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Jakurai awakens to the tickling of his skin, his palms, his fingertips. Eyes fluttering open, he sees Doppo's hand grasping his, tracing the marks that stretch along his arm.
It's not the first time Doppo has been privy to them. Jakurai doesn't mind at all.
Careful yet curious, Doppo's fingers glide across the scars on his wrist and Jakurai has grown so used to Doppo's touch that the urge to tear himself away no longer screams at him. Very few people know that these exist; even less are those who get to see them this close. However, Doppo also shares these struggles — and having someone who understands as opposed to simply knowing makes a world of difference.
Doppo works his way up, poking and prodding at the pale patches that stand out against the tan. For so long, Jakurai's considered them a reflection of the stains on his soul — but he's come to see them for what they are. Admittedly, part of it is thanks to the man observing them now.
"They're pretty," Doppo had once told him, ears red as he averted his gaze. "These shapes over here, they're kind of like hearts…"
While Jakurai has learned how to reassure his own self, he can't deny that hearing someone else speak such loving words lifted a weight off his shoulders. Perhaps he’ll never see these blotches the same way that Doppo sees them, but they are a part of him. Like the sins he'd committed, like the penance he serves, he has to accept them as who he is. After all, that's the very thing he tells Doppo during his bouts of self-loathing. He should listen to himself — to Doppo — as well.
Higher still, Doppo reaches his fingers. They'd been the first affected by his vitiligo, so Jakurai hardly recalls how they used to look before they became pure white; but they're also calloused, blistered, war-torn — not unlike the ones currently feeling them. Most might say these fingers are unfitting of his appearance, but Jakurai figures that’s not important, especially when they fit perfectly in between the ones threading them.
Finally, Doppo holds his arm out next to his. For as different as their marks are, Jakurai has always thought that theirs are more similar than what meets the eye — similar shades of sorrows coloring the scars strewn upon their skin.
At his side, though, Jakurai already senses the dark clouds looming over Doppo's head and so he decides it's about time that he starts his day.
"Good morning, Doppo-kun."
Amused as he is by the whole scene, Jakurai can't help but feel a bit guilty when Doppo lets out a yelp. Even though they've been in a relationship for a while now, Doppo has yet to completely let his guard down around him.
"I'm sorry, Jinguji-san, I —"
"Please," Jakurai says, grabbing onto Doppo's hand before he can escape, "there's nothing to apologize for."
Fortunately, Doppo doesn't insist on forgiveness; simply accepting his words with a sheepish smile. Small steps.
A silence settles in as they lay next to each other, but silence has always been comfortable between the two of them. Much like Doppo was doing earlier, Jakurai raises their joined hands in the air — the marks on their arms bared above them. Somehow, he doesn't find the sight as disgraceful as he once did. Not when they are together like this.
"Your scars have gotten lighter," Jakurai says.
Doppo shifts, a thumb running over his own scars, his own keloids, his own battles. "You think so?"
"Yes, they match your skin tone more."
"I guess..." Doppo purses his lips. "But you can still see them if you really look."
"A good thing no one is really looking then, no?"
Huffing a laugh, Doppo says, "Yeah... They're nothing like yours, though."
Jakurai hums. It's true that his scars are neater, thinner, fainter than Doppo's, but he thinks — no, he knows — they're progressing at the same pace. "I suppose we're seeing better days."
Doppo blinks. But he doesn't deny him either. "Mhm. We are."
While neither of them may never heal completely, they're taking it little by little. In this world that does nothing but scorn them for merely existing, the most powerful thing they can do is continue living. For now, they're okay — and that's what matters.