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“I’m going to get a tattoo for my birthday.”
The strangled sound Haruichi makes before coughing on his mouthful of pasta is priceless. Ryousuke watches as Furuya desperately pats Haruichi’s back. “Is it really that shocking?” he asks his little brother as Haruichi gulps down water and attempts to clear his throat.
“A little,” Haruichi says. “Aniki…are you sure you want a tattoo?”
“Am I the type to do something I don’t actually want?”
Haruichi shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.
“I know someone,” Furuya says then, not making eye contact with Ryousuke, but staring at his plate. “He’s a friend of Miyuki-senpai’s.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll take his contact information after dinner, Furuya.” Ryousuke smiles.
When they part later that evening, Furuya gives him an email address and a name.
Kuramochi Youichi.
--
The shop is smaller than Ryousuke had expected but appears to be meticulously clean. There’s a small couch and a table situated in the front with books full of what Ryousuke imagines are the tattoos that turned out best. Behind the desk at the front of the room sits a smiling girl with a ring in each nostril.
“You must be Kuramochi’s twelve o’clock!” She stands and holds a clipboard out to Ryousuke. “We just need you to fill out this paperwork.
Ryousuke does so, and by the time he’s finished, someone emerges from the back.
“Hey, I’m Kuramochi!”
Ryousuke isn’t sure what he was expecting, but somehow, Kuramochi is the opposite. He’s taller than Ryousuke, but by no means tall, has hair that might have once been blonde but is now a muted forest green from a quick cover-up job, and wearing cuffed jeans, a cardigan over a ratty tee, and black boots that don’t quite hide his cat print socks.
“Kominato Ryousuke.” He briefly shakes the hand Kuramochi has offered. It’s covered in black stains and his grip feels calloused.
“Well, Kominato-san, you can come on back to my room. I’ve got a few design options for you, and we’ll have to size it of course, but then we’ll be set!”
He’s moving quickly. “Whichever one you pick, I’ll probably apply in a couple pieces so we make sure they’re sized correctly and follow the curves of your arm.” As Kuramochi speaks, he works, pulling out three pieces of tracing paper that have intricate floral designs drawn on them. “This is sort of the base of the piece. I’d like to freehand the filler flowers, leaves, stuff like that. Did you decide on black and white or full-color?”
Ryousuke’s fingers trail along the poppies, peonies, and Chinese asters. He wonders how Kuramochi chose the flowers. If he had knowledge of the language of flowers, or if he plucked whichever were the most aesthetically pleasing. Ryousuke hadn’t given him much instruction—I want flowers. Lots of them.—and yet Kuramochi had drawn exactly what Ryousuke had envisioned.
“This one in full-color.” Ryousuke picks up the middle drawing carefully. It’s more detailed than the rest, sure to cost him more money (if his research on tattoo pricing is correct), but it’s the one that speaks to him.
Kuramochi takes the drawing and holds it up, his eyes flicking between his artwork and Ryousuke’s face. “Hmm… I think it fits you well, Kominato-san.”
Ryousuke hates that he can feel his cheeks warm. “You don’t know me well enough to say that, Kuramochi.”
It’s Kuramochi’s turn to flush. “Maybe not.” His face splits into a grin and he lets out an absolutely obnoxious laugh. “But you’re still trusting me to ink this on you, huh?”
“Furuya spoke highly of you for some reason.”
“Furuya’s a good kid. Doesn’t talk enough, but he likes to be beer bitch when we go out, so I like him.” Again, the laughter. Ryousuke finds the sound both grating and almost infectious. Kuramochi moves farther into the shop and motions for Ryousuke to follow him. “How do you know him?”
“He dates my younger brother.”
Ryousuke waits to read Kuramochi’s reaction. He assumes Kuramochi knows Furuya is gay, but he can’t be one hundred percent sure. Haruichi doesn’t go out with many of Furuya’s friends, save for the human embodiment of sunshine, Sawamura Eijun.
