“Would you go to bed with me~”
It was another Friday night, a kaleidoscope of emotions pulsated throughout the dance floor of the Ha:Yami. Bodies swirled and twirled as music bounced and drinks were split; each beat reverberated through the air like a heartbeat as the lively night became so welcoming that even a vampire could find a home within this mix of cheers and rhythm. The movements on the floor were chaotic; the only sense of order came from the drink jockeys ferrying beverages between the tables scattered around the common area and the rotating neon colours of the bar.
My shift had reached its conclusion before it began. It was already bound to be a short one as I only had a single client, but he managed to shorten it even further by drinking far too much and running home within twenty-minutes. In normal circumstances, that’d leave me training Mari for the rest of the night, but I kept her busy by assigning her to drinks-mixing, and I’m certain she’s enjoying it.
Obviously, she wasn’t, and while I did enjoy the slight teasing. I had a reason for pushing her out of sight; truthfully, it was a simple one...
Someone needs to speak to me.
I’m not sure what it’s about, but this is likely going to be a follow-up from last week. So until she’s finished with her solo duty up top, I’ll be lounging around down here in the common area. It wasn’t my favourite place to be; I usually avoided it at all costs, but for today, I was okay with simply observing the downstairs happenings.
The music pitched up as the beat kicked back in, and the slow build-up to the drop fell into gear as it began. Trumpets had entered and were now fading as the climax approached. The patrons on the dancefloor had slowed their motions as they listened to the quickly increasing rattling of the bass, all the gathered tension ready for the peak right before it dropped.
“Would you go to bed with me~”
Trumpets jumped straight in over the speaker; their soft dwindling was reversed as they bellowed out their tune in tight step with the drum and bass. A wave of energy shook throughout the dancefloor as the alcohol-burdened customers found themselves unhindered of any mental inhibitions and instead invigorated as they clustered together, touched bodies, and lost their egos in the euphoria of the moment.
The rapidly changing dancefloor swapped out colours like a minigun cycles rounds, each new hue and dye appearing and vanishing as the symposium of pigment paints the neon that lines the walls and bar with orchestrated scheming; every emerging colour parallel with an instrument.
Drinks were shuffled back and forth, the drinks jockeys slipping in between the connected couples, the delirious drunks, and the passionate partygoers. Each one manoeuvring with the precision of a race car driver, never a grazed body or paint job scratched.
And here was my drinks jockey,
“Seina? What are you doing here?” Nao asked, and my sudden surprise that Nao was the one delivering my drink arrived and left in an instant as I processed her greeting.
“Nao, oh- I wasn’t aware you were a drinks jockey today.”
“Yeah, It's all good. I arrived earlier than you, so you probably just missed me.” Nao clarified as she placed my drink down on the table and helped herself to the seat opposite me, “What about you? You never come here unless Kiyoshi practically forces you, so what's up?”
I reached down and picked up the drink that Nao had dropped off. It was a tropical martini twist made up of a base of gin, with a dash of yuzushu sake and some rose vermouth, stirred, then poured into a Nick & Nora glass and garnished with lemon
zest and apple blossom.
It was a drink that could be described as an exemplification of culture. Japanese bartending focuses on perfecting the making of the drink rather than obsessing over the actual drink. However, as the Ha:Yami doesn’t cut corners with its ingredients, you’re treated to a martini that combines both of these ethoses into a taste only made possible by the wealth behind the club and the talent within the drinks jockeys, all while the customer watches the magic of the drink’s creation happen first hand.
Either way, it's a shame this is all lost on me, as I prefer champagne, though not by much.
“Hmm, I just wanted a change of pace, and this is the best place to waste the time away.” I answered, taking a small sip of my martini before returning it to its spot on the table.
Nao twirled her neck, surveying our surroundings with a half-bored expression. The table we were at was on the side of the club opposite the bar, tucked away in an isolated corner so no one would approach me. It wasn’t sectioned off or locked away from the rest of the club; it’s just that nothing was happening here, and so no one was bothering to come here.
