"I am going to work, Susu," I told her in Japanese, but that was the best I could do. "Your daddy will be home tonight."

In my squatted position, my fluffy bestie put her paw on my knee and stretched up to touch her nose to mine.

"Oh, come on. Don't do that," I complained, my heart threatening to burst over her cuteness. I wanted to curl up on the floor with her and cry, but I scratched her ears instead, soaking in her purrs like they were a drug. She made me consider staying in Japan just to see her.

While Jiji still pretended to hate me, I knew it wasn't true. She was like me, pretending to be detached, holding in a wealth of emotion only people closest to her would ever see. Susu was like her dad, making me feel special every day. It felt like I was on the cusp of being a part of Ryuzo's life — all parts of it.

That, however, was the problem. I didn't want to repeat the past. Six months could be as much risk as reward.

Susu followed me to the ledge of the entryway. Jiji moved to be in view but wouldn't come close enough to imply she would miss me. Relatable.

"Matane, Susu. Bye-bye, Jiji!" The latter narrowed her eyes.

. . .

With no ETA from Ryuzo, work was an excellent distraction from the anxiety

Kat clung to me from behind for the fifth time today, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm in my return. She often did "Western things" together when we were away from the discerning gaze of our coworkers, but today was a lot.

"You are cuddly today," I said.

"I have been single for too long, Mina. I'm hoping I can osmose some of your game."

I laughed. "I don't have game, I'm just a ho."

"My friend with the magic minge." She let me go, moving to my side to help me resupply our carts.

I eyed her while she busied herself. It was difficult to see past her intimidating beauty to discern the subtle emotion on her face. We were both tired after thirteen of our sixteen hours, but it was more than that. After telling me about her breakup, I realized how much wisdom came with the ten years she had on me.

"Hey, so . . ." An awkward start on my part. "Your company's contracts are one year at a time, right?"

"Yeah."

"Have they offered you an extension?"

"No, but I still have months left. Why? Did they send you one?"

"Another six months."

"Will you accept?"

Question of the century. "I wasn't planning to stay in the first place they sent me, but . . ."

"Now you've got your mans."

"Well . . . Yeah, but —"

"You can't decide if you want another six months to have someone rearrange your guts?" she said in disbelief. "Or do you worry six months will make it harder to leave?"

Her phrasing made me sound so basic. "Yes."

"You are asking the wrong one, babes. What I'd give for a year of uncomplicated sex," she groaned. "Do you think Ayumi is into girls?"

Her segue gave me whiplash. "What? Don't tell me you have a thing for Ayumi." She kept arranging the lidocaine syringes as if she didn't hear me. "Katrina, if you do not fess up right now."

"Yes, all right? I got vibes from her the first week and I've been trying to sniff her out ever since."

Like a spider, Ayumi was never more than six feet away, it seemed. She stood up the hall, speaking to a doctor. I often watched the way she communicated with various ranks and staff to discern the level of formality expected, but like most people here, personal and professional demeanor rarely crossed paths.

"Even if she was, she's still our boss. Is that a good idea?"

Kat gave me the side eye. "Why can't you let me be a whore, too?"

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't ruin your fun?"

"I'd love to ruin Ayumi for fun."

"I — Lord."

Kat gripped my arm and placed her chin on my shoulder. She gave me puppy eyes and begged, "Let me be a whore, too. Please, Mina."

"I cannot condone such behavior."

She pouted. "You're proper selfish, love."

"Correct."

She grumbled and let me go. "Another six months," she switched subjects again. "Are you afraid it will make things real with your mans?"

"Well . . . A year is a long time to be casual, right?"

"Considering I was living with my partner six months in, I'm not the best judge of that, but . . . do you want it to be casual?"

Asking the hard questions. "I don't know."

"Do you know how he feels about it?"

"I think I do."

"Think? He hasn't said it?"

"I mean . . . Maybe he doesn't say it, but I know he feels the same way I do."

"Which is what?"

My pause was unintentional, but telling.

"Yikes," Kat said. A logical response. "If you want my sincerest advice . . . Tokyo is cool, but I've never worked more in my life. If you can catch some here, you can do it anywhere. We both know it's not the city or the sex making you want to stay."