“I haven’t met Haruichi yet, but the only time Furuya talks is to tell us how amazing his boyfriend is.”
“Haruichi could definitely do better.”
Kuramochi shrugs as they enter a room painted deep green. It’s small and the space is filled with paper taped to the walls but it’s as clean as the waiting area had been. “I don’t know. If it were me, I’d be happy if my brother found someone who thought he hung the stars.”
“Is your brother younger or older?”
“Oh, I don’t actually have a brother.” Kuramochi takes off his cardigan and Ryousuke can see that he’s more muscled than he first appeared. His clothing didn’t do him justice. “You can tuck your sleeve up, or you can take your shirt off if you’re worried about the ink—it’ll usually wash out, but the risk is yours.”
Ryousuke takes his shirt off wordlessly and folds it carefully before depositing it with his bag on one of the empty chairs tucked against the back wall. “You’re not really missing out without a brother.”
Kuramochi hums an acknowledging sound as he sets to work cutting the stencil into smaller pieces. “I’m an only child, but I think it would’ve been nice to have a sibling. Someone always in my corner.”
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but siblings aren’t as ideal as you may think.” Ryousuke remembers growing up with his younger brother constantly chasing after him. Haruichi had wanted to be exactly like him, but then he’d outgrown that. He’d been better than Ryousuke had ever been, had overshadowed him. Eventually Haruichi had taken Ryousuke’s dream and made it come true for himself, while Ryousuke had wandered along trying to find something new, something that would truly be his own.
Would Kuramochi think him selfish for wishing he’d been an only child at times?
“Maybe they’re not, but I guess I’d like to have had the chance to find that out for myself.”
Kuramochi beckons him closer and Ryousuke moves slowly, his brain still caught up with Haruichi and the way Kuramochi’s clear eyes had clouded over for a split-second.
Standing this close, Ryousuke can’t help but pay too much attention to Kuramochi. He smells like hand sanitizer and coffee. It’s not necessarily appealing, but it’s better than most of the guys his age. They all smell like cigarettes, beer, and sweat. Like an office job that leads to drinking the nights away trying to forge business connections.
Ryousuke’s glad he’s avoided that life, at least.
Kuramochi is moving carefully, holding the flimsy paper at various angles over Ryousuke’s arm before he finally applying the stencils. His short brows furrow when he concentrates and his tongue peeks out from behind his lips.
“I think we’ve got the base done.” Kuramochi steps back to admire his work. “Check it out in the mirror over there, let me know if you want it smaller or not, and then I’ll start sketching on the foliage and stuff.”
Ryousuke takes his time admiring the blue lines running along his arm. His bicep is covered in flowers and they stand out, even in the muted stencil ink, against his pale skin.
“It’s perfect.”
Kuramochi grins. “Perfect.”
There’s another twenty minutes of Kuramochi sketching out smaller flowers and leaves to fill in any gaps left, and then Ryousuke is seated and Kuramochi is filling tiny cups with inks in colors Ryousuke knows will make his father a new level of disappointed.
“Okay, so I can’t sugarcoat this—it’s gonna hurt. Lining is like… a burning cat scratch? The shading feels like someone is scratching a sunburn.”
Ryousuke stares at the art covering Kuramochi’s exposed arms. “If you can handle it, I think I’ll be fine.”
Kuramochi’s laugh is more of a “hyahaha” than a simple “hahaha” and Ryousuke hates that the sound makes him smile. “You do seem like you’d be tougher than me, Kominato-san.”
He changes his gloves and sits down to start. The machine whirrs to life and Ryousuke takes a deep breath. Kuramochi dips the needle into black ink and wipes at Ryousuke’s skin one last time. “You ready?”
Ryousuke nods and Kuramochi presses the needle to his skin, dragging it along a miniscule portion of a single line.
And it hurts.
“You good?” Kuramochi’s tone does little to hide the fact that he caught Ryousuke’s wince.
“Pay attention to what you’re doing, Kuramochi.”
