Viral Love

I spotted land just at dusk, and woke Hojo. “I see land,” I told him. “Be ready.”

He yawned, nodded, and sat up, reaching for his shirt. “You think it’s the port between Corel and the Gold Saucer? The land seems to dip inward pretty far.”

“Yes, I think you’re correct. If it’s the way it seems, we’ll have to cut upward through North Corel, go over the mountain pass, and drop into Nibelheim from above. We can’t traverse that desert of quicksand.” I carefully stood to get a better look. “Yes, it’s the port. We might be better off to swim from here.”

Hojo grumbled, got to his feet and began stretching. “Fine,” he said shortly. “I love wet leather.”

“Don’t be such a crybaby,” I snapped. “Try to keep up with me, madman.” I dove off the side and into the cold ocean.

For awhile I felt smug, knowing Hojo couldn’t possibly swim as fast as I did. Then, I felt something wrapping around my ankle, and I panicked. Hojo’s breathy laughter brought a full scale anxiety attack to heel, and I dog-paddled in place, turned and found him. He waved at me with a tentacle.

That was cheating.

Four of those long, strong appendages wound around me, pulling me to him. “Don’t wear yourself out,” he said, grabbing me with an arm around my waist. “You’re far too serious, Vincent.” More unseen tentacles churned the water, and we began a frighteningly fast approach to the port.

It seemed like only seconds passed before he felt land under our feet. We dragged ourselves from the surf and stood on the lonely beach under some lovely moonlight. Hojo retracted his extra appendages and sat in the sand. “I suppose there’ll be too many people looking for us for us to stay in an inn tonight?”

I thought about that. “An inn, yes, but a flop house or opium den should be safe from Shin-Ra spies.”

“As long as it’s warm and we can lie down,” he said, struggling back to his feet. “And, water. I need a drink of water so badly I’d kill for it.”

“You might have to. We don’t have any money.”

We began walking along the port’s edge, getting closer and closer to electric lights and civilization.

“Leave the funds to me.” Hojo gave me a brilliant smile. I didn’t trust that smile one bit. “Just find a place you think is safe for us.”

After about an hour’s walk, skirting heavily trafficked roads and cutting across private property, I got us into a seedy, bad section of the port town. These places never really varied in their situation; they always stood in between the wilds and the upper class. I made us halt behind a large dumpster. “This drug den behind us should work,” I said. “Now, how will we pay?”

Hojo held out three different wallets to me. “With these?”

He’d picked pockets all the way here and I hadn’t even known. I took the wallets and opened them, finding a sum total of six thousand gil. Throwing all but the money into the garbage bin, I grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him toward the red painted doorway only yards away. “A useful, horrible skill,” I reprimanded. “Your tentacles come in handy.”

Hojo tripped on a rock and fell against me. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so tired.”

I righted him and we knocked on the door. I knew by the white sigil for excess that we had a drug den, and I only prayed they had room for us.

A huge man answered, covered in muscles, tattoos and track marks. He took one look at us and relaxed marginally. “What’s your business?”

“A private room and a pipe,” I replied. “How much?”

“Three hundred for the room, one hundred and fifty for the pipe, and a hundred more if you want us to pack it more than once.”

Hojo nodded solemnly, drawing our money from his own shirt. He’d picked my pocket, the little weasel, and without those tentacles. “Can we get a room with running water for extra?”

The huge man scratched his bald head. “For a flat thousand we’ll wait on you hand and foot,” he admitted easily.

Hojo turned to me, tucking the other five thousand in his shirt again. “What do you think, Vince? A thousand’s all we have.”

I didn’t blame him for not wanting to spread the knowledge of our wealth. Good for him that he had that much sense. “Let’s do it,” I answered. “The boat ride’s already paid for. The team will pick us up at the dock pretty early, and I want some sleep before we get on the ocean.” Let the man think we had people who would miss us.

“You have a deal,” Hojo said, giving the man his money.

In ten minutes we stood in a shabby but well-appointed room in the back of the drug den. Women, scantily clad in saris and artfully draped kerchiefs, changed our bed, laid out trays of drugs and their accoutrements, set down baskets of food and drink, and a small box. One of them directed Hojo to the bathroom. I stood alone in the room.

“We only have enough hot water for one bath, she said,” Hojo called out. “You want cleaned up, join me. I’m not going to be sticky one more minute.”

I shuddered at the idea of bathing with him. Still, I needed a bath. I cautiously wandered to the bathroom and looked in. To my surprise, the tub looked easily large enough for two. We wouldn’t have to touch each other. I could handle this.

Hojo walked out. I took the opportunity to get in first, while the water still filled the tub. He returned a few minutes later with a candle, an orange, a pair of tongs, a pipe, a thin piece of metal and a few balls of red opium on a tray. He reached into a cabinet and found two bathrobes, and threw them over the sink. Then, eyes on me, began to strip.

