Chapter Text
Nanami should have seen the invitation coming, he supposes.
Gojo meets the newest little flower at the House of the Divine on a Monday, and is in love with him by Friday. He will talk about the omega to anyone who will listen, and unfortunately, almost everyone is eager and willing to bask in the attention of the emperor, even if it's only to serve as an object to be yapped at. There is no attempt, by anyone, to dissuade him. Nanami's hopes that this would be a short infatuation and that the palace could get back to the business of running a country fade quickly. Gojo visits the House of the Divine every evening and returns late in the morning, and on Saturday, Consort Geto joins him. It's the final nail in the proverbial coffin. There's been political pressure for Gojo to expand his harem for as long as Nanami can remember. Consort Geto hasn't produced a single heir in a decade. There is an entire empty palace where concubines should already have been in the hundreds, but Gojo had stayed stubborn, never going further than a night or two at a pleasure house. If he's bending now, and bending seriously enough for the Consort to be involved, then it seems the little flower is here to stay.
Gojo comes to find him on the training grounds, naturally at an incredibly inconvenient time. Nanami's dripping in sweat, half-dressed, sticky with dirt and effort. The soldiers in the ranks beneath him are kept to a rigorous schedule of training and practice, and it had never felt right or very practical to exempt himself (even if he considers it often, in the mornings, contemplating the workday ahead). Nanami has his routine perfectly timed, down to the minute to finish at sundown.
Gojo looks out of place here, striding cheerily through the dust in his icy-blue robes, even if Nanami knows he isn't. He waves his gaggle of attendants to a stop behind him and calls, "Nanami!" in a tone that's deceptively sweet, salt mislabeled as sugar.
Nanami sighs. He'll be behind, now. Late to arrive home. He resents every minute, preemptively.
"I'm going back to see my Yuuji again today," Gojo says. "You're coming."
"I decline your invitation," Nanami says.
"You can't," Gojo says. "I'm the emperor. It's not allowed."
"Nevertheless," Nanami says. "I decline."
He sits on a nearby bench and tries to make himself look as busy as possible cleaning his sword, as a hint. Gojo does not take it. It makes the vein throb in Nanami's temple.
"Just come and see him," Gojo says. "Feast your eyes on perfection."
"I have no say in the affairs of your bedroom," Nanami says. "And no interest."
"What about your own bedroom?" Gojo says. "If you come, you can pick any flower in the house for the night. My treat."
"Absolutely not," Nanami says.
"Why not?" Gojo says. "They have the best of the best, you know. I'll even pay for one of the Three Jewels, if that's what you want."
"My opinion will make no difference," Nanami says. "If you've decided that you want to take a concubine or keep a favorite at a pleasure house, you'll have him no matter what."
"That is true," Gojo says. "But I don't intend to take him as a concubine. I plan to make him Second Consort."
"What," Nanami says.
Gojo waves a hand, like he's already swatting objections away like flies. "Suguru likes him, don't worry."
"I'm not worried about Consort Geto," Nanami says. "You understand that mating a courtesan and not an omega from a major clan is going to require delicate handling. It opens risk of political unrest. The Zen'ins hoped you would take one of theirs, and they're likely to have a strong response."
There is, for a moment, the subtlest of changes in Gojo's face. Genuine anticipation, a smile that shows his teeth, canines blunt and gleaming. Nanami's seen what they can do, has seen Gojo spit chunks of flesh out from between those teeth and laugh and laugh and laugh.
"Then I will handle the Zen'ins," Gojo says. "Personally."
Nanami has no doubt that's true. He hopes the Zen'ins know it, too, for their own sakes.
"How about this," Gojo says. "Drinks are on me. The House of the Divine has the best wine stores in the capital. You can meet Yuuji and then spend the rest of the night having as much as you want."
Nanami's heard worse proposals. He's agreed to worse proposals, when it comes to Gojo.
"How many of us are you dragging into this mess," Nanami says.
"Not so many," Gojo says. "Just you and Higuruma, for now. Someone has to discuss the legal details with the house madame."
"How did you convince Higuruma to help in a pleasure house sale? His position on the flower districts has never been favorable."
"I'm very persuasive!"
"So Consort Geto did it for you," Nanami says.
"Maybe," Gojo says, breezily.
Nanami can picture it easily enough. Consort Geto (predictably) working and weaving at reality to get his way, opining on the injustice of a life in the pleasure district and the virtues of righting at least one wrong, and Higuruma (also predictably) falling for it.
Nanami considers all of this. Gojo will be with Yuuji most of the evening, presumably, but he likes Higuruma. He's the oldest of their royal cohort, already a teenager when the rest of them had been children—intelligent, dedicated, as despairing of the burdens of the world as Nanami himself. A good drinking companion. "What are you bringing me for?" Nanami says.
Gojo beams. "Nanami," he says. "You're my friend."
Nanami sighs. It is, unfortunately and improbably, true.
And this is how he finds himself, four hours later, in the enormous, glittering entryway of the House of the Divine.
It is, naturally, a major event the way everything involving Gojo seems eventually, inevitably, to become. There are courtesans lining the steps up to the House who welcome them as they step out of the carriage, bowing deeply. Nanami's nose tells him there are a truly impressive number omegas on the right, more than he's ever seen assembled in one place, with betas and alphas on the left. All of the flowers first visible are young, but as they enter the building, he sees older courtesans on the balconies and stairways. He spots one woman old enough to be a grandmother. He's only heard of MeiMei, but from what he knows about her, she's a shrewd businesswoman. The House caters to nearly any taste, and it's paid off well for her.