A soft hyaha and Kuramochi goes back to work. The next few lines hurt as much as the first had, but after maybe five minutes, the pain subsides. Ryousuke closes his eyes and focuses on the humming from the machine and the sounds of whatever nonsense Kuramochi has playing in the background.
Ryousuke finds himself wondering how Kuramochi ended up as a tattoo artist. Furuya had said he was Miyuki’s friend, but as far as Ryousuke knows, Miyuki Kazuya has no tattoos. There’s a part of him that’s nosy. He blames it on being a writer—he wants to know people’s stories. He wants to be inspired to create new ones.
His mind wanders again, this time imagining a past for Kuramochi. An only child, praised for his art growing up, reaching his rebellious phase late in life —bleaching his hair, wearing hideous shirts, deciding he’ll forgo college and travel the world…
“Ryou-san!”
Ryousuke stirs, opens his eyes, and then sits up straighter when he realizes he fell asleep while getting tattooed.
“You really are tougher than me,” Kuramochi jokes when Ryousuke has settled back into position. “You slept through over half of your tattoo.”
Ryousuke wants to marvel at the fact that he’s slept through being stabbed thousands and thousands of times with a needle, but first—
“What did you call me?”
Kuramochi’s cheeks flush. “W-well, you’re a heavy sleeper. I called your name a bunch of times, and then your given name, and then… well, Ryou-san sort of came out, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“Hmm…I don’t mind it,” he finally says.
“Should we get back to the tattoo, Ryou-san?”
Ryousuke nods and closes his eyes again. “I’m ready.”
He doesn’t fall asleep again, but he does listen closely to the music Kuramochi has playing. It’s all heartbreak resonating over basslines and voices that all have a melancholy to them. His English isn’t the best, but he knows enough to grasp the general meaning of the songs. It adds something to the Kuramochi he’s written in his head.
An only child, praised for his art growing up, reaching his rebellious phase late in life. Bleaching his hair, wearing hideous shirts, deciding he’ll forgo college and travel the world while following American bands who sing of hearts broken and missing those no longer around.
“I think we’re done.”
Kuramochi wipes his arm down, and the cool liquid feels like heaven against Ryousuke’s heated skin. He can already feel the bruises forming.
“You can go take a look in the mirror, then I’ll get some pictures and bandage you up.” Kuramochi wheels his chair back to give Ryousuke room to move.
Ryousuke avoids looking at his arm until he reaches the mirror and when he finally sees the tattoo, his eyes widen.
He’d expected something softer based on the stencil, but Kuramochi has used color and shading to make the flowers look like they’re bursting from his skin. Kuramochi’s careful placement had paid off—the petals curve over the small definition of his muscles and the tattoo looks like it just belongs on Ryousuke’s arm. The smile he normally keeps controlled, small, and tight spreads and his cheeks ache. Is this what he’d read about? Tattoos, pain and all, being addicting?
“I try to match the tattoo to the person,” Kuramochi says from behind him.
Ryousuke catches his gaze through the mirror, his smile falling to a smirk when he sees Kuramochi scratching the back of his neck. “And what exactly does this tattoo say about me as a person, Kuramochi-kun?”
“I don’t know you well enough to say, Ryou-san.”
This one is fun.
Ryousuke takes one final look at his newly inked skin. Everything about it is beautiful.
He remembers his college professor’s words, the ones he’d scribbled at the bottom of one of Ryousuke’s short stories.
You have the ability to look into someone’s soul and see the them that they wish they could be.
Kuramochi, he muses, may have the same gift.
--
It’s summer when Ryousuke returns. The sun and packed public transport has left him grumpy and sweat-slicked, but the air in the shop is cool and Kuramochi’s laughter echoes from the back, lifting his mood instantly.
“Hello, Kominato-san,” the receptionist greets him and smiles as she sets out paperwork for him to sign. “Kuramochi is finishing up with another client and then he’ll be out.”