I closed my eyes with a sigh. Damn it.

"Ask him how he feels, lovey," she sang in my ear as she walked away, taking the cart with her.

. . .

One more meeting and I will be there

Ryuzo sent that text an hour ago, followed by the promise of dinner. Having dinner at 10 wasn't out of the norm for me anymore, but eating at 11 was pushing it.

I checked myself in the mirror again, feeling confident with the way my curls popped behind the quick flat twists I made instead of braids on my crown. I gave it another shake at the roots, then smoothed the bodycon dress against my hips.

I looked good. Though I wouldn't admit it to myself, part of my extra effort was in the hopes it would convince him to tell me to stay.

My phone rang. His name lit up my screen. I ignored it and went outside.

I sighed in frustration when I saw him. He looked fine. His perfect suit, his hair slicked back in a bun, his swag turned up to 100. He looked up from his phone and smiled when he saw me. I knew something was off.

"Mina, I am so, so sorry," he lamented as a greeting.

"For what?"

He sighed, and that was when I saw it on his face. And smelled it. "At the meeting . . . there was so much alcohol. So much." He took my face in his hands and pressed his forehead to mine. "I am very drunk."

"Poor baby," I patted his cheek with a laugh. "Think you can sober up over dinner?"

"Hai, watashi no sakura," he agreed with a bow of his head. So drunk.

"Yeah, you better. I can't do dirty things to you until you do."

"I shall sober immediately." He laughed until his phone rang. A sigh and a stream of curse-filled complaints followed.

"What's wrong?"

He looked at me with regret. "There's something I need to take care of in the city. I forgot."

I had too many plans to delay them again. "Can I go with you so we can go to dinner right after?"

He looked down at me, thoughts swimming behind his dark eyes. "Uh . . ."

His hesitation lasted too long. I stared at him, tilting my head to the side.

"Yes," he answered finally. "Let's go."

. . .

My heart beat a mile a minute when I walked with Ryuzo up the street. It was so odd. He had been inside me on multiple occasions, yet having his arm draped over my shoulder in Tokyo had me losing my shit.

He told me he liked me all the time, but knowing he finally wasn't afraid for people to know he liked me, romantically or otherwise, brought me so much joy. 

The email and Kat's suggestion lingered in the back of my head. I was going to ask him. Surely he would want me to stay, but I still had to know for sure. The shortness of my contract made things hotter, more intense. And that intensity was very easy to misinterpret.

The night was still young for us, hours before the streets would calm down and the pachinkos and arcades would close. People filled the sidewalks and alleyways. Cars sat lined up in traffic, inching through the floods of people crossing the street.

We came upon a bar I hadn't seen before. A man in a suit stood beside the door and greeted Ryuzo when he saw him. When his arm dropped from my shoulders, the man gave me a quick look.

They spoke for a moment, Ryuzo growing more annoyed as the conversation went on. He returned to my side. "I have to go inside. Two minutes. Will you be okay if I leave you here?"

"I'll be fine."

"I will be right back."

"Okay."

He went into the little door, leaving me on the street.

I waited for the two minutes he promised, but to no one's surprise, it took longer. I strolled up the street, taking a moment to appreciate the neon buzz and the smell of food from the neighboring restaurant. The saltiness of tempura-battered something — maybe everything — cut by the sweet smell of eel sauce. My stomach growled. Whatever it was, I wanted it.

I looked at the outdoor eating area and found three businessmen looking my way. I stared them down the way I always did. Two of the men smiled at their other friend and pushed him from his seat. He walked up to me. His timid smile calmed my nerves.

"Konbanwa gozaimasu," he greeted me nervously with a bow of his head.

"Konbanwa . . ."

"You speak, uh, English?" he confirmed in a very heavy accent.

He was my height, thicker than the average, with a gentle-looking, round face. His eyes darted around nervously. "Erm . . . You are . . . very beautiful."

That was a surprise. "Thank you so much."

A smile lit up his face. "Can I . . . buy you drink? I want to —" he stopped short when he looked over my shoulder.

I felt Ryuzo before I saw him. His arm snaked around my waist, then his lips pressed against my cheek.