He can see why this house is the favorite of many in the Imperial court. It drips opulence in purple silk curtains and plush carpets over shining, wooden floors. The main parlor is enormous, with tasteful tables and chairs and many alcoves created in corners and behind shelves or plants or statues where lovers might tuck themselves away. There's incense burning in braziers in every corner, and it makes the scents of the courtesans around him seem sharper and brighter, throws them into relief against the heaviness of the smoke. A clever tactic, Nanami thinks. Perhaps it's only his own preferences, but the omegan scents in particular stand out, sweet and light. He's sure many an alpha's entered this place intending to spend a little silver, and left with a purse entirely emptied.
The focal point of the entryway is the wide, central staircase. There are more courtesans here, arranged in a clearly pronounced hierarchy. The further up the stairs Nanami looks, the finer the courtesans' clothing becomes, step by step, light pinks and yellows deepening to lush reds and emeralds. The exception to to this rule is a small omega in orange, standing right in the middle of steps, the focal point of the whole arrangement, a flower in bloom among the greenery. Nanami knows immediately that this must be Yuuji. The large, golden eyes and the pink hair cut to his jaw, tucked neatly behind his ears, is right out of Gojo's besotted rambling.
But Gojo had not mentioned the tattoos. Nanami can see two of them, small v-shaped notches beside each eye. This is a surprise. A custom only from the far, far north. What is a courtesan from the very outer reaches of the empire doing here?
A woman steps forward. An alpha, he's sure, by scent and by bearing. She's not exceptionally tall, but she holds herself like she is, a distinctive saunter in her steps that sets her long, blue braid swinging like a pendulum behind her.
"Your Majesty, " she says. "We're honored, as always, by your visit." She bows deeply, and the courtesans around them follow suit. Nanami maps out the best escape route through the crowd as soon as he gets the opportunity. He can already feel the courtesan's eyes turning from Gojo (clearly spoken for and unavailable) to himself and Higuruma (proximity to the emperor, not clearly spoken for, an obvious second-best). When the greetings are over, he won't have much time before he's accosted.
"Madame MeiMei," Gojo says.
"We have, of course, prepared the Rose Suite for you again," she says. "And Yuuji has eagerly been awaiting your arrival."
Nanami looks back up the stairs. Yuuji bounces, slightly, on his toes, balanced like he's ready to launch himself forward the very first moment he's allowed. Nanami supposes that's to be expected. To be bought out by the emperor himself is an opportunity he's sure Yuuji doesn't want to squander. He must be eager.
Sure enough, as soon as Gojo turns Yuuji's way again, Yuuji darts down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, stride long enough it pulls the slit in his robe wide, exposing a surprisingly well-muscled legs. It's inelegant and boyish. Not at all what Nanami had expected, from this well-established house or from a courtesan talented enough to catch the eye of the most powerful alpha in the empire.
Gojo scoops Yuuji up and swings him around in a circle fast enough that a single shoe flings halfway across the entry hall. He doesn't put him down, when he's finished, only wraps his arms tight around the backs of Yuuji's thighs, the omega's feet dangling well above the ground. "There you are," he says. "I've missed you."
"It's only been since yesterday," Yuuji says.
"I know," Gojo says. "And it was too long."
Yuuji peers over Gojo's head and blinks those large, round eyes. "You didn't bring Consort Geto this time?"
"Not this time," Gojo says. "These are my friends, Higuruma Hiromi and General Nanami Kento."
Nanami bows, and Higuruma follows suite.
"Higuruma," Yuuji says. "Why don't you have a title?"
"I'm a magistrate by training," Higuruma says. "If I wanted a title, I'd have to be a Judge of the Imperial Court, and I don't want to be one."
"Oh," Yuuji says. "I wouldn't want to do that either. You'd have to spend all day listening to people argue."
The corner of Higuruma's mouth twitches. "That's mostly what I thought, too."
Yuuji's very good, Nanami thinks. A mastermind of simple likability.
Or, alternatively: genuine.
Nanami's not sure which one bothers him more. Gojo is either welcoming an accomplished actor right into his bed, or bringing someone unlikely to survive into the jungle of the court. Gojo himself is a lost cause, but this wouldn't be the first time it's fallen to Nanami to be level-headed and cautious when Gojo can (or will) not.
He'd be willing to bet his annual salary that Geto had been the one to suggest Gojo invite him for this exact purpose. On reflection, that seems obvious. There's a little group of courtesans slowly inching toward him trying to catch his eye, flipping their fans far more than is entirely necessary. He's surprised Geto hadn't come along himself, to watch his handiwork unfold and laugh quietly behind his sleeve.
"Well, that's that," Gojo says. "You've met. Now I'm going to take my little flower upstairs."
"That's all," Nanami says. "You dragged me here for a thirty-second meeting."
"I did mean for us to sit and drink for a while," Gojo says. "But now that I'm here, I've changed my mind. I can't wait. Higuruma, work out the details with MeiMei."
"The details of what?" Yuuji says.
"I'll tell you after," Gojo says, and Yuuji nods enthusiastically.
Nanami tries his best not to roll his eyes in front of so many witnesses.
"If I'm not needed here," Nanami says. "Then I'll be calling a carriage and going home."
"You can't," Gojo says. "Now we'll just have to sit and drink afterwards."