Well, that’s not entirely true. There was a fairly large reason why no one was approaching.
“You’re waiting for something?” She paused as she leaned in closer over the table, a playful grin on her face as her finger reached out to caress my hand, “Or someone~” She concluded with an implying tease.
“Oh, are you curious?” I shot back, raising my eyebrow in the same manner someone raises a wager in a match of poker, except this table is playing a causal game of make-believe.
“What! Who is it?” She cried back, picking herself off her chair as she tried to narrow the distance the table put between us.
“No one, I’m playing with you.”
That was a lie, concealed with a flawless coating. Invisible, even if someone knows it’s there, she’d never find it. The locksmith before a vault, but they’ve forgotten to bring their tools, so how could they possibly unlock the lie when they can’t even figure out where it begins and ends?
Except this lie isn’t my making; I’m not the one who wishes for Nao to be left in the dark about this meeting.
Mikako is.
And I can only speculate about the reasons.
“Seina~” Nao spoke after a tut, her voice high pitched and shocked, “I didn’t expect you, of all people, to tease me so cruelly!” She continued, her voice lively and done up purposefully to make light of her false torment.
We laughed off the joke, and Nao soon returned to properly sit on her seat before jumping back into another question, “Where’s Mari, by the way? I swear she’s always at your heel. It’s weird not seeing her with you.”
“I had solo duty, so I sent her off to practise on her own. She should be in the mixing room behind the bar.”
“You’re not gonna collect her? Oh no, Seina! Are you really going to leave her all alone and trapped making drinks, such an evil Teacher. And to think that Mikako set such a good example for you.”
“She doesn’t need me right now.” I calmly replied with a slight smile, not rising to match her teasing with my own.
“Well, I am needed- at the bar, y’know. I can’t stay away for too long.” Nao stated as she stood up with a bounce, “Oh, but one more thing… could you come with me somewhere this time next week? It’s nothing crazy, don’t panic, please. I’d just like some support?”
She was serious; all traces of her previous jesting and playful banter suddenly thawed out as if it were black ice just passed over by the salt spreader. This was the changing of her emotions in rapid form, and this invite wasn’t one I could reject, not unless I wanted my heart to turn cold.
“Sure, are we taking work off?” It was a trivial ask. I had no concerns to give to a potential complaint from the Ha:Yami about excessive days off.
“Yeah,” Nao confirmed, her personality regaining some of its prior joky nature, but now with a pervasive feeling of gratitude, “Thank you, Seina.” She said, the words doubling up as her farewell, then she turned towards the corner and provocatively hummed to someone, “Goodbye, Muto.”
That someone was Muto, who was my fairly large reason why no one was approaching.
“Goodbye, Miss Nuo.” Muto returned, watching as Nao turned on her heel and left with a wave.
He was massive, towering over the average Japanese man. I believe I once overheard him mention that one of his parents- or grandparents was Russian. I can’t quite remember, but the point still stands: Muto is a large man with powerful muscles, and currently, he’s serving as my bastion against any foolhardy men.
If it wasn’t already clear, Muto is a bouncer at the Ha:Yami. A club like this is bound to have a lot of them, and the Ha:Yami Club has always been protective of its hostesses, especially if they’re me.
I suppose I should thank work mode for making me the Ha:Yami’s top earner. Because if I wasn’t, Kiyoshi wouldn’t have assigned Muto to come with me the moment he heard I was entering the common area in uniform. It didn’t upset him more than it shocked him. Nevertheless, the idea that someone might disrespect me while I was representing the club was a possibility he wouldn’t entertain.
After all, the only customers that are always right are the ones upstairs. Down here, the Ha:Yami can afford to be a little rougher to prove a point, and respect is a currency worth more than yen for this place.
The tattoos that Kiyoshi shares with all the bouncers make that point well enough, and only an idiot would think to test it.