I looked up at him, knowing exactly what he was doing. "All done?"

"All done." He looked at the man, his expression dropping from a smile into a glare.

"You—? I am so sorry, Yokoyama-san. Forgive me," the man fumbled over himself in Japanese. The man bowed and left for the company of his peer-pressuring friends, embarrassment reddening his cute face. I felt bad for him.

Ryuzo pulled me with him. I sighed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."

"Jealous of who? I'm not jealous," he calmly denied. "Territorial, maybe." A smirk.

"You like me."

"I do."

"You like me a lot."

"I really do."

It was hard not to feel special every time he said that.

After his "business" was complete, we went into a restaurant. The lights were low, a performer sang a half-translated cover of Adele's Turning Tables on a backlit stage. People were dressed beyond the sharp suits of office workers, women wearing their hair in up-dos and slick chignons. 

Ryuzo led us past the bar where three men in suits stood. They greeted Ryuzo as we passed, looking curious as to why their kyodai was with that gaijin girl from across the street. He led me to the back of the restaurant where a deep wood booth with black brocade fabric sat on a small platform with two others. 

I slid into the luxurious seat and a server immediately came back with Sapporo, and a palate cleanser of cold soba noodles in a broth.

I caught Ryuzo already looking at me and he smiled. We were tucked away from view, as usual, but something felt different. We had been seen — in his turf, by other Yakuza — and he didn't care. It was like we hadn't left Kyoto. He had to be drunk to be acting this way, but it didn't change how it made me feel. 

"Ryuzo?" I began a question I knew I'd regret. He hummed. "This feels like a date."

"Maybe because it is." Quippy Ryuzo was cute, but I wanted an answer.

"You've never taken me on a real date before. A romantic one."

His brow creased with confusion, though his smile remained. "I haven't?" he said to tease me.

"You think grabbing a beer before sex is romantic?" I asked.

He laughed but didn't disagree. It was the answer I expected, but not the answer I wanted.

"Are we . . . ?" I didn't know how to ask. "Do you consider me . . . ?"

"My lover?" he finished my sentence. He tilted his head to the side, looking at me adoringly. My cheeks felt warm. "Are you not my lover?"

"I think that word has a different connotation where I come from."

He put on a faux pout. "You don't want to be my lover?"

"You keep saying that as if it's an honor when it just means we fuck."

A playful smirk replaced his frown. "What do you want me to say, Mina-chan?"

Why was he teasing me? "Am I just your lover or am I something else to you, too?"

He looked at me for a moment, reading the intention on my face. Rather than answering, he lifted his glass to his smiling lips and took a drink.

I rolled my eyes. "Forget it."

"What?" he laughed.

"I said forget it."

Enjoying my annoyance, he laughed more.

"Yokoyama-san," a man working the restaurant bowed in front of our table. He said something I couldn't follow.

"Who?" Ryuzo asked.

"I don't know."

With a nod, Ryuzo dismissed him. He rubbed his fingertips against his bottom lip while he pondered something, his brow cinched in anger. Just like that, the switch flipped again. He tutted.

"I need to speak to someone," he said to me. "It will only take a moment."

"I'm sure it will."

I swore I saw remorse in his eyes before he pressed his lips against mine again. His face was stern and serious when he walked away, that cold look of detachment on his face. As I sipped my beer, alone in a dark room filled with strangers and Yakuza, it set in again.

I wasn't supposed to be there. I wasn't supposed to be with him. Six more months wouldn't change the fact that we were from two different worlds. Two worlds that would never allow for more. I was stupid to think otherwise.

Minutes passed. I finished my drink, my appetizer, and his. As the discomfort settled over me, I decided to accept what I couldn't change. I climbed out of the booth and walked out.

One kobun at the bar spotted me with a questioning look. I answered it with, "Tell Yokoyama-san I am tired." That last word, just like the one he used, had a different connotation where I came from.

I left the restaurant, convincing myself I would soon leave Japan, too.

But I wouldn't. Ryuzo had different plans.

_____

A/N: Thank you for reading! Don't forget to add this story to your library and follow me for update alerts!