"I am not sitting alone waiting for Higuruma to finish negotiations and for you to…be upstairs," Nanami says.
It's futile. He knows it. The protest is only a reflex. Higuruma casts him an apologetic look.
"MeiMei," Gojo says. "Give General Nanami anything he wants. In fact, bring out your five…no, ten best wines and just leave them at his table."
"As you command," MeiMei says. There is a particularly entrepreneurial gleam in her eye as she bows again.
"You really expect me to wait," Nanami says.
"The whole wine room, Nanami," Gojo says. "Whatever you want. A flower, if one catches your eye. If five catch your eye. It's on my tab."
There is an audible whisper of excitement that rushes through the waiting courtesans. Nanami feels murderous. Maybe it's better if Gojo does go upstairs, so he doesn't commit regicide here and now with his bare hands.
"You'll regret this," Nanami says. "I will drink that entire room dry, and Yaga will kill you for wasting imperial coin."
"It's worth it," Gojo says. "I'll see you later."
He sweeps up the stairs, with Yuuji still in his arms. A serving girl scoops up Yuuji's discarded shoe and hurries after them.
MeiMei gestures at Higuruma. "Shall we? Negotiations are held in my private offices."
"Sorry," Higuruma says. "I'll be as quick as I can. Save me some wine?"
And then he's alone in the lion's den.
A small, blue-haired boy who shares MeiMei's fox-like smile leads him to a table tucked into an intimate alcove. He's a little relieved by the semi-hidden nature of it, the soft gauzy curtains and the distance from the other patrons starting to filter in, now that Gojo's welcome is over. He hopes that here, he'll mostly be forgotten, but he is not so lucky. The wine comes out quickly, in expensive, porcelain bottles, but the courtesans come on even quicker.
The first, a beta woman around his age with ample breasts and wide hips. "Handsome," she says. "The wine is cold. Could I offer you something warmer?"
"No," Nanami says. "Thank you."
The second, a pretty omega man with a scent like melted chocolate, smooth in Nanami's nose.
"Do I know you?" he says. "It's only that you seem so…familiar. Like we met in another life."
"We didn't," Nanami says.
The third, a whole group of young alpha women, four or five of them taking turns to push each other to the front of their little huddle until one of them finally speaks.
"We've all heard of you, General," she says. "You single-handedly put down Kamo Noritoshi's rebellion. It's not every day we get such an esteemed guest. We'd love to hear more about the great things you've done."
"They weren't great," Nanami says. "None of them are worth repeating."
He finishes one bottle and then another and fends off a further half-dozen courtesans before the blue-haired boy is back.
"I have a message from Madame MeiMei," he says. "She reminds you respectfully that she does not run a tavern. Could I assist you in selecting a companion?"
"I don't need a companion," Nanami says.
"Once again," the boy says. "Madame MeiMei does not run a tavern."
He stands expectantly beside the table.
Nanami sighs.
"Whatever your taste, I'm confident we can give you your fill," the boy adds.
"My taste is to be left alone," Nanami says.
"Impossible, I'm afraid," the boy says. "Many of our courtesans make excellent drinking partners and are accomplished conversationalists, if it's the bedding you object to."
Nanami thinks of leaving, after all. The soldiers waiting at the door and in rows beside the steps outside report to him, technically, as far up the chain of command as it's possible to be. They wouldn't stop him. But Gojo does seem to really care for Yuuji. Whether or not the idea had been planted by Geto, Gojo's invitation to meet him had been genuine. Yuuji was poised to become Second Consort, one of the most powerful omegas in the empire. If he snuck away now, he would miss the opportunity to observe the future wielder of so much influence.
And he would feel a little guilty, despite himself.
"If there's no other choice," Nanami says.
"There isn't," the boy says, very politely. "What would you prefer in a companion? An omega? A beta?"
"An omega," Nanami says, and then regrets it. There's not a creature on earth more adept at exploiting an alpha's attraction than an omega courtesan, or more likely to push and push and push at him for a better night of coin in one of the bedrooms upstairs. "It doesn't matter," he amends.
"An omega, then," the boy says. "Any physical preferences? Short, tall? Male or female? Cock or breast size?"
"No," Nanami says.
"I'll need something, esteemed guest," the boy says. "Or I won't be able to ensure that you have the pleasurable evening you deserve."
Nanami sighs, again.
"I would like someone expensive who can help me drain the emperor's purse," he says. "Someone who can hold a conversation and their liquor. That's all."
"How expensive do you mean, esteemed guest?" the boy says. "Very expensive?"
"As expensive as possible," Nanami says.
The boy grins. "Then I'll return shortly with our Jewels."
It isn't exactly what Nanami had wanted, but he supposes it's only what Gojo deserves.
Nanami makes it through another half bottle before the room erupts into hushed whispers from every corner. When he looks up, the boy is back. In his wake are three omega courtesans, each flanked by two attendants. The first two are women, and undeniably, exquisitely beautiful, soft-bodied and dripping in gold and jeweled adornments, one in sapphires and one in rubies, glittering in their hair and woven into the fine silk of their robes. They smile at him. One of the women settles a hand to play with the edge of her low-draping collar, right above her half-exposed breasts, an obvious invitation for him to look.