Ryousuke signs the paperwork quickly, his toe tapping impatiently. His appointment is scheduled for four and it’s already five minutes to, not giving Kuramochi much time with his giggling client. It’s not that Ryousuke wants to see Kuramochi again, it’s that he can’t stand people being late.
“Ryou-san!”
He can hear the smile in Kuramochi’s voice before he turns to greet him. He has his arm wrapped around the shoulders of the girl beside him and Ryousuke’s brow lifts.
“Haruno, tell Sawamura he better not ditch out on us next weekend. Sachiko will get you finished up.”
Haruno nods and moves away from Kuramochi, who starts back the way he came. “Ryou-san, come on back!”
Ryousuke follows him, glancing one last time at Haruno, who’s talking with Sachiko and pays him no mind.
“That was Sawamura’s friend, Haruno,” Kuramochi says when they’re in his room. “She wanted to get a small tattoo and he sent her my way.”
“So you know Sawamura Eijun too, hmm?” Ryousuke is already removing his shirt and preparing for the stencils Kuramochi is resizing.
“I went to high school with Miyuki, so when he ended up on the same college team as Sawamura, we became friends. I suppose you know Sawamura because of your brother and Furuya?” Kuramochi lifts Ryousuke’s arm and fits the stencils carefully.
“Furuya and Sawamura went to high school together, and Furuya and Haruichi were drafted to the same pro team after high school,” Ryousuke says.
“And now Furuya and Miyuki play for the same team up in Hokkaido, and Sawamura and Haruichi are here in Tokyo. Small world, huh?” Kuramochi taps his arm down. “Go check that out and let me know what you think.”
It is, of course, as perfectly placed as the first had been. He tells Kuramochi as much, and he grins triumphantly.
Kuramochi has him lay flat on his back this time, and after he’s had his head propped up with a pillow, Ryousuke worries he’ll fall asleep again.
Those worries vanish the moment Kuramochi starts tattooing. The inside flesh of his arm is much more sensitive than the outside had been, and he knows he’s in for a less relaxing couple hours than the first time around when it’s been almost twenty minutes and the pain hasn’t diminished at all.
“So, have you actually met Miyuki or Sawamura?” Kuramochi pauses to dip back into the black ink.
“Hmmm.” Ryousuke braces himself for the pain again.
“You doing alright?” Kuramochi asks. “I probably should’ve warned you that the inside arm can hurt more. Especially when we get close to your armpit. Let me know if you need any breaks.”
Ryousuke nods. He’ll be fine. He just needs a distraction, but the last time he’d held his phone above his face, he’d dropped it and broken his glasses, so that’s not an option. “Can you talk?”
“Talk?” Kuramochi continues to press the needle against Ryousuke’s skin. “Sure. What about?”
His voice is deeper when he’s concentrating, Ryousuke’s noticed. It’s a nice sound. “Anything. Yourself. Your life as an only child.”
Kuramochi pauses, his eyes snapping to Ryousuke’s face. “You remember that?”
“I’m a writer, so I try to remember the details of everything.”
“Ahh, that’s right. Furuya mentioned you’re a writer. Anything I’d know?”
Ryousuke grins. “Mostly short stories for online publications. But my first book will be out this fall.”
“Let me guess what it’s about.” Kuramochi keeps tattooing as he thinks. It’s hard for Ryousuke to twist his neck to watch, but he likes the way Kuramochi’s lips part slightly as he moves and the way he can see the soft tufts of his hair. “Monsters?”
“No.”
“Serial killers?”
“No.”
“Huh.” Kuramochi stops to wipe his brow with his sleeve. “I could definitely see you writing about murder.”
Ryousuke laughs. “I do love a nice murder mystery, but that isn’t my forte.”
“Well you might as well just tell me, then.”
“I write about people.” It’s a simple answer, but it’s the best answer Ryousuke can give.
“Just people?”
Ryousuke nods. “People living their lives, people pushing through their struggles—some victorious, others not so much. I like to search out strangers in crowds, build a story for them without knowing if any of it is true or not.”
“What story would you give me?”
