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Getting him to the bath hadn't been as much of an ordeal as Yuudai would have imagined, and that made him suspicious, briefly. By the time that he got him to the bath, however, and checked on his youngest sister en route, he decided that the other man had simply seen the error of his ways. Given how vehemently he'd refused the bath at first, it was a little surprising, but it wasn't as though it was the first time he'd ever been surprised in his life.

Once again fighting with the knot on his apron, Yuudai glanced up at Bataar just as he looked away, and frowned. What was he waiting for? Surely he did not think he was going to bathe in his clothes. Suddenly wary, he gave the knot one last hard tug, freeing it, and pulled his apron off.

Folding it over his arms, he asked cautiously, "What are you waiting for? Undress." After a beat, he added seriously, "You are not bathing with your clothes on. I will undress you myself if I must."

There was no way he was dragging that much mud and filth into the family bath. The very idea of it had his skin crawling a little.

Once the other man began undressing, Yuudai considered it reasonably safe to do so as well. Unless he planned on running naked through the inn, which would be highly frowned upon, he reasoned that Bataar was actually going to take a bath. Though he was not exceptionally concerned with modesty, he provided some space between the two of them, striding across the room to ready a bucket to scrub himself in preparation for his bath. His clothes, damp as they were, were arranged into a neat pile on a shelf, and he half-turned to instruct Bataar to do the same when he realized the other was already in the bath.

Sponge in one hand, his eyes widened, fingers going slack around it. It had not even occurred to him that the large, filthy man would not observe the same customs that his family did; there he was, submerged in the gloriously warm water that Yuudai had been looking forward to since the beginning of his shift that day. Completely filthy, still.

Only aware just then that his mouth had been agape, he closed it, drawing the soapy sponge weakly across his chest.

After a moment, he seemed to regain himself, saying incredulously, "You did not scrub yourself at all. Yes, get out of the bath, and scrub your body!"

He closed his eyes, trying not to sigh. Oh, not only was he going to be scrubbing the kitchen before he slept, but also the bath. His family would not be appreciative if they came in for their morning bath and there was evidence of the night's escapade still floating in the water, whatever that might end up being. Bugs, dirt? Grass? He shuddered to think.

The sponge, which had been making brisk circles on his chest, suddenly stopped. He clenched it tight in his hand, face flushing a deep red from an odd combination of temper and mortification. While he had been in the bath with other men many a time prior, he had never had one so openly stare at his body as this one was, and it made his skin crawl in a purely unpleasant way. Not only that, but his words -- ones that had been thrust on him many a time in his childhood -- were nearly the fastest way to evoke temper in him.

Back rigid, he shoved the sponge back into the bucket, extending a finger toward Bataar again. This time, he was not close enough to poke at him, but would not have wanted to either way. Most would have felt exposed and vulnerable while naked; in that moment, Yuudai was simply livid.

"Of course I am a man." He rarely, if ever, raised his voice, but anger was easily conveyed in the way that it shook. "Do you mean to tell me -- how could you have possibly--"

But it didn't seem he was quite able to form a full, coherent sentence. His eyes were entirely on the other's face, wherever Bataar's might have been straying, and he said firmly, "My name is Koga Yuudai. Yuudai. I am the only son in this family."

Judging by his posture and the absolute offense he was taking, it was clear that there had been a bit of teasing in his past regarding his appearance.

It was also clear that he still did not take it well.

Losing his temper often gave Yuudai a headache, which only compounded his foul mood when it happened. Because he knew this, he took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself, but the flush remained. It had been quite some time since the last person mocked him for his feminine hobbies, and he supposed he was a little more sensitive to it because of that. However, studying Bataar's face with thinly veiled irritation on his own, it became apparent he had honestly misunderstood.

That somehow made the insult worse.

Furiously scrubbing himself once more, he made quick work of the task, dumping the remaining water in a huff as he did. Scooping his hair back from his face, he twisted it up on top of his head, tying the ponytail higher and looping the ends of it into a bun. Once the bucket was full again, he aimed a disgruntled look at Bataar, hefted it up and walked over.

Standing at the edge of the bath, completely immodest in his nudity, he pointed to the bucket. "Come scrub what's left of the filth off of you, and then get back in."

His order delivered, he eased himself into the bath, only cringing a little at the thought of exactly what he was slipping into.

Well, it was better than getting a chill and being sick.

Yuudai watched him intently, unwilling to let him back into the bath until he'd cleaned himself satisfactorily. He, at least, had the courtesy to not gape at particular areas of his anatomy, though he did find that his eyes lingered a time or two in mild disgust. Not because Bataar had an unappealing figure; quite the opposite, actually.

Before his eyes, Bataar was revealed to be nothing that he had expected. When he'd seen the figure in the alley, he'd known he was an adult man, but given the state of him, had immediately assumed middle-aged. Unattractive, certainly, given that absolutely no care had been given to his appearance. At the time, he hadn't held it against him, but after hearing his refusal to bathe, Yuudai was having second thoughts. Had the hunger really been the only thing out of the ordinary for this man? Did he constantly wander about caked in mud, trailing stench and possible disease wherever he went?