But the third omega is the one that catches his eye and holds it there, lingering as the omega draws closer. He's ivory-pale with deep, chestnut hair that falls long over his shoulders and down his back. There's a tattoo across his nose, a thin, tapering line stretching from cheek to cheek. Another omega from the far north? He bears no resemblance at all to Yuuji, but it seems unlikely they would have come to the same pleasure house individually and independently. Were they from the same village, fleeing the violence of the warlords of the outlands? Had they met along the way? The omega's ornaments are silver and diamond, twinkling like stars as he turns his head. He looks like the moon incarnate.
He looks…bored.
Or not bored, perhaps. Placid. Undisturbed by being summoned here, by the stares and the whispers. Nanami waits for their eyes to meet, to see what kind of play this courtesan will try to put on for him, but there isn't one. He only bows, politely, and then looks away toward the window and beyond into the night. The cut of his robes leaves his neck exposed, the sleeves nearly slipping from both shoulders. When he turns his head, it exposes the forbidden place beneath his jaw, the small swell of his scent gland under the skin, soft and inviting. Nanami can smell him, sweet and crisp and a little tart on the tongue, like a early-spring plum.
He feels a twinge of heat deep in his belly, unexpected.
Unwelcome.
He's never liked the pleasure houses. He has no scorn for the men and women who find their homes and their professions within them. But Nanami had come to the palace young. He's spent almost his entire life at Gojo's side seeing love that is not love, affection that's put on like a mask. It holds no allure for him. His mother and his dam had loved each other, truly, when they had both been alive. He remembers what that had looked like when he'd been small, what it had been to live in the glow of it. Scenting in the kitchen, lazy caresses when they thought he was asleep, pinkies linked together walking in the garden.
The empire is at peace, but peace is always temporary. Someday, he's likely to rot to dust on a battlefield, a nameless pile of bones that no one will remember beyond a line or two in the histories. It would be kinder to leave no one behind, the way his dam had been left to freeze and wither alone like a flower in the snow. He knows better than to follow the siren song of instinct into a mistake, into pain, into pleasure. He's spent nearly all of his life careful to avoid its call, to keep all those hungry-wanting parts of himself sewn up tight inside his own skin.
"Please make your selection, esteemed guest," the boy says. "These are our Three Jewels, and I can assure you that you'll be satisfied, no matter your choice."
He should pick one of the women. Their scents are neutral to his nose. Light, vaguely floral, pleasant enough. He's sure they can hold their own in polite conversation. They will talk about nothing, and drink, and he will never think of them again.
But.
The tattoo across the omega's cheekbone tapers to a point so fine, it must have been done by someone with a master's hand. Nanami hasn't seen anything like it since he followed Noritoshi Kamo into the snow-capped mountains and beyond, a decade ago. He can't help his own curiosity. He looks at the tattoo, and he looks at the omega's face, at the exposed column of his neck. While he watches, the omega's pulse flutters beneath the skin, just visible. The seams of Nanami's skin feel dangerously loose.
"Oh," the boy says. "Has our diamond caught your eye?"
It's only a single conversation, Nanami thinks. A few hours. They could be useful. Practical. He can ask about Yuuji, gather what information he can, and then he'll never come to this place again.
"I'd like to speak with him," Nanami says. "If he's willing."
The omega's head turns to look at him again. The diamonds swing against his hair.
"If I'm willing?" he says.
"Yes," Nanami says. "I have several more bottles of wine to get through to bankrupt the emperor."
"You were one of the entourage," the omega says.
"Not by choice," Nanami says.
"Bold to seek revenge against the emperor, if that's your plan," the omega says.
"He's earned what he's getting," Nanami says.
The omega doesn't smile, but there's the slightest widening of the eyes between one blink and the next, the moment between asleep and awake.
"Perfect," the boy says. "Madame MeiMei wishes you a very pleasant night. If you change your mind and need a room—"
"I'll manage him, UiUi," the omega says.
He sits, smoothly arranging his robes in a pool of folds around his feet, and the boy leads the other two courtesans away. His attendants, two young women, take up a position against the nearby wall, a polite enough distance for at least the semblance of privacy. The table is small enough that Nanami could touch the omega's face, if he reached across it. Here, he can see the omega's features clearly, up close. He's better than beautiful, Nanami thinks—he's interesting. The tattoo, of course, but also the soft, half-lidded set of his eyes, the curving line of his jaw, a nose that is just a little long.
"What's your name?" Nanami says.
"Choso," the omega says.
"An unusual name," Nanami says.
"Is it?" the omega says, and then, "Do you have a preference for what I drink?"
"Take whatever you like," Nanami says.
Choso selects a pale, pink bottle and pours a generous amount into one of the small porcelain cups, nearly overflowing. His hands are steady. When he lifts it to his lips, he doesn't spill a drop. "I know your name already, General Nanami, in case you were wondering why I didn't ask."
"Did the boy tell you?" Nanami says.
"I was watching the emperor's arrival from the top floor," Choso says. "And yours."
"You were well-hidden," Nanami says. "I didn't see you."
"That is the point of watching from the top floor," Choso says. "You didn't seem to approve of his interest in Yuuji."
Nanami sighs. "Was it so obvious?"
"It was to me," Choso says.
"Do you know him?" Nanami says. "Yuuji."
Choso takes a small sip. "I do."
"Well?"
"Very well," Choso says. "What's your objection to him?"
"It doesn't matter what I object to," Nanami says. "The Emperor's made up his mind."
"You speak about him very informally," Choso says. "He called you his friend."
The wine tastes a little bitter, at the back of Nanami's throat.
"If you're hoping I'll introduce you," Nanami says. "He's made his choice, as I said."