“I already have one. I’d like to find out if I’m close to the truth.”
They’ve circled back to Ryousuke’s original request. “My dad left when I was little, so I don’t remember him much. It was me, my mom, and my gramps while I was growing up. Played baseball from the time I could hold a bat properly. Lead-off, shortstop.”
“Second, second.”
Kuramochi smiles. “I think we could’ve made a good team, Ryou-san.”
“I don’t know about that… you seem like you would’ve sucked.”
Laughter fills the small space and vibrates through Ryousuke. “I was pretty good! Was recruited to a good school, met Miyuki and hated him, ended up his co-captain during our third year.”
“And then?” Ryousuke eyes Kuramochi the best he can.
“Then I blew out my knee during the final inning at Koshien. Miyuki decided he wasn’t ready to go pro, my gramps died, and I went to school for art.”
Ryousuke is quiet. He’s never been the comforting type. But something in him knows he has to say something. Knows that if he lets the conversation die here that he’ll regret it.
“Art school to tattooing?” It does nothing to console Kuramochi, but it bridges the gap in conversation.
“Miyuki’s idea.” Kuramochi leans back and admires his work before he starts again. “He said I looked like a punk, so I should have a punk’s job. I graduated and found a place to apprentice at. Saved some money, used the little bit gramps had left me, and bought this place.”
Kuramochi grins and though it sits dully on his lips and never reaches his eyes, it doesn’t seem forced either. “Miyuki had me tattoo one of his teammates and after that, I’ve had a nice steady stream of clients.”
“A lot of repeats?”
“None like you, Ryou-san.”
Ryousuke chooses not to respond. It’s not at all that Kuramochi has left him a little flustered and a little speechless.
He listens to Kuramochi tell him more about his college years. The parties he’d ended up at, the ridiculous nights visiting Miyuki and having to babysit Sawamura, all the times he’d been hungover and trying to not vomit at the scent of paint.
It’s after he hears about Kuramochi losing a bet and having to wear a skirt to class for the day (“Joke was on them because my legs are amazing.”) that Kuramochi announces he’s done.
Ryousuke is up and moving to the mirror as soon as Kuramochi finishes wiping down the tattoo.
None of his skin is visible. The flowers cover everything and Ryousuke loves it. He feels not so much like a different person, but like he’s becoming more and more himself. The idea of carrying around the beautiful artwork that Kuramochi has created just for him on his body for the rest of his life is a thrill for Ryousuke.
Tattoos are indeed addictive, Ryousuke muses.
They settle things quickly—Kuramochi cleans and bandages him up, Ryousuke pays, and they go their separate ways after Kuramochi has locked up the shop.
It’s only when Ryousuke’s halfway down the block that Kuramochi calls after him.
“How close were you?”
“What?” Ryousuke can feel people staring at them.
“To the truth?”
Ryousuke laughs and turns back around. “Maybe another time, Kuramochi!”
--
Another time is fall, and Haruichi is following Ryousuke back to Kuramochi’s room. Sachiko had let them through after their paperwork, explaining that Kuramochi was setting everything up.
“Kuramochi?”
“A sibling affair!” Kuramochi is smiling when he turns to face them, and Ryousuke rolls his eyes.
“Kuramochi, this is my brother, Haruichi.”
“Nice to finally meet you, Haruichi!” Kuramochi sticks his hand out and Haruichi timidly shakes it.
Ryousuke waits for the inevitable. For the “you look just like each other!” and “how proud you must be of your brother!” but it never comes. Kuramochi starts on about their tattoos instantly, explaining the process to Haruichi and then, after they’ve settled in and he’s about to press the needle to Haruichi’s skin, he asks about Furuya.
“Haven’t been able to get out to see him up in Hokkaido.” Haruichi is wincing as the needle moves across his wrist and Ryousuke takes satisfaction in the fact that he knows he won’t do the same.
“Take that idiot Sawamura with you when you do go, yeah? He keeps messaging me to ask if I’ve talked to Miyuki whenever that asshole doesn’t respond within the hour.”
