves for the mama-san and tries to be the perfect zinnia, despite his many perceived defects. He has even begun to sing for customers – something that grates on him, because his singing is for people who will appreciate it, not greedy, grasping men who use it as an aphrodisiac.

Secretly, however, he continues with his long-cherished plans. You see, Jongdae’s customers are now of the richer and more generous kind; he is given more gifts than he really knows what to do with – and technically speaking, mama-san has no idea what he is given unless she asks. And she does not ask, because Jongdae – despite having become Hinagiku – is still below most of his fellow residents notice.

He doesn’t really care anymore – men still pay for his attention, and there’s a certain kind of satisfaction in that. Oniyuri can do no more than hiss at him if he brings in money – and he’s not afraid to admit that she frightens him, so he focuses on his job and conducts his plans in the brief hours he has to himself.

Sometimes, he thinks, it’s quite useful to be friendless.

The gifts he receives – the smaller, less noticeable ones, anyway – tend to have a strange tendency to disappear. Of course, Jongdae himself is very good about this – Hinagiku is nothing but politeness, after all – because there will always be another man with another gift.

Besides, the money he makes from selling off these trinkets means more to him than any gift could.

It’s something he’s done from his earliest days as a zinnia; whatever money he could set back, he did. There was nothing he really had to pay for – bed and board were paid for by the ageya itself, and he only ever wore things mama-san deemed beautiful enough. If he was given something that was worth a little more than your average hairpin, and no one would notice if it was gone, he just…never told mama-san he had received it.

Jongdae has the happy disposition of being able to get on well with those in the servant’s quarters; perhaps this is because he’s really of the same status as them, if one were to really look at his ranking in the floating world.

It’s a system – he gives them a bundle of things to sell, and they take a portion of the profits; fortunately for Jongdae, even a tiny percentage of the worth of his gifts is more than most servants are paid in a week.

And now, with his little nest egg steadily rising and the attitude of the mama-san gradually beginning to thaw towards him, he begs for a little time to spend of his very own. He’ll be back before the bidding, he promises; mama-san will lose no money, he swears.

Hinagiku can be ever so convincing when he wants to be; he is yet more devious than Chen ever was.

***

There’s no question of where he is going; hurriedly, he secures a carriage and rattles off the address of his former home without even really thinking. Four months is a long time to be away from those you love; especially when you know that said object of your affections is prone to injury.

His heart is heavy in his chest, and he almost wants to bark at the driver to go faster, faster, but he forces himself to be calm – nothing too drastic will have happened. He knows it, he just does.

Then why is he so scared?

***

His former home is looking decidedly spruced up; he has no doubt that this is because of the large sum of money mama-san was paid for his removal. She must be in her element, he thinks – her establishment looks much better than the tired, worn looking ageya next door.

The door is answered by a surly looking maid; her eyes widen in shock when she sees their prodigal son looking so fancy. Jongdae wants to laugh when she begins stuttering about getting mama-san right away, but he’s a little too jittery to do anything more than nod.

It’s just before midday; most of the zinnia will be stirring, ready to prepare themselves for another day of endlessly being bought and sold all over again. It’s a good time to come, if you want to catch a zinnia at their worst; most of the men and women he has ever worked with do not look nearly so beautiful when they have just awoken.

Except for Oniyuri; but then, Jongdae is not sure she sleeps at all.

***

Mama-san is not impressed when she finally appears. She purses painted lips and squints at him with an unhappy look on her face. “I do hope you haven’t run away.” She says, clucking her tongue. “We’ve not got the space for you, nor the money.”

Jongdae can only roll his eyes – of course mama-san would only think of the monetary concerns. “Fortunately for the both of us, no, I am not seeking shelter here.” He gives mama-san a graceful onceover, lets his eyebrow raise as if he does not like what he sees; it’s something he’s learnt from his short time as Hinagiku. “But I am seeking someone else.” Jongdae likes to get to the heart of the matter, and quickly – he has no truck with small talk, unless he’s being paid to do it.

It’s something mama-san has always disliked about him – his bluntness irritates her carefully crafted sensibilities.

“Oh?” Her voice rises in a questioning tone. “And who would that be?”

“Don’t be deliberately obtuse,” Jongdae is impolite because for once he can be; because he’s tense and mama-san knows he is here for Yixing. He does not trust her, and he does not like the rising sense of apprehension in his gut because Jongdae has learnt to trust his instincts over the years. “Where is Yixing?” He enunciates the words as if talking to a small child. Mama-san only scoffs in response.

“What do you want with the boy?” She asks, the barest spark of panic in her eyes. “He’s nothing but trouble. What would someone all high and mighty,” – she laughs, but he can feel the jealousy – “be wanting with Xing trash like him? Surely you’ve gotten over that silly little thing for him by now?”