"He's not the type of alpha who interests me," Choso says. His gaze weighs heavy and hot and sudden on Nanami's shoulders, down across his chest, dragging like fingers. Nanami shifts in his seat, and pours himself another glass.
"That isn't necessary," Nanami says.
"What isn't?"
"There's no need for you to bait me into your bed," Nanami says. "I told the boy."
"But the lure's caught your eye," Choso says.
"That's what a lure is meant to do," Nanami says. "Whether or not a fish bites is another matter."
"So you think you're a difficult catch," Choso says.
Nanami worries he's exactly the opposite.
"You can save the effort," Nanami says. "That's all I think."
The heat drops away from Choso's eyes like a curtain, leaving only that soft, unreadable expression behind. It's unnerving, and also a relief.
"You're very strange," Choso says.
"Am I?" Nanami says.
"You just wasted a perfect opportunity to be seduced," Choso says. "Most alphas jump at the chance."
"I told you," Nanami says. "I'm only here to drink my way through as much wine as I can, and make the emperor's life more difficult."
"Hm," Choso says. "UiUi told me you were refusing a bedding but I assumed you were lying."
"Why would I lie," Nanami says.
"Patrons want to feel desired," Choso says. "The fantasy of being irresistible. Sometimes they try to act uninterested to make us work harder to please them."
"You don't have to please me," Nanami says.
"I could, though," Choso says.
Nanami's very sure that's true.
"I don't wish you to," Nanami says.
"How convenient," Choso says. "You're a bad liar."
"Do you always criticize your patrons so quickly after meeting them?" Nanami says.
"Who said it was a criticism?" Choso says. "I prefer a bad liar."
"In a patron?" Nanami says.
"In anyone," Choso says. "Who would choose a good liar over a bad one in a friend or a lover?"
There's a distinction implied between a patron and a lover, Nanami notes. Is he allowed lovers?
"Are you a good liar?" Nanami says.
"It depends," Choso says.
"On what?" Nanami says.
"My face can be too honest," Choso says. "If I'm sad, or angry. If I'm enjoying a bedding."
Nanami, very deliberately, does not think about that last bit.
Choso watches him over the top of his cup. Nanami feels a bit like he's on Shoko's table, being poked and prodded, his every reflex noted.
"It's difficult to picture you angry," Nanami says.
"Is it?" Choso says. "I have an awful temper."
"You," Nanami says.
"Yes," Choso says. "Under certain circumstances."
"A temper can be valuable," Nanami says.
"It's served me well enough," Choso says. "You didn't ask about the circumstances."
"They're yours," Nanami says. "And none of my business."
"Madame MeiMei would say that I belong to you for the night," Choso says. "Everything of mine is your business, if you want it to be."
"You don't belong to me," Nanami says.
Choso tilts his head, a little. The diamonds in his hair swing, tinkling like bells.
"You don't come to the pleasure houses often, do you?" Choso says.
"I choose to spend my time elsewhere," Nanami says.
"Hm," Choso says.
"Is that so surprising?" Nanami says.
"For an alpha of means, yes," Choso says.
Nanami supposes it must be, to an omega of his profession.
"Where do you go, then?" Choso says.
"Home, mostly," Nanami says. "Eating houses and taverns, from time to time."
"You can hold your wine, that's true," Choso says. "When I saw what UiUi had brought to your table already, I'd assumed you'd be snoring shortly and I'd be collecting a very quiet night of pay."
"If you'd prefer not to speak," Nanami says. "We can drink in silence."
"In this place, it's what you prefer that matters," Choso says.
"What I prefer," Nanami says. "Is to know what you prefer."
The words linger, after he says them, hung on the air and unexpectedly twisted-hot in the pit of Nanami's stomach. Nothing in Choso's face changes, but his head tilts again, in the opposite direction, silver and diamonds swaying. There's something animal-curious about it, anachronistic against the opulence of the capital. It reminds him, abruptly, of his grandfather's cat. It had used to stalk him around the garden when he was young. He'd turn and see the glint of its yellow eyes peering down at him from the high branches of a tree or over the tall grass. He'd used to have nightmares about it growing as big as a house and eating him in a single bite. He has a very similar feeling now, the distinct possibility of being devoured.
"Then we'll talk," Choso says. "Since it's up to me."
Nanami clears his throat. "Fine."
"Is it my tattoo you're looking at, or my face?" Choso says.
Nanami is looking at the tattoo, and everything around it.
"You're from the far north," Nanami says.
"I am," Choso says. "It's not often I meet someone who knows anything at all about it."
"I was there once," Nanami says.
"During the Kamo rebellion," Choso says. "I heard. You made a name for yourself in my old home."
"Were you from the Kamo lands?" Nanami says.
"No," Choso says. "Much further. As north as you can go, near the frozen sea."
"That's a long way from the capital," Nanami says.
Choso only inclines his head in agreement.
When Nanami had gone to the northern lands with a regiment on horseback, it had taken three weeks. They'd been lucky they'd only needed to pursue Noritoshi Kamo so far. The scouts had reported the snow further north in piles over their waists, the trees hunched and curled beneath the weight of it. No horses could go so far. Had Choso come on foot? Had Yuuji? He can't imagine it.
"I've never seen someone with tattoos like yours here," Nanami says. "What brought you so far?"
"The north is a very cold place, in more ways than one. The capital was better for us," Choso says.
"You and Yuuji," Nanami says.