“Like Eijun-kun would miss a trip to see Miyuki.” Haruichi and Kuramochi both laugh and Ryousuke fights against the frown forming on his lips.
Haruichi had begged Ryousuke to get a tattoo with him. Something small and simple after seeing an article online about sibling tattoos. They’d settled on each other’s birthdays on their wrists, and Ryousuke knew it had to be Kuramochi tattooing them.
So, he watches Haruichi wince through fifteen minutes of tattooing and then another fifteen of Kuramochi bandaging him while telling the story of Sawamura’s first and only tattoo. The experience isn’t like it normally is, with Kuramochi doing most of the talking while Ryousuke rests and listens.
Even after he’s settled into the familiar chair and Kuramochi’s touching the inside of his write gently, he can’t feel at ease. He supposes he’s on guard, waiting for Haruichi to unintentionally take this solace from him as well.
When Kuramochi starts tattooing him, Ryousuke waits for the sense of peace to wash over him. It doesn’t take much. Haruichi is quietly texting Furuya, and finally, Kuramochi gives Ryousuke his full attention.
“I read your book.”
“And?” Ryousuke doesn’t feel nervous. He wants Kuramochi to like the book, to love it even, but there is still so much he doesn’t know about the man beside him. Ryousuke is confident in his writing ability, but less confident that his style is for everyone. Not everyone likes unhappy endings, after all.
“The main guy, Jun, he reminded me of you.” Kuramochi works without lifting his gaze. He’s seemingly on autopilot, already working on finishing the first tiny character.
“Oh?” Kuramochi isn’t wrong, not really, but Ryousuke wants to hear what exactly Kuramochi thinks of him.
Kuramochi pauses, dips into the black, starts again. He doesn’t give Ryousuke what he wants. Instead, he says, “I wish he would’ve had his happy ending.” He stops again. Ryousuke can hear music, Haruichi tapping against his phone, his own heartbeat. “I think you deserve a happy ending.”
“You don’t know me well enough to say that, Kuramochi.”
“Maybe not.”
The tattoo is finished not long after. There’s the cleaning, pictures, bandaging, promises to make another appointment to finish his sleeve, and then Haruichi is telling Ryousuke he’ll wait outside, and Kuramochi is grabbing his hand to stop him from following.
“I… I have your book here. Would you sign it?”
Ryousuke smirks. “A fan, are you?” When Kuramochi whines at the teasing, Ryousuke relents. “Of course I will, Kuramochi.”
Kuramochi returns with his book and apologizes for the state of it when Ryousuke raises an eyebrow at the folded corners and inky finger prints. “I read it twice,” Kuramochi admits.
Ryousuke refuses to let Kuramochi see how much the fact pleases him. He ducks his face while signing the book with the marker Kuramochi plucks from his pocket. He hands the book back and tilts his head, watching the way Kuramochi glides his fingers over the cover. He’s more interesting than anyone that Ryousuke has met, but Ryousuke isn’t that easy to win over. The stubborn part of him views Kuramochi as a challenge—Kuramochi constantly trying to see passt the persona Ryousuke’s perfected for the public and Ryousuke doing his best to keep him out.
Ryousuke has been independent for far too long to let someone like Kuramochi Youichi come along and mess that up.
Kuramochi brings his eyes back to Ryousuke. “Hey Ryou-san?”
“Hmm?”
“You still never told me how close you were to the truth.”
Ryousuke taps against Kuramochi’s book once and backs away. “Next time.”
For the first time, Ryousuke finds that, maybe, independence is overrated.
--
When Ryousuke goes to meet Kuramochi for the fourth time, it’s winter and he’s home from a book tour and self-isolation for writing purposes.
There’s a different receptionist working, and she stares at Ryousuke like she wants him to take his business elsewhere. He knows even before he hears her flirty laughter when Kuramochi enters the room that she views him as a threat.