“Hey beautiful, why you sitting here all alone?”
But idiots are what the Ha:Yami Club deals in, and the drink only serves to exacerbate that.
Two men approached, the drink addling their brains and imbuing them with deceptive confidence. They were friends; that was easy to tell by the way they traded looks with each other and whispered unsubtle comments about my appearance between them.
“You wanna go somewhere to relax, hah-” The bold one of the pair halted, his eyes briefly crossing the nametag on my chest as he pieced two-and-two together.
When I said I was in uniform, I was really referring to my nametag. Sure, I was still wearing the dress provided to me for tonight’s client, but that alone doesn’t corroborate my affiliation as a hostess. No, it's this nametag that carries the golden characters of the Ha:Yami that links me to the club.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Hold up, you're one of the hostesses?” He arrogantly stated, as if that fact gave him power over me, “I’m wanting some service then. What’s your price?” He said, taking a step closer to my table, completely misunderstanding what the Ha:Yami Club actually sells and also overlooking the presence of Muto.
A terrible mistake, truly.
“Leave.” Muto demanded, always a man of few words. Yet, here, he had even fewer words for these imbeciles so self-assured in their invincibility that they were about to discover their Achilles’ heel encompassed their entire body.
“What? You her knight in shining armour or something? No need to get worked up, mate, she’s just a whor-”
A terrible mistake, somehow made worse.
I didn’t have to say or do a thing. Muto had them both pinned to the ground instantly; soon after, he took hold of his radio and called for another bouncer to come over and throw them out.
Two bouncers arrived and dragged the pair of foolhardy drunks through the club, likely to be thrown out onto the street to drag themselves home. I couldn’t spare much pity for them; everything they had said, I’d heard before. It’s just indifference at this stage, and I’m sure there’ll be worse to face later on.
But to Mikako, what would she feel? Would she be angered at them, be overcome by a drilling sense of vile disgust? Put on a stern face and drown her fear, let the knowledge that she’ll be leaving this place behind soon carry her to safe shores.
Or would she cover her tracks and erase the evidence of her existence here? Nullify the use of any blackmail and wash away any taint. The acknowledgement that this was the result of her choice, just as it's her selfish choice to burn this whole place down to the ground.
Even if it doesn’t work like that, if there never is one last fire to burn it all away. She’d do it for her exchange, the trading of the Ha:Yami for… something?
“I apologise for that showing, Ma’am.” Muto spoke, retaking his position close to me now that the troublemakers were gone.
“It's not your fault. You can’t control what they say.” I offered my words to ease his burden of responsibility. Muto’s always been relatively kind. Even if words aren’t his favourite thing, his actions show that well enough.
“I just did, Ma’am.” He stated in a rough voice with a trace of what seemed like proudness in his tone. The blunt declaration that he could control what people say; he simply has to throw around the weight of his position and, of course, his actual weight.
“Oh, so you did…” I chirped, taken slightly off-guard by how much he seemed to relish taking care of those two, but everyone has hobbies, so who am I to judge?
Time flew after that. Muto’s display didn’t go unwitnessed, and though it was quickly forgotten as just another pair of idiots too drunk to think, it did help reinforce the invisible barrier surrounding me.
My phone became my companion during this time. Which was unusual for me as most of my text messages were focused purely on business, but now I had a group chat between Emiko and Seijun to share and the occasional message from Nao; Of course, Mari was the most active of my contacts, a thousand links, recommendations, and silly videos littered our messages, and to risk opening our messages was to entice her to send more as she soon saw I was online.
However, the person I was hoping to receive a text from was Mikako. As soon as she was freed from her solo duty upstairs, she’d shoot over a message, and we’d meet up. But at the rate it was taking, the Ha:Yami would be approaching closing by the time she was done.
So, with that in mind, I returned to watching out over the dancefloor. My observant post, standing guard over the boredom that threatens to rise if I lack for even a moment, my watch ever vigilant against my impatience.