"I was going to be disappointed in the mind of such a great general, if you didn't notice," Choso says.
"It does answer some questions," Nanami says.
"Does it?"
"Yuuji was barely debuted for a day before he was in Gojo's bed," Nanami says. "I had wondered about that. Someone with influence here must have pulled strings to get MeiMei to introduce a novice to the emperor. It makes more sense if one of the Three Jewels was intervening on his behalf."
"Yuuji isn't aware of that," Choso says. "So if you wouldn't mention it to him, I'd be grateful."
"You said you knew him very well," Nanami says. "How?"
"He's my younger brother," Choso says.
It's not a shock, but it is something of a surprise. There is nothing of Yuuji's softness in Choso's features, and he can't picture Yuuji's beaming, scrunch-eyed smile on the angles of Choso's face.
"We only share a mother," Choso says.
"I won't tell him," Nanami says.
"Good," Choso says. "You'd be in a terrible position if you did."
"Is Yuuji the circumstance for your temper you mentioned earlier?"
"Naturally," Choso says. "Wouldn't you do the same for your brothers or sisters?"
"I have none," Nanami says.
"None?"
"No," Nanami says.
"That's very sad," Choso says.
"Is it?" Nanami says. "It's never bothered me."
"That's even sadder," Choso says. "I'd have no reason to be without Yuuji. How do you know your purpose?"
"I don't," Nanami says.
"You wake up every day for nothing?" Choso says.
"A purpose was decided for me a long time ago," Nanami says. "I find what peace I can in the gaps and spaces that purpose doesn't occupy."
"I can see why you drink like you do," Choso says.
"That does sound like a criticism," Nanami says.
"It is," Choso says. "That sounds like a very aimless life."
"Do you always seduce your patrons this way?" Nanami says.
"You said you didn't want me to seduce you," Choso says. "So I stopped. I can resume my efforts, if you like."
He tugs a bit at his sleeve, slips it down to expose the round swell of a shoulder. Nanami's eyes stick there, despite himself. The omegas of court wear robes tight to the neck, sleeves long enough to cover even their fingers. The swath of pale skin in front of him would be enough to strike half the court's alphas dumb in a single instant, he'd guess.
It's a bit confronting to think that he might be included in that number—if the omega were Choso.
"No," Nanami says, with a tongue like a puff of cotton. "I'd still rather you didn't."
The shoulder disappears back beneath a layer of shimmering fabric. It's a relief and a disappointment, all at once. The next time they meet, Nanami decides, he'll be sober. This is too difficult, with his thoughts slowed down and heavy, with his blood pulsing hot beneath his skin.
"If you don't want to talk about yourself," Choso says. "May I ask about the emperor?"
"That depends on what you ask," Nanami says.
"I'd like your honest assessment of him," Choso says.
"Assessment?"
"He seems well-liked, for an emperor," Choso says. "The people do well enough here. They aren't hungry or at war. He’s suitable as a ruler. I know courtesans from other houses who have spent time with him, and he was decent to them. But he's mating Yuuji. I want to know more about him as a man from someone who considers him a friend."
"You seem very sure they'll mate."
"The emperor brought a magistrate," Choso says. "A magistrate who is with Madame MeiMei in her office, and he brought you to meet him. He's buying Yuuji out. I understand you may not be able to speak on the matter. I only want to know if he'll be kind to Yuuji. If Yuuji will live a good life in the palace."
"He will," Nanami says.
"How sure are you?" Choso says. "Yuuji's still young. He's kind, and good. I've worked very hard for him not to know suffering."
"Very sure," Nanami says. "The emperor is many things, but cruel to his own friends and lovers isn't one of them. Yuuji will be very well taken care of. He'll have anything he asks for and be protected like a treasure. If the emperor is buying him out."
"If," Choso says. "Of course."
He takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a rush. With it comes a little of the heaviness in his expression. When he raises his eyes to meet Nanami's again, there's more warmth there, the slightest of thaws. "You know," he says. "I'll make you regret it if you're lying."
The warmth is dangerous. It spreads, contagious, beneath Nanami's skin, a thrill of too-familiar, too-close.
"You said I was a bad liar," Nanami says.
"I think you could surprise me," Choso says.
"I hear an omega's bite is something to see," Nanami says. "When they mean it."
"Maybe someday I'll show you," Choso says.
Nanami feels this like a shiver, an involuntary rush in his blood.
"If I'd told you the emperor was cruel," Nanami says. "What would you have done?"
"Taken Yuuji and run," Choso says.
"Back to the north?"
"Why would I tell you where to look for us?" Choso says. "If I'm running away, I mean it."
Nanami smiles. He doesn't mean to, but he feels the corners of his lips pull upward all on their own. "You're not a bad strategist."
"I have a lot of time to think, in this place," Choso says.
He smiles, too. It's small, and soft, and brightens him like a moonbeam through the window.
Nanami hopes that eventually, Choso will cease to be interesting. If the conversation runs dry, if the silence starts to stretch long, it will be easy to leave when the night is over. He never does, not over the course of all the hours that follow. Choso meets him question for question, answer for answer. Nanami learns about him in bits and pieces, scraps he holds on to tighter than he means to. His favorite color is purple, and his favorite food is steamed egg and mushroom custard. He doesn't like the heat of the summer. The meaning of his tattoo is a secret to be shared only with his family and his mate, per the tradition of his people.
Nanami wants to know more.
