naoya didn’t think he’d fall so hard for a brothel hooker. you always greet him with a gracious smile – long lashes shadowing an alluring pair of pretty eyes, touching him smoothly as you guide him to his usual room, dulcet words whispered seductively in his ear – all pretty nothings you know he wants to hear. you obediently listen to every word he says just like — in his mind — every woman should.

you may not be the most decent, considering your job – but he may have to just move past that. while having to be introduced to potential wives – he’ll always be thinking of visiting you instead. suppose he could purchase you…turn you into a maid…and maybe in a few years of reforming, you’d be eligible enough to wed. you wouldn’t look too out of place on your hands and knees scrubbing the floors or tilling the gardens – though, it’d be strange to see you all covered up in the thick layers of a yukata and not the thin kimono you easily let drop to the floor as soon as he enters through the door to the establishment.

he wonders if there are many others who pay for your services like he does. sometimes, he’ll spot a mark on your body, not entirely sure if he left it. but you don’t kiss and tell – never one to let sore words leave your lips, even when he proposes to kill all your other visitors. you just give him that gracious smile, letting him hold you close on his lap – wading through his hair with your long nails, petting him as he pouts and frowns, fantasies leaving his mouth in murmurs pressed against your skin – how he’ll take you away from this place, make you his housewife, keep you all to himself in his bed, before getting dressed, paying your madam, and leaving. he’ll often pay for you to be free at times of the day when he knows he’s free to come visit you. but sometimes he’ll come unprompted only for you to be busy with another.

he doesn’t remember when he started waiting outside for them. but it’s been so long that today he no longer bothers washing the blood on his hands before he comes in to see you.