It took longer than I had hoped it would, but eventually, I spotted Mikako leaning over the barrier that lined the open roof, looking down into the common area. She took her phone out of her purse, and I knew I’d be receiving a message from her within a matter of seconds.
“Muto, I’m ready to leave.”
He nodded, cracked his neck side-to-side and shook off the tension in his muscles from standing still for so long, “Lead the way, Ma’am.” He concluded, following me closely behind as I stood up and headed towards the employee-only area.
As we crossed the doors, we bid our farewells as I walked up the stairs to the second floor, and he marched off to wherever else he was needed, which was most likely his home, considering how late it was.
My phone buzzed as I reached the second floor, and as predicted, it was Mikako. She was asking to meet up in a storage room near the break room; it was an out-of-the-way spot, even if it was used here and there by hostesses looking for a bit of quiet. There were no restricted zones in the Ha:Yami for us, well, other than Kiyoshi’s office and the men’s toilets, but those shouldn’t need stating.
The room was tucked between the entrance to the breakroom and the corridor leading to one of the electric rooms, or it might have been the boiler room? It wasn’t used outside of maintenance, so it was irrelevant either way.
I reached for the door handle and entered the room. Mikako was waiting there, leaning up against a stack of boxes. The faint light illuminated her figure, tall, slim, and well-rounded; there was a reason she was in such high demand, with her long, side-parting black hair and calm, almost lethargic face.
“Seina,” She spoke my name with a sigh of relief, her hand coming up to move the rogue pieces of her hair back behind her ear, “I’m glad you came. A part of me feared you wouldn’t with what happened last week.”
There was another, smaller stack of boxes opposite her. She didn’t exactly invite me, but from her gestures, I got the impression she wanted me to sit. I don’t think it was intentional, more a habit ingrained in her, but that didn’t stop me from mounting the waist-height stack and taking a seat.
She didn’t make a comment on my seating arrangement, but I had to admit they were comfortable, “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I know it's late, so I’ll get straight to the point.”
A flicker in the light as she gathered herself. This was a moment of contemplation, a calm before the storm, yet this isn’t a storm, it's a confession. So what part of the chapel is this? The room is different, but it holds the same purpose, is this stack of boxes the confession box? Is the electric droning of the nearby freezer the pipe organ? And what about the sin divulged? I suppose that’ll come in time, perhaps after the prayer, but what part of the room would that be?
Who even knows anymore?
“What happened last week, I need to explain myself.” She began, her voice firm, still laced with calmness, but far tougher than usual, “But, before that, I want you to know I don’t regret what I said. I wasn’t wrong.”
Where is the calm, mellow, and mature Mikako that I know? Those first impressions of her that have faded more and more in the time we’ve spent together. No longer indecisive, but is she still relying on Nao to lead the way?
“This place is rot, poison, vile, disgusting, and we will both be leaving it.” She declared, no doubt in her words and that glare of hers dared me to challenge her, to deny that I would be leaving alongside her.
Where is Nao? Why hasn’t Mikako confided in her? Why is this meeting of two a secret to be kept from her?
“I want a clean break from the Ha:Yami. I won’t have my time here be used against me. I want my role here buried; all traces that I was a hostess gone. And I…” Her words got held up within her throat, an unsure second handed over to debate, “I think you want the same thing.”
‘I hope you want the same thing.’
That’s what she meant to say, but she was using her own confidence as a pressure point, leverage to entice me to agree with her. It wasn’t working, whatever she thought of me, I lacked the disgust she has towards this place.
I recognise that the Ha:Yami is exactly as she’s describing it, but I’m indifferent to it. Long used to it, not quite apathy, more acceptance that I’m already in the process of ridding myself of it.
I’ve already begun the trade for acting. What use is there for a clean break? What does that even mean, and why would I care for it?
