Lying over Misha’s shoulder with his mouth gagged, Jiro watched with horror as Misha exited his room and began to climb the stairs leading higher into the bathhouse. With each step Yui’s bony shoulder jolted Jiro chest painfully, but there was no sign that Yui’s frail body was burdened by his weight at all.

“I bet you thought I would take you outside, didn’t you?” said Misha as she climbed the steps. “But that’s too risky. Your friends will be looking for you by now. If we go out, they might track you down. If we are to be alone and together Jiro, then our best bet”—Misha pointed a finger down a dark corridor—“is to get lost in here.”

Jiro tried to speak but, with the gag, all he produced was a muffled noise. From his explorations, he knew that the bathhouse was nearly infinite: much, much larger than it appeared from the outside. If Misha took him far into the depths, it was likely not even Kaori would be able to find him again.

Think Jiro, think. What can you do?

Misha was speaking gaily as she walked, bringing up memories of times she and Jiro had spent together. So she did not notice as Jiro’s cheek began to slap against Yui’s back as she walked. With each impact, Jiro felt the bundle of cloth stuffed in his mouth loosen slightly.

“To you it was just a few years, but to me, it felt like centuries …” Misha was saying.

Now that the gag was loosened, Jiro used his tongue to push at the bunched up t-shirt fabric. He used his tongue to pull the cloth toward the center of his mouth and then push out. After several failed attempts, the cloth finally broke free and tumbled to the tile.

“A spirit doesn’t sleep you know. So all day and all night I watched you … when you bathed, when you flirted with those other girls. Biding my time, waiting for my moment …”

Careful not to make any noise, Jiro let a little trail of saliva fall from his lips to the floorboards below. Whenever Misha took Jiro up a new flight of stairs or turned to head down a new corridor, he let another wad of saliva drip from his mouth.

This is the best I can do. Hopefully it will be enough.

Just when Jiro’s mouth felt so dry that he could not produce any more saliva no matter how much he tried, Misha stopped and slid open a door.

“This bedroom should do,” said Misha, lying Jiro gently on the tatami. She pulled open the closet and pulled out a futon. “One futon and one pillow will be enough, I think. From now on, we will be spending all night together. And all day as well.”

She spread the futon onto the tatami and then rolled Jiro so he lay on it facing up at him.

“Oh where’s your gag?” said Misha. “It fell out? Well no matter. This far into the bathhouse, nobody will hear your screams.” She winked at him. “Or your moans of pleasure. Now let us kiss ...”

“Wait.”

“Hm? What is it Jiro?”

“I … I want you to be beautiful.”

Misha eyed him silently for a time. Then she broke into a smile. “That’s more like it Jiro. I see you’re ready to accept my love.” She twirled around. “There’s only so much I can do with this puny body. I’m not as beautiful as I once was. But I will do what I can. Because I love you, Jiro. How would you like me to look?”

“I … want you to braid your hair. Like you used to in high school. And I want you to wear clothes like you used to. And the same makeup.”

Misha hesitated. “Makeup? Clothes? I can’t risk going outside … those terrible women might find us …”

“Please Misha, it’s my only request.”

Misha considered for a time. “Okay Jiro. I can’t go out, but I can try to look around the bathhouse for some makeup and clothes. Maybe that bitch Kaori—is that her name?—has something I can use. It will take some time, but …” Misha went around behind Jiro and tightened his bonds. “Wait for me.”

Then, without another word, she exited the room, slid the door shut, and left him lying there in the dark.

He closed his eyes and laid back on the tile. His tongue felt like ash. Lying with hands tied behind his back, he felt like his arms would tear from his shoulder sockets. But he had done all he could. Now all he could do was wait, and hope: hope that Misha would not discover the trail he had left, and hope that his real friends would.