Choso has a habit of closing his eyes when he smiles, after the wine loosens him, of tilting his head back and exposing the soft hollow of his throat. He leans over the table to pour Nanami a full cup, and his robe slips off his shoulder and almost all the way down his arm, lets Nanami see the shape of his body beneath. Broad-shouldered, but tapering down to a waist that must be nearly small enough for Nanami to wrap his hands around. He twists his shining, chestnut hair between his fingers and tosses it behind his back when it gets in his way. His scent sweetens the longer they sit, or maybe it's only that Nanami—
Nanami wants to know more, and everything. He's being incredibly stupid. He's drunk, by now, can feel the heat in his cheeks and in his throat, the heaviness of his own head. Only one of the wine bottles is left. He knows better. Even so. The disappointment is deep enough to surprise him, when he sees Yuuji and Gojo descending the stairs. Gojo's carefully coiffed hair has been pulled free from its ties and hangs messily into his eyes, and Yuuji has a dark, purpling spot beneath his jaw. Nanami thinks it's irresponsible of him to mark an omega that isn't his yet. But then again, anything and everything will be Gojo's in the end, if he only wills it.
Nanami doesn’t begrudge Gojo the luck of his birth, but sometimes, he feels keenly aware of the unfairness of his very existence. That there can be someone who can take and take and take as much as he likes, someone who can exist so far outside the world the rest of them inhabit. It doesn’t matter. This unfairness simply is and will continue to be. If Yuuji is who Choso says he is, kind and bright and somehow protected from the shit of the streets outside, Nanami hopes he gets to live an unfair kind of life, too. He's so young. Nanami sees it as he comes closer, an eagerness in his step and a shine in his eye when he glances up at Gojo that says he hasn’t had time yet to accumulate many of life’s tragedies. He does seem happy. Gojo too, the genuine kind of happiness that Nanami knows Gojo often pretends to feel, a mask slipped down tight over his eyes and fitted to the shape of his smiling mouth.
Yuuji's lips part in surprise as he spots Nanami and Choso’s table across the room. He says something to Gojo and then darts forward, slipping nimbly through the patrons and the incense drums to fling himself into Choso's arms, settling half-inside his lap, their thighs tangled together.
"Choso!" he says.
“Well?” Choso says. "Was he good to you again?"
"It felt so good," Yuuji says. "He was the best to me." His gaze turns in Nanami's direction. When he smiles, it's warm and familiar, as though they've known each other for years instead of only for a brief introduction. "I didn't know you were entertaining General Nanami!"
He nuzzles his cheek against Choso’s jaw while he speaks, an unconscious motion that nudges Choso's head slowly upward until he can simply turn his nose right into Choso's scent gland. It's so shockingly and suddenly intimate that Nanami looks down and away.
"We were together all night," Choso says.
"Was he good to you?" Yuuji says.
Nanami opens his mouth to clarify.
"He was," Choso says.
Nanami closes his mouth again. He risks a look upward. Choso's cheeks are flushed, and he's turned his head into Yuuji's hair, nuzzling absently in circles against his brother's temple, a small, soft smile on his lips. Choso's drunk, too. He shouldn't…he won't think about that, make any assumptions or inferences. This was Choso's job. This was a conversation that served its purpose, for both of them. Choso didn't mean anything by it.
Did he, though?
It takes Nanami a moment to realize that Gojo is there, too, and speaking to him.
"Nanami," Gojo says. "You actually did it."
Nanami looks at the slew of empty wine bottles, pushed to one side of the table. He doesn't remember moving them. but he remembers being able to look at Choso without anything in the way, so he must have.
"Of course I did," Nanami says.
"I ask your forgiveness for not rising, Your Majesty," Choso says, "But we share an interest in indulging my brother."
Yuuji squeezes tight against all the places he and Choso are touching, in confirmation, legs and arms and shoulders, constricting like a snake. Nanami hears a joint pop, somewhere. Yuuji's deceptively strong, he thinks, but Choso's face doesn't change at all, that drunk-loose, adoring-soft expression proof that he's used to letting Yuuji have his way.
"That's one of the Three Jewels," Gojo says. "That's Yuuji's unbelievably expensive brother."
He sinks down onto the bench at Nanami's side. Nanami feels a little triumphant, thinking about Yaga's apoplectic face.
"Yes, it is," Nanami says.
"Where's Higuruma?" Gojo says.
Nanami blinks. He hasn't thought about Higuruma in hours.
"You don't know?" Gojo says.
"He was with Choso all night," Yuuji says.
Gojo blinks, too, and then his smile splits sharp across his face. Nanami resists the urge to bury his head in his hands.
"All night!" Gojo says. "Nanami, I knew you had it in you! How was he? I've always thought he might be the quiet type that snaps when you can get him going. He has that soldier's stamina, you know? All that repressed alpha energy."
"We were not upstairs at any point," Nanami says. "We were at this table the entire night."
"Very enjoyable, Your Majesty," Choso says.
"Don't encourage him," Nanami says.
"A real pleasure," Choso says.
"Please," Nanami says.
Choso's laugh is nothing more than a huff of air against Yuuji's hair, but Nanami memorizes the shape of it immediately, the way his lips part and his eyes scrunch just so at the corners. Nanami has always hated to be teased, but it's not so bad, with Choso.
"That's a good review from one of the Three Jewels, Nanami!" Gojo says. "Congratulations! I can't wait to tell Suguru."
"There's nothing to tell," Nanami says, futile.
