Chapter Text
2.
Tora is so adorable.
He has those big earnest eyes, that little hesitant smile. It puts Johan in mind of those teacup pomeranians that some girls carry around in their little designer handbags, all nervous and overstimulated amongst the glitz and glam.
For all his dyed hair and pierced ears are worth, Tora is a good student from an average family. Johan knows the type. Hell, he has been that type, earnest and eager to please. Adaptable too. It had taken a while for Johan to take on the grit that the city seems to rub onto everyone, but after a few months he did manage to shed the country bumpkin skin from himself under the bright lights of the Kabukicho nightlife. From there, it had been an easy rise to the top of the rankings.
Johan was made for this. He shines the brightest in the shadows of Kabukicho Tower, in the dirty alleys of midnight Shinjuku. He can’t see the stars here in the city but he doesn’t need to, with the glare of the spotlight warming his skin. He loves it, the heat, the vomit, the sweltering press of skin to skin. The way the city is equal parts shouted anguish and whispered sorrow, loud karaoke and the quiet hush of a glancing smile.
Johan loves this city, had bared his teeth at it and tore out a chunk of it for his own. He knows Tora has what it takes to do the same. He’s young, good looking enough, friendly enough. Smart too, smarter than Johan probably – he saw Tora once write out receipts for the tables by hand when their system went down, tallying it all up in his head with more than a few chuuhais in him. And on that note, he’s got a good tolerance for alcohol. The most important part of being a host.
Johan loves Tora, loves how when he pulls Tora into hosting with him at his table, the girls coo at his red ears and cute hair. He doesn’t seem to ever get drunk, until he does and then he’s straight at the throwing-up stage. Which means that after he gets some water in him he’s good to go again. Johan shamelessly exploits this, diverting the drinking games his way when Johan himself feels a little too tipsy to still be charming. They make a good team, especially for the games, and the girls love seeing this new side of Johan, the indulgent teasing senpai. Johan is not ashamed to admit that his end of October earnings were so high in part because of Tora joining the crew.
Johan loves Tora, wants him on his team, and he knows he’s got what it takes to make a living out of hosting. But he also knows that Tora will never be number one. Not with the way Tora still calls him “Johan-san”.
As good as Tora is, as good as he could be, he doesn’t have his eyes on the prize, not with the way his whole face sharpens when a guest manages to get him talking about his art.
It is a shame though.
“This city will ruin you, Tora,” he drawls, vision hazy and hair mussed in some alley bar.
Tora looks at him, blinking, soft with exhaustion after the New Year rush, blue dawn in his eyes. Johan can’t help reaching out to touch, just a little, a soft tap-tap of his finger on Tora’s nose.
The moment hangs between them like cigarette smoke until Tora snorts, nose scrunching up underneath Johan’s touch.
“Not if you do first, Johan-san.”
Johan hums. He knows that Tora’s probably talking about the number of drinks he’d pushed Tora’s way this shift. But Johan isn’t thinking about that at all.
Cute little Tora, an art student from a loving family.
He’s right. Johan sure could rub some kabukicho grit onto him, ruin him just a little for the rest of the world.
Johan sighs wistfully.
“I really want to see that happen.”