“What happened last week… Call it a breakdown, a build-up of stress. Say I wasn’t in the correct head space, I could blame it on the hormones, it’s a decent excuse, but it only explains why I spilled my heart to you, not why I feel so strongly about this.”
Why isn’t Nao leading the way, why is she pardoned for this absence. Isn’t Mikako her closest friend? Perhaps even her best friend, that title that only a child can give, for they have been friends since middle school.
“What about Nao?” Why is this a secret from her? Why can’t she lead the way, “Why isn’t she here?”
“Because she’d make it all about her.” Mikako spoke too quickly, her words condemning Nao harshly, even if it wasn’t what she’d meant to do, “And she wouldn’t help me; she loves this place too much for that.” She continued, a brief follow-up to run away from the bleak rebuff she’d given Nao.
Where were we again? This is the silent chapel, isn’t it? The storage room resting in sacred serenity, no hollow ground to be defiled or profaned.
“At- at any rate, that brings me to the other thing I wanted to tell you.”
What do we feel again? This touch is the confession box, of course it is? The stack of boxes we lay against in comfortable consecration, no pain or crucifixion to be felt.
“You can’t tell Nao about this. It’ll only hurt her. Keep this a secret from everyone.”
When do we hear again? This sound is the pipe organ, right? The nearby freezer humming its tune with blessed bliss, no hymns to be distorted or blasphemed.
“The reason- the reason why I have to leave is because…”
Wait, what about the sin divulged? We’ve forgotten that part again...
“I’m pregnant.”
Oh… so that’s the sin.
Womanhood.
But that’s not a sin at all.
Yet the Ha:Yami won’t see it that way.
A hostess can’t tempt desire, encourage spending, showcase allure, practice confidence, or perform as a trophy if she’s… pregnant.
It's poetic- profit off womanhood only to throw them away because of womanhood. The allure has been tainted by another man, the trophy blemished by biology, the confidence turned to motherhood.
How could a woman like that encourage spending? Encourage anything?
“I’m sorry.”
Mikako looked stunned, then confused, and then a bit perplexed, “Seina, what? No, this isn’t an accident. My fiance and I wanted this. It’s planned.”
“Oh…”
She smiled for the first time this night. That calm and tranquil smile she so often does, “Do you understand why I have to leave now? I don’t want my time here to affect this baby. The risk a client might get jealous and track me down, or that my past here will be discovered while my child is in school, or maybe someone will find something from here to blackmail me with. I won’t have the Ha:Yami tear my family apart, not now, not in the future. I will build a life that will last, and I need your help.”
I’m already leaving the Ha:Yami. It's just a matter of time. The clock is ticking, the TV winding down to the end credits, and the lights have already switched off. There is no reason to accept, to agree to help her, I gain nothing from it.
But that isn’t true.
Sex doesn’t sell.
Hatsuko said that. She spoke it as fact, experience in each of her words, as if she’s lived it, witnessed it first hand. It's an illusion; a woman is sexy yet still holds her morals because morals and lust have never gone hand-in-hand. It’s been written this way since the wheel was first whittled from loose wood and there is no sign of change just yet.
The idea of sex sells, but not the actuality.
And being a hostess… is nothing more than sex work to them. It doesn’t matter whether it happens or not, that shame is carried with us. The stigma of it is unavoidable.
Those aren’t my words; they’re Mikako’s. But I’ve seen the evidence of it first hand, today, yesterday, a week ago or a month ago, tomorrow too, and probably next week as well.
An actress can’t be affiliated with the Ha:Yami, because the Ha:Yami is affiliated with sex.
“I’ll help.”
It doesn’t matter whether it happens or not.
“I knew you’d agree. I’ve never seen you happy here, that work mode of yours was a convenient shield, but this place will wear down anyone if given enough chance.”
Because people believe it does.
“Anyway, that doesn’t matter now. I need time to think of a plan, something we can do to erase all records of our employment here, even if I have to burn this whole place down to the ground; I’ll figure something out.”
And belief is what an actor deals in.