It piques his interest. He’s had a sneaking suspicion that Kuramochi finds him attractive, but he’s had plenty of straight guys find him attractive before. They like to look, from a distance, and always see his feminine facial features before his masculine body.
Kuramochi seems different. Unafraid to let his fingers linger for a second too long when applying the stencil to Ryousuke’s forearm, to let his gaze settle on Ryousuke’s mouth. He’s not subtle and Ryousuke likes it. He appreciates being openly admired and the feeling of being wanted is something he hasn’t let himself indulge in in forever.
“Kuramochi, what are you doing after this?” The tattoo is nearly complete, and Ryousuke knows he’s the last appointment for the evening.
“I’m packing.” Kuramochi leans back, sitting at full height and looking down at Ryousuke. “You’ve uhh… inspired me, I guess. Your book. I want to travel and see more of the world than Chiba and Tokyo and the places in-between. A friend from art school has a shop in Seattle and he invited me to be a guest artist for the winter.
“Oh.” Ryousuke quickly masks his disappointment with a smile. “That sounds like quite the adventure.”
Kuramochi nods. “I hope it is. I feel like I’ve wasted a lot of time missing all the things I could’ve had.”
He bounces his left leg slightly, no doubt remembering a time when his knee didn’t ache, and he could run at full-speed without worry. Ryousuke has the urge to see the scar, press his lips to it. Kuramochi is turning him into someone softer, someone who could be a better person.
And he’s leaving.
Ryousuke knows it’s temporary. His feelings will fade with Kuramochi in another country and he’ll go back to working on his book. He’ll go back to making others tongue-tied instead of feeling that way himself. He won’t feel like a pathetic schoolgirl with a crush. He won’t dream of hands stained with the colors of flowers and lips too pink.
It’s for the best, really. Kuramochi barely knows Ryousuke, outside of the small bits he’s offered through his writing. Falling for someone like Kominato Ryousuke is no easy task.
The end of their evening is a well-rehearsed dance. When they’re finished, Ryousuke lingers while Kuramochi locks the door.
“Hey Ryou-san?”
“Kuramochi?”
“Next time.”
It takes Ryousuke a moment to understand, but when he does, he smiles. He still hasn’t told Kuramochi the story he’d created for him. It’s dark, but shop lights flicker and Ryousuke can see shadows dancing across Kuramochi’s face. He is soft lines and harsh angles all at once and Ryousuke could spend hours spinning tales of the boy with a broken knee and a laugh that makes his heart feel whole.
He’s never been a romantic though, so he nods once, offering nothing else to Kuramochi as he starts towards the train.
--
Spring arrives again. The cherry blossoms bloom, Ryousuke finishes his second book, and Kuramochi comes home.
He hears about the last tidbit from Haruichi. He says it casually as they’re ending their phone call.
“Oh, and Satoru says that Kuramochi is back in town. I’ll see you next week for your birthday.”
He hangs up and Ryousuke is left gripping his phone too tightly.
Of course he’s thought about Kuramochi. Even though Ryousuke never responded to any of his messages, he’d still been sending him pictures of the tattoos he was doing, of the places he was visiting. He didn’t say much, other than the time he’d drunkenly told Ryousuke he was too beautiful to be human. That one Ryousuke had screenshotted (for blackmailing purposes, of course. It definitely wasn’t because he’d been waiting for Kuramochi to admit his attraction.) and looked at occasionally through the winter.
Ryousuke sets his phone down and stares at the bare skin left on his forearm. His sleeve is almost complete. He’s been putting it off. Whenever he’d thought of finishing it, guilt would bubble in his stomach, making him sick. Kuramochi was the only one he wanted to tattoo him, even if it meant waiting for an unknown amount of time.
But there was a small part of Ryousuke that felt a sense of unease he wasn’t used to. There was always the possibility that Kuramochi would finish the tattoo and they’d go their separate ways.
He doesn't want to admit how much that would hurt.
