Chapter Text
Hifumi covered his face with his hands, nails bloodied from scratching at the ground. The dust and dirt that clung to his fingers stung his eyes. He closed them tighter, small tear drops leaking down his cheeks.
“Look girls, he started crying!”
“Aww, are we being too rough?”
“Don’t be a baby, Hifumin – we just wanna have some fun with you!”
He was making a mess of himself.
Hifumi could feel his clothing torn, his skin scraping against the cement floor. He was also certain that his jacket was somewhere across of the warehouse that the women dragged him to. It probably landed somewhere dusty, and Hifumi would have to go through the trouble of going to the dry cleaners. And that’s not considering the rips he’ll need to mend.
Hifumi vaguely remembers a struggle in an alleyway, but his memory was hazy. All that he could recall was being back at the club, clinking champagne glasses with seven? eight? eight women; and the stern voice of his fellow-host and manager.
Your table will have some of the most important businesswomen in Shinjuku, Izanami. Don’t screw it up. For tonight, I trust you can do more than your usual tricks…
It’s been awhile since he was told to provide backroom services, but he supposes that it’ll help with the bills. Hifumi hopes that they live up to their reputation as bigshot businesswomen and they tip generously for what he expects to be a busy night. His “host mode” will have no problem, but maybe he should schedule an appointment with Sensei in case tonight gets too out of hand.
“Hifumiiin~, I don’t think I can finish off my glass! I don’t wanna be wasteful, can you pleeease take care of it?”
He couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. The host leaned in closer to the woman, or at least closer than how she already draped herself over his shoulder, then tipped his head so his lips gingerly touched the rim of the glass. The woman lifted the stem, a little too high, but he wouldn’t be worthy to call himself the top host if he let a spill interrupt everyone’s fun. Hifumi pushed himself closer to his lovely guest, and the champagne flowed into his mouth easily.
Of course it was easy, Sensei was already nagging him for his liver. But as the night went by, and the women cheered for yet another round of drinks, it slowly dawned on him that maybe one host wasn’t enough to account for the alcohol consumption of these eight eager working women.
As he was trading compliments and petnames, he could tell that his speech was getting slower, more slurred. One of the women, the one with a golden cockroach pinned to her blazer, seemed too keen to this.
Hifumi found the accessory off-putting, but who can really judge the trends of Shinjuku’s upper echelons. He remembered flipping through a throwaway magazine, one of the daily must-do’s for a starlight host. Beetles, spiders, and roaches encrusted with precious gems like glamour pets – ew. But he can sort of understand it. Covering the uglies and squirmies with makeup and jewelry and designer brands, and suddenly they’re gorgeous trophies. Though he himself wouldn’t dip dead bugs in a vat of money and show it off proudly on his chest.
He wonders how much this woman spent on that bug, and how much she’s going to spend on him.
Roach uncrosses her legs, spreads them out just wide enough to be public-appropriate but far from modest; and Hifumi anticipates the start of his real work tonight.
“Why don’t we all take a break so little Hifumi-kun can catch his breath?” Wow, how considerate of you ma’am… “I heard there were rooms in the back of the club.”
Despite the pink dust of alcohol across her cheeks, she still held a stone-face. Roach was obviously the authoritative “leader” of this otherwise merry group of girls. The wrinkles around her eyes screamed killjoy and I’m only happy when embezzling company funds to pay for dumb blonde hosts. The slight pinks across her cheeks were the only indication that Hifumi was doing his job right; and he’ll take that as a win.
Roach moved her steely eyes across their tight corner of the club, her gaze not quite making direct eye contact with his. Instead, she was intently watching his throat, and he gulped at what that may imply for later.
Hifumi gave the ladies around him a warm smile, even warmer with all the alcohol in his system, and he stood up to escort the ladies to the back of the club. Or, he intended to, but he found his muscles not fully cooperating with his brain. His body felt stuck to the seat, as if someone made his insides too heavy to move, too heavy to breathe. He flexed his legs, but instead of momentum, he could only feel pins and needles. The host’s whole body felt as if every nerve was static, and he shivered at the slight pain that was washing over his bones. He could tell he was losing his balance just from sitting, but his vision can’t keep up, can’t see can’t hear. Hifumi felt himself land on something softer than the club couch.
“My, my, isn’t our widdle host getting too excited?”
Host mode instinct helped him to regain some of his senses at least. He muttered out some form of apology, but the woman shushed him. His face was squashed against the small patch of flushed skin that peeked behind a dress shirt, top few buttons undone. This close, he could see the pink lace of her bra.
Pink placed her hand on top of his head and began to pet his hair like a dog. She cooed something against his ear, but he couldn’t make out the words. The smooth palm of her hand, the light scratch of her manicured nails – for the first time ever, he felt relaxed in the embrace of a woman.
It was short-lived, and the usual fear came back in full force as her nails dug in his scalp, and she pulled back his head with clenched fingers.
“Don’t go asleep on us yet, Hifumi-kun. You’re not done with your shift.”
He had less trouble getting up, as Pink did all the work for him. Her heels clicked on the floor as she stood tall over him, her arm yanking his weight off of the couch. Hand still gripping his hair, he had little choice but to follow her as she started to walk away from the couch, the rest of the ladies crowding around behind them. He felt one woman loop her arm around his, another placing her hand on his belt loop. One woman seemed the most impatient, her hand shamelessly feeling the curve of his ass as he struggled to keep up with Pink. Roach traced her finger over his spine, and despite wearing two layers of clothing underneath her touch, he felt as if she was splitting his skin.
He heard the loud click of a metal door being closed, and then the whistle of the wind. This wasn’t the back rooms.
Hifumi looked back at the fire exit behind him, then to the alley to which it led. Normally illuminated by the purple and green LEDs hanging above, car headlights filled the alleyway with a blinding white. He tried to make out the license plate as the ladies dragged him to the back of the vehicle, but darkness overcame his vision as he was roughly shoved into the trunk. He either hit his head hard on the trunk floor, or whatever they had slipped in his drink was reaching its full effect, because the last thing Hifumi heard before blacking out was the screech of tires.