Notes: Okay, this is my first ever YnM fic, and the first fanfiction I've written in over a million Internet decades. Was thinking of writing a Yami no Matsuei fic ever since I watched part of the anime, and after months of coming up with a sturdy plot, I'm here. I hope it's good enough for viewing… anyways I might go on hiatus for a long time during the Prelim period. I'll soon find time to try and finish it. I'll really, really try… ;; Enjoy!

Warnings: Yaoi, shounen-ai, and by the way, it's an AU fic. Eventually TsuzukixHisoka and some other pairings.

Infidel by real-circus

Prologue: The Religion

Love is a religion. Just a popular belief that people neither had nor practiced when they first stepped into the world. In other words, no one really, really needed it as much. Right?

Hisoka could never quite understand the concepts of Love. How is it that one could manage to be so dedicated to a belief that they'd die for it? How was one supposed to love? Was there a certain degree as to how much one should love? He'd tried perceiving Love from different angles, but they all seemed the same from where he was. Maybe he was on the wrong side of the fence. Maybe he just needed to wait for someone to bring him to the greener side.

Of course, he'd known better that no one will come.

Love was tucked into the corners of the little things others did for him, particularly his master. Oriya's love was… like a robe. Come to think of it, robe sounded like a nice, comforting word. Robe. A thick old robe, in particular – those you wear after a shower, when you were feeling cold. A robe – something you wore everyday till you finally forget it even was there. Hisoka thought that robe sounded far nicer than kimono. Obis were really restricting. Possessive.

Hisoka was not fond of visitors who came and went. Oriya had friends almost everywhere. Hisoka didn't like the fact that the ardent attention showered upon him everyday was suddenly turned to these strangers. But Oriya's business wasn't of his concern. However, he'd learnt that his master was running an illegal brothel some five miles away, and he never got to know more.

Oriya never told him. Oriya never let him listen to his conversations. Hisoka only came in and out to bring and take out the tea. Nothing more. Sometimes, Oriya's love was like tea, come to think of it. Warm tea, served with sweet biscuits and shared with a loved one. Oriya always made good tea.

All the better that Hisoka stayed away from his clients. They were 'not to be of his concern'. The conversations were 'not suitable for such tender ears', and Oriya would affectionately chuck his ward's chin after that.

Little that Oriya realised, baby Hisoka wasn't all that a baby anymore.

Puberty hit him at a late stage, and Hisoka was no longer that scrawny, little boy – he'd grown out of… a lot of things. For one thing, Oriya discovered, the tiny bud that was his baby Hisoka, had grown into a potential beauty. His pale, nearly white skin had flushed with the coming of maturity and his hair was groomed in a fashion that fitted well with his face. For that, Hisoka was not to be disturbed by his male clients.

Oriya protected Hisoka like his own son. But like Love, one could only protect someone to a certain degree before letting go forever. Like Love, it left Hisoka with a feeling of emptiness, and he found his own unwise way – in the days to follow – to fill up that gash in his soul.

The day before, a long-lost friend of Oriya's came to stay the night.

Hisoka had heard the arguments from his room above the kitchen. They lasted for an hour. Oriya never raised his voice at anyone, and the fact that he was shouting at the top of his lungs that night made Hisoka cower in his bed. When the roaring ceased, but the front door didn't slam, Hisoka thought it safe to come down.

That was when he finally got a glimpse of this friend of his master's.

At first, Hisoka didn't know whether he could call it Love that dominated his heart. Or was it fear? Were they the same things? That silver hair, the white coat, and white personality fascinated him to no end. Hisoka rarely ventured to the outside world, and he'd never seen such a captivating creature. Perhaps Muraki felt the same way, as he had watched the boy with hungry eyes when he came in with the tea.

The man noted every small movement, every tiny twist, even the way he got on his knees to set the tray on the table. Hisoka blushed, avoiding Muraki's sharp eyes as much as he could, but Oriya knew what Muraki saw. Whereas Hisoka thought it to be Love, all Oriya saw in Muraki's eyes were Lust.

Later in the night, Hisoka discovered that the two men were once much more than friends.

His master had slapped Muraki's wandering hand away from his waist ruthlessly, and Muraki had said something incoherent from Hisoka's bedroom window. Oriya's love life was gone just like that.

When Hisoka brought a tray of tea in to the guestroom that night, he didn't realise how much it would change things. He had wanted secretly just to see Muraki that night, didn't realise how aimlessly in Love he had been. Didn't realise that all Muraki felt for him was Lust. So, when Muraki kissed him, Hisoka let him. When Muraki sleeked his hands down parts of his body he never wished to show to anyone, let alone touch, Hisoka let him. When Muraki lifted his narrow hips and said it wouldn't hurt, Hisoka believed him.

The tea was left forgotten.

And that was how he grew to understand (but not fully comprehending) how Love worked. In the days to come, Hisoka would learn that he was much more comfortable with a worn-out robe than a silken kimono. No matter how beautiful and flawless it seemed.

To be continued…

Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Tsuzuki and the other characters will be appearing in the next chapters… This is my first time portraying the characters, and it might not be accurate, but please deal with me. I'm trying…sobs