--
Kuramochi looks mostly the same. Ryousuke's known him long enough now to realize that weird green of his hair is intentional, but he’s no longer gelling it up. His fashion sense is as uniquely his as it has always been and Ryousuke smiles when he realizes Kuramochi is wearing the same cat socks he’d worn the first time they met.
“You cut your hair,” Kuramochi says, his hand moving out like he’s going to brush his fingers along the shortened pink fringe, but he pulls back at the last moment. “It looks good.”
“Thank you. Your hair looks better.”
Kuramochi laughs and Ryousuke takes and releases a deep breath. The sound is the same as the one that’s been playing through his mind for a year. “That’s what Miyuki said too. That asshole.” Kuramochi rubs at his hair. “I just realized I like having the extra time in the morning to drink my coffee.”
They go through their motions—Kuramochi readying the stencil, drawing on anything extra he thinks the design needs, taking his time to fill cups with ink—and then they begin.
The initial pain, the eventual tranquility Ryousuke feels—it’s all exactly as he remembers, and for a long time he’s quiet, relishing that things haven’t changed as much as he had feared they would.
“I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough,” Kuramochi finally says.
He’s been working quietly for nearing two hours and his voice startles Ryousuke. He opens his eyes and peeks at Kuramochi. He knows what Kuramochi’s after, but it’s been too long now. Ryousuke laughs.
“I think I’ll keep that story for myself,” he replies, his eyes already closing again, “but I can tell you how I imagined your adventure in America going.”
“Tell me a story, Ryou-san.”
Ryousuke does. He weaves in the truths he knows, the tattoos Kuramochi did, the food he ate, the places he visited. But he fills in the gaps with his hopes. That Kuramochi was praised for his talents, that he had so much fun he would forget to take pictures, that he wasn’t lonely.
“But that you still maybe missed me.”
Kuramochi’s entire face is red. “Why do you think I sent you so many pictures?”
“I loved them, but I preferred the drunk message.”
Kuramochi has to stop tattooing to groan. “Ryou-san, don’t bring that up. It’s embarrassing.”
“If I’m not human, what exactly do you think I am, Kuramochi?”
“A devil, clearly!”
They laugh and Kuramochi tells Ryousuke about the time between photos sent. The people who raved about his work and spoke of flying to Japan to have him tattoo them again. The food that was amazing, but never his mother’s home cooking. The sights he’d seen and the ones he wished he had.
“I had a lot of messages I didn’t send.” They’re almost done. Kuramochi is wiping down the tattoo and Ryousuke is avoiding seeing it by staring at the ceiling. “When I saw you post about starting a new book, I almost caved.” He pulls Ryousuke up. “Go take a look.”
Ryousuke refuses to cry in front of anyone. It’s a point of pride with him, going back to when he’d grown to an age where his stubbornness wasn’t cute anymore.
He’s glad that Kuramochi pretends not to see the way he has to quickly wipe at his eyes. His arm is now completely covered in the flowers. Chrysanthemums and dahlias, peonies and poppies… with the foliage and shading, not a bit of his skin peeks through. Ryousuke feels whole.
“Thank you.” It’s all Ryousuke can say. If he tries to tell Kuramochi what their journey together has meant to him, he knows he’ll end up a rambling mess.
While Kuramochi takes pictures, Ryousuke thinks back to their conversation. “What about me writing a new book made you want to cave?”
Kuramochi puts his phone and camera to the side and grabs the bandages. He does a final wipe down of Ryousuke’s tattoo, careful to keep his pressure light. “What’s it about?”
Ryousuke thinks of teasing Kuramochi—it is fun to watch him stutter and blush after all—but he doesn’t. “Forgiving people, forgiving yourself. Letting go of the past.”
Kuramochi nods and finishes bandaging Ryousuke’s arm before he lets his grip slip down. He holds Ryousuke’s hands in his own and clears his throat.
“Does this one have a happy ending?” Kuramochi looks up at Ryousuke like his answer is the only thing that matters.
Ryousuke isn’t used to having hope fluttering in his chest, but he’d like to grow to be.
“I think it will.”