The thought was appalling. Horrifying.

Especially because, when he put even a little bit of effort into it, it was obvious that this was a man who took care of himself. There was no softness about him, no wasting in his arms or stomach; rigid muscles, well-defined and speaking volumes for his strength as well as his dedication, were all that Yuudai could see. To say that he felt inadequate was an understatement.

Not only was Bataar taller than him, broader than him, his body was exceptionally well toned from his shoulders to his calves. Beneath the water, he placed a hand on his stomach, supremely annoyed at the slight give and softness there. Bataar's stomach certainly would not have been soft in the least.

A small part of him, in the back of his mind, whispered no wonder he had been mistaken for a woman. He could thank his parents for that, his father especially, having inherited his frame.

Shaking his head, tearing his gaze away from Bataar's chest, he frowned at him accusingly. Sinking so that only his chin was above the water, the hairs at the nape of his neck getting wet, he asked, "Why do you take such exceptional care of your body and such absolutely deplorable care of your appearance?"

The very idea was offensive, in a way. Idly, he wondered what Bataar's hair would look like were it washed, brushed, perhaps even braided. His fingers itched to comb the snarled mess into submission, but he didn't have anything on hand to attempt it with.

Yet.

Eyes narrowing further, nearly slits in a face warm from the heat of the bath, he wondered if Bataar really was as simple as he portrayed himself. No adult man could reasonably see no difference between himself covered in grime and muck versus cleanly bathed, could they? No, they certainly could not. He was not a child, clearly, and he didn't speak as though he was at the developmental stage of a child.

Perhaps he was just a disgusting individual. But, no, that didn't sit quite right, either. Rising a little, he brought a hand up, rubbing it along the back of his neck. He just couldn't understand why someone who didn't even clean themselves on a regular basis, apparently, would bother at all gaining the muscle tone that the man beside him had.

"You did not look fine." Yuudai's voice was matter-of-fact, not unkind. "I assumed you were a middle-aged homeless person when I first saw you. Now, I see that you are closer to my own age, and obviously you take well enough care of yourself so as not to be wasting away."

Expression unimpressed, he added, "Though you look tolerably better, something needs to be done about your hair." So saying, he hopped up, sloshing water over the side of the tub as he did.

Normally, he would have spent more time in the bath, but he was warmed from it, and had no desire to linger in Bataar's filth any longer than he had to. More than that, he was already planning to drain and scrub the thing, so there would be no real harm in washing his hair in it. It was disgusting, still, but he imagined that if he tried to get Bataar out of the tub again, he wouldn't be going back in. It was just simpler to take care of what he could, get him in a yukata and in bed, and then start his cleaning.

Reappearing with a bottle in each hand, figure wrapped securely in a dark-patterned yukata, he instructed, "Wet your hair again and turn around so that I can scrub it."

Yuudai was never so easy to get along with as when he was playing with someone's hair. For such a bossy, impatient man, he had remarkably gentle and capable hands, a fact that was often disputed when the scars along the backs of them were observed. Those scars were from cooking, however, not roughhousing; he did fight, but only when he felt it was necessary, and never with anything hot enough to burn and scar himself.

Still, he would have challenged anyone to be gentle with Bataar's hair, if it could even be called hair at that point. A long, wild, mangy mess, he found himself hesitating a moment before actually beginning the sure-to-be long and arduous task of cleaning it. Though he detested the idea of working his way through the filth and knots, somehow, the idea of leaving it as it appeared was worse.

Bataar had potential to be a rather handsome individual. He wasted it, entirely, but he had potential! And Yuudai dearly loved a make-over.

Coating his entire palm with shampoo, a blend that he used on his own hair because it was effective and smelled nice without being overpowering, he said direly, "This could take some time."

Without further warning, he plunged his hands into the mess, expression knitting into a deep concentration as he worked his way from the scalp down. His nails, kept short and blunt so as not to get in the way of his cooking, occasionally peeked through the gnarled mass of hair, a pale blue against dark wet snarls, and his fingertips rubbed circles along the other man's scalp as he attempted to free it of dirt and other debris.

Halfway through his efforts, he grunted, "Why do you bother having all of this wonderful hair if you do not take care of it?" Then, seeming to decide that he didn't care to hear the answer, he added, "Brushing this is going to be a nightmare."

Though he was as careful as he could be, he knew that he tugged a little sharply in some places, but only because the hair was positively matted together. By the time he reached the ends of it, his arms were aching from the position they'd been held in so long, and he was more than ready to be finished.

Briefly, he entertained the thought that after all of his trouble, Bataar was probably going to go roll in the mud the first chance he got, much like a dog after suffering an unwanted bath. The very idea made his lip curl, but there wasn't much to be done about it at that particular moment.