The man had such nerve. I refused to look away from him, knowing he did this to embarrass me. In the light of the single candle, he glowed a beautiful bronze. He looked exotic with his slightly tilted, dark eyes, high cheekbones and smooth limbs. “Good for you, Valentine,” he murmured, stepping into the water and taking the opposite side of the tub.

What did he mean?

He took up the pipe and packed it with sticky opium. “We don’t make such a bad team, do we?” he asked, his long arms flashing golden as he reached for the tongs and candle. “Halve the orange, if you would. Drop the peeling from one side into the water and maybe it’ll help us get rid of the rotten fish smell.”

“We have soap,” I pointed out, but I did as he said anyway. “It’s even wrapped, so we know it hasn’t been on anyone else.”

“They fucking lie.” Hojo gave me a look, reached for the stack of soap, and began slitting paper wrappers. “Used,” he announced, throwing one after another into the trash without actually touching the soap itself. At the last one he stopped and peered at it. “Well I’ll be damned. This one’s new.” He tossed it to me.

While I soaped, Hojo toked. He held the pipe over the flame, got the opium inside to bubbling, and sucked hard on the stem. In seconds our bathroom smelled of opium, oranges and sandalwood. Not at all unpleasant, actually. I threw the soap to him and picked up a shampoo bottle. “Is this safe?”

“Oh, it’s all safe for us, it’s just the principle of the thing.” Hojo looked at the bottle. “Looks like the seal is still on it.”

I was starting to feel a little woozy. I dumped some shampoo on my head and started making lather. Hojo’s image seemed a bit fuzzy. He blew a plume of brown vapor at me and that impression of fuzziness increased. I felt very, very relaxed. The hot water and the smells in here made me feel calm.

I slid down and submerged in order to rinse my head. Hojo was still smoking when I popped back out. He exchanged pipe for shampoo and while he cleaned his hair, I took a long drag of acrid vapor.

Time melted.

I’d never felt so liquid of body or uncomplicated of mind. After the stresses of this journey and the recent news of my own nature, I felt ready for such ease.

Hojo unwrapped another ball of opium, dropping it into a section of orange he’d scooped out. With the thin, flexible piece of metal from the tray, he rolled the opium around and around the orange pulp.

“What are you doing?” I asked, mesmerized by the deft movements of his hands.

“Changing part of this opium to heroin,” he said. “Not enough to make it an issue, but enough for decent painkilling.” He cast a glance at my head. “No conditioner for you, pretty Turk?”

“Conditioner,” I mumbled, reaching for it. I never used the stuff, but I’d try it. The cold, slippery cream made me shiver.

Hojo smoked some more, used the conditioner himself, then moved the tray back and climbed from the tub. Standing naked before the sink and mirror, he picked up a straight razor, wiped it and stared at it. Slowly, he soaped his face and began to shave.

I watched stroke after stroke reveal his face. It fascinated me, the flash of bright metal in this dark room. He moved carefully, with skill, and in no time he had a clean face. He brushed his teeth and cleaned his ears, then turned to look down at me. “You’re going to wrinkle up.”

No longer much concerned with being naked in front of him, I got out and accepted the towel he offered. He left me unhurriedly, and I brushed my own teeth. Taking the remaining bathrobe, I left the bathroom.

Hojo waved me over to our little table. “They brought us plenty of food, and it isn’t bad,” he informed.

“You said you needed a painkiller,” I blurted while reaching for a pitcher of water.

“My head hurts. It’ll heal quickly,” he said.

I looked and saw a dark mottling near his temple, no doubt where Scarlet had knocked him out.

We ate and drank for nearly an hour before stopping. Hojo smoked a hash pipe, passed it to me, and loaded our dirty things back onto the tray they’d arrived upon. He set it outside the door, then turned and slid every bolt into its housing. “I don’t want an ugly wake up in the morning,” he said in an ominous voice. “We have seven hours of sleep ahead of us and I’m going to get every damned minute.”

I smiled, feeling the same way. I liked hash more than opium…

“You’re smiling,” Hojo said, and suddenly he was standing over me. I let him cup my jaw and tilt my face toward his. His knowing, answering smile spoke volumes. “Good, Vincent, good,” he praised. “Does it make your face hurt?”

“No.” I gave him back the pipe. “Are we getting in bed now?”

He looked at me a long moment, his black eyes deep and dark. “You are,” he answered at last, picking up the small, curious box from our table. “Take off your bathrobe and get on your stomach.”

The bed felt cool and smooth. I sighed heavily, feeling Hojo moving my hair to one side. Something warm dribbled over my back, and then his hands were playing in it, gliding over my sore muscles.

Oh, god. I groaned and went completely limp. He had magical hands, hands that knew anatomy and pressure points and hot spots. This was heaven, pure heaven. Dark, quiet room, good smells, strong hands kneading away pain…

It felt like he manipulated my back for hours. But, I eventually felt the pleasant scratch of a heavy towel, wiping me of oil. A cool sheet draped over me. Hojo stretched out alongside me, releasing a pleased, tired sigh.

And sleep took us both.