There’s definitely some nervousness hidden in her scornful expression. Jongdae steps a little closer; he’s not tall by any means, but still, he towers over mama-san – a looming, glittering sentinel of desperation, like something out of the pretty little stories his mother used to read to him before he sold himself into slavery. “That’s none of your business. I’ll ask again. Where. Is. Yixing?”

Mama-san only glares up at him, her dark eyes pooling with fear.

***

Yixing’s pretty sure he’s dreaming when he hears a voice that sounds very much like Jongdae’s; when he hears the loud smash of something being thrown against the wall and the roar of “Where the is he?”, he’s convinced that he must have taken too much ambrosia last night. Jongdae is gone, and besides – he’d never be so violent.

He shuts his eyes tight and wills the hope away – his thundering heart does nothing for the ache that refuses to subside in his ribs, and judging from the light seeping through the blinds he doesn’t have much longer to sleep before they force him up and out.

Falling back to sleep proves impossible, however; the clamour of pounding footsteps and the shrill sound of mama-san engaging in one of her bouts of hysterics create a cacophony of noise that even the heaviest of sleepers would find hard to ignore. He would sigh, if he didn’t know how much that would hurt his ribs.

Shifting to lie on his side isn’t exactly a good idea right now, so he lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling. He’s not sure what day it is – he stopped counting once Jongdae left, and really, what’s the point? It all blurs into a haze of men and various shades of pain, anyway.

He could cry, but he’s done with all that. Tears don’t make it easier, and they certainly don’t bring Jongdae back; all he has left is this blank state of resignation, and that’s what keeps him going. Because if he tells himself there’s something better than this, well, that just makes it worse – because what’s a poor boy from Xing going to do in Chousen, of all places?

Nothing, that’s what.

Still, he fantasises. Not about anything special or overly complicated – usually, it’s the feeling of Jongdae’s arms around him, the feeling of his body against his – or maybe, it’s just Jongdae’s lips against his forehead.

Sometimes, it almost feels real.

***

To be honest, Jongdae’s not exactly proud of his actions – he’s never been an aggressive man – but it got him what he wanted, and that’s all he really cares about. The room he finds Yixing in is near the back of the house; tucked away so that customers do not find it. It’s usually reserved for those who are sick or too injured to be out on display and Jongdae knows – in his gut – that somehow, Yixing is not sick.

And so his anger begins to recede into guilt, and he wonders if – just maybe – this is all his fault.

***

The delusions are continuing – but surprisingly, this time, they are pleasant. There’s a hand sweeping sticky hair off his forehead, and what feels like the barest of kisses against the corner of his lips. He’s pretty sure this hallucination is Jongdae; the touch is all too familiar to be anyone else.

He’d like to react – to open his eyes and smile at this facsimile of Jongdae, however faint a copy it might be – but he’s just too tired. He stretches his lips into a hint of a smile when the lips press against his cheek; lets out a shaky breath when his robe is gently pulled apart.

What he’s not expecting, however, is the shocked intake of breath. He blinks his eyes open, because surely fantasy-Jongdae would be happy to see him?

His eyesight is bleary, unfocused – but he can make out a blurry form of a man who is quite possibly Jongdae hovering over him. When he blinks again, the man is still there – still very much like Jongdae, and that’s when he really starts to get confused.

Is it the ambrosia talking, or is…Jongdae actually here? He’s too tired and much too achy to figure it out, so he just looks at the figure and waits for it to speak, because either way – it’s better than his usual reality.

An imagined Jongdae is better than no Jongdae at all.

***

And yet, Jongdae remains. It’s hazy, and he’s not quite sure what’s happening at any point – but he recalls a lot of shouting and demands for water and cloths, and then the sharp, painful sensation of something being applied to his chest. He thinks there might be a cold cloth on his forehead, too, but he can’t be sure – and after that, he falls asleep again. It’s not really a good use of a hallucination, but he cannot stay conscious.

So it’s with no little surprise that he registers Jongdae’s body next to his when he wakes up. “J-Jong – “

There’s a finger pressed to his lips even before he can get the name out. “Shh. You’re sick and I don’t want you getting sicker.” Jongdae looks even more beautiful than ever, he notices. The makeup he is wearing is obviously of higher quality, and the silk is like nothing Yixing himself has ever worn.

He stares at Jongdae for a second, unable to articulate even one of his feelings. In the end, it’s Jongdae who breaks the spell. With careful, gentle movements, he slides his arms around Yixing’s body and Yixing just –

Well, collapses is possibly the best word for it, but that would hurt too much, so he just rests his head against Jongdae’s expensively clad chest and breathes in the scent of Jongdae mixed with jasmine.

“I came back for you.” Jongdae whispers it, fingers tangling in Yixing’s – probably disgusting – hair. “Just like I promised, remember?”

It takes all of Yixing’s strength not to cry.