Gojo merely claps him jovially on the shoulder so hard, it makes the whole table jostle, the cups quivering at its edge.
"Will you return again soon to give my brother the honor of your visit, Your Majesty?" Choso says.
"Very soon," Gojo says.
"I have to tell you something, later," Yuuji says. "The most exciting thing ever."
"I wonder what it could be," Choso says. He meets Nanami's eyes across the table. They've only known each other for an evening, but Nanami thinks he can already read I told you so in the blink of his eyes. It's unnerving, the ease with which Nanami feels they're alone again, just the two of them, when they aren't at all.
Gojo sends for more wine, and Choso sends one of his attendants to find Higuruma. She's a young woman with short brown hair and a frankly unaccommodating disposition, but she returns with him in tow after only a few minutes. The usual bags beneath his eyes look even darker than usual.
"Madame MeiMei is the most terrifying woman I've ever met in my life," he says.
Yuuji and Choso nod, sympathetically.
Gojo slides even further down the bench and pats at the wood for Higuruma to sit, forcing Nanami to the rounded head of the small table. He's nearly at Choso's side. If he let his knees fall wide, they'd be touching. Closing even this small space between them makes Choso's scent stronger in his nose. It makes the conversation about MeiMei's refusal to release Yuuji immediately and all of Gojo's tantrum afterward difficult to follow, passing in bits and pieces, slipping around his thoughts like water as Nanami tries to keep his feet planted firmly upright on the floor.
He sees very quickly why Gojo is so certain about Yuuji. He's bursting with energy as the evening goes on, vibrant and silly and unselfconscious. The effect is endearing. He gets up once to reenact a time a mean old patron fell all the way down the grand staircase, and once again to show them a bawdy song and dance that Nanami feels very sure he did not learn in an establishment as fine as this one. His ability to follow the beat of the music with his body is not particularly good, the movements rough, but his voice lifts clear and melodic, a very fine tenor. Periodically, he'll call out a greeting to one person or another—a harried serving girl, one of the dressers rushing by with a stack of laundered robes in his arms. They all take the time to greet him warmly, regardless. Nanami supposes that could be the result of Choso's position and theoretical temper, and Yuuji's proximity to him, but Nanami doesn't think so. It could be a show put on by the entire house to support Yuuji's strategy to secure the emperor, but Nanami doesn't think that, either. Unless Yuuji is the greatest actor in the world, and every person in the house is also exceptionally talented, Yuuji appears to simply be…kind. Well-liked by courtesans and house staff and patrons alike.
There could be much worse choices, Nanami thinks, for a Second Consort.
He only notices it's morning when he feels the warmth of the sun at the back of his neck, creeping down toward his shoulders. Gojo sends Higuruma to settle the bill on his behalf, and Yuuji leaves Choso's side to make his way into Gojo's arms instead. Their amorous goodbye is not something Nanami has any interest in seeing, so he turns his attention to the nearly empty room beyond their alcove, to the sunbeams on the walls, and then, inevitably, to Choso.
He's alone, now, on his side of the table. His jewelry is still perfectly in place, but his hair is tousled on the side where Yuuji had been persistently nuzzling into it, tangled, the shine dulled. He looks different than he had before. Less like a jewel, and more like a human. Flesh and blood. Something to touch, not only to admire.
Choso must feel his gaze, because his head turns. The sun catches in his diamonds, sends small circles of rainbow onto the walls around him like a halo. "General," he says.
"Choso," Nanami says, and then he has nothing else to say. He knows that when he gets away from this place, when he's alone again in the familiarity of home, when Choso's scent fades from his nose, when the alcove doesn't hide them away in some other world, he'll come to his senses. He'll know better than to come back, and so he won't. It will be the right choice. He'll willingly accept the bitterness. He's accustomed to the taste, but he thinks this time, it will burn all the way down.
"I meant what I said," Choso says. "It was an enjoyable evening. I didn't say it for the emperor's benefit."
"Mm," Nanami says. His heart thuds, a traitor inside his chest.
"Madame MeiMei knows what she has," Choso says. "She won't let Yuuji go quickly, or easily. The emperor will need to come again. Many times."
"It seems that way," Nanami says.
"Will you come with him?" Choso says.
No, Nanami means to say. He's smarter than this. The insistent pull in his blood, in his bones, is dumb instinct. He can deny it, if he so chooses. He always has.
Choso watches him, expectantly. In the light, Nanami can see a little starburst of purple inside the warm brown of his eyes, unexpected. Nanami feels, suddenly, the weight of the time they have left, and of all the things he doesn't know, and will never have the chance to know, if he leaves this place and closes its doors behind him. If Choso can sing and dance, if he ever leaves the house and where he likes to go when he does, if he ever wishes he could go home, if he likes purple so much because it matches his eyes.
He should let go of what he wants. He should think about the wailing of his mother on his dam's grave, the way she had beaten her fists against the earth as though she could convince it to open. He should remember bursting out of his own seams in the palace of Noritoshi Kamo, a wild thing with teeth itching to bite, should remember the terror of resurfacing later and of the weeks it had taken to drag himself back into a person piece by piece by piece. He should let go.
"General?" Choso says, and then, "General Nanami?"
He can't.
"Yes," Nanami says.
It's a mistake. He knows this, but Choso smiles and his scent bursts happy and omega-sweet on Nanami's tongue. It soothes at that hungry-aching thing in his chest like a balm, and Nanami can't bring himself to fear the consequences.