Chapter Text
"I’m bored," Satoru drawled out the ends of his sentences, his lips drooping as he leaned on the man walking beside him.
The bustling city, where Satoru had returned just a week ago, seemed poised to engulf him, exactly as his friends had hoped.
Yet, Satoru had his doubts and responsibilities.
A child. His child. The sole excuse and responsibility for Satoru, who believed that even if he yielded for just a night, he would fracture into pieces, and Gojo Satoru is never wrong. He is a kind of a medium.
Nevertheless, here he is.
"Let's get a tattoo," Satoru chuckled at his friend's words, not even knowing what was funny, just laughing loudly, thoroughly intoxicated. Moreover, he was drunk with someone he shouldn't be drunk with, a disaster.
Yu couldn’t comprehend how this outlandish idea had lodged itself in his mind. In a split second, he had blurted out a notion he wasn’t even sure he wanted. Perhaps his ease in speaking stemmed from anticipating the other's rebuttal and hoping for a more sensible alternative.
"I'll probably regret this," his voice rang out with a hint of excitement, his eyes shimmering with adrenaline. "Let's do it."
"Let's see..." Satoru, moments ago engrossed in dancing on the screen, now found himself sprawled on the ground, attempting to inscribe a tattoo on his cracked phone screen with broken letters.
"Have you been waiting for this moment?" Yu watched in disbelief at the absurdity of the idea being embraced.
"You know, I didn't have much 'permission' for this before," he exclaimed, shaking his head in excitement, still not tearing his eyes away from his phone screen.
Yu was clueless about why his senior had hastily returned to Tokyo. His blank stares in response to Satoru's words reflected his lack of understanding. All he knew was that the Satoru had reappeared out of nowhere, much like seven years ago when he had disappeared at a stroke.
And then there were Yuki's words, a reminder to keep an eye on him as he wasn't doing well.
Proposing the idea of getting a tattoo to someone who wasn't in a good state didn't seem like the wisest decision all of a sudden.
"What permission-"
"Okay, okay, let's go here." Despite Yu's attempts to inquire further, the figure before him dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand and began walking.
Satoru had things he wanted to say, but some things were better left unsaid. Even in his intoxicated state, he knew there were details he wouldn't divulge, even if his tongue were loosened enough to spill every detail about his life. Some things that happened in Kyoto should stay in Kyoto.
After taking several large strides, Satoru found himself in front of the place he had found online, presumably the closest and highest-rated option. Despite the possibility of ending up with a poorly executed, dramatically old-school rose tattoo on his forehead by the end of the night, he was determined to follow through with his decision.
Uzumaki.
Even though the letters appeared blurry to him, he squinted and managed to read the sign with difficulty.
Despite his irritation at the sluggish steps of the person behind him, instead of saying anything, he decided to leave them behind and hastily entered the establishment, prompting them to yell 'wait!' after him.
His brisk strides came to an abrupt halt as he collided with a barricade-like figure in front of him. There was no need for the man to physically restrain Satoru; he froze in his tracks.
His eyes roamed shamelessly over the sculpted body, which, despite being naked, didn't feel exposed at all due to the plethora of tattoos adorning it.
He had made a good choice.
"Easy there, little one."
Okay, Gojo Satoru believed he was neither little nor deserving of such a nickname. After all, he was twenty-six years old; how much younger could he possibly appear?
"I'm twenty-six," he grumbled, then began lazily strolling around the tattoo parlor. "And I want to get a tattoo."
The ambiance of the place had captured Satoru's attention. The dim purple lights in the room screamed 'seventies,' and rock music dominated the atmosphere.
On the jet-black walls, graffiti of famous rock bands from the '70s and '80s adorned the space, while the nostalgic sound of "Riders on the Storm" played from a crackling vinyl record.
"Did you bring your guardian, too? Don't want to do anything illegal," the tattoo artist remarked as Yu burst into laughter upon entering, perhaps influenced by the alcohol.
"I'm giving my permission," Yu raised his hand, continuing to mock his friend with a mischievous grin.
"Well, aren't you a riot," Satoru furrowed his brows, hoping to come off as intimidating in response to the teasing from the duo, wagging his index finger at Yu as he spoke. "I should've beat you up when you were not all grown up, Haibara Yu."
As Yu and Satoru continued their banter, the tattoo artist sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of their antics. He couldn't believe he was about to spend his entire night dealing with two drunk kids.
"Let's get back to business," the firmness in his voice silenced the duo instantly as he gestured towards a black leather chair with his tattooed hand. Without hesitation, Satoru sprawled himself in the indicated seat, ready to listen attentively to every word the man uttered. "Are you sure about getting a tattoo?"
Satoru didn't even need to ask himself this question; it had been his dream since he turned eighteen. With Yu's perfect idea, he had simply ignited Satoru's excitement. He had always wanted to feel the ink staining his fair skin.
"Yes, very excited!" Yu had mockingly laughed at him when Satoru’s hands clapped involuntarily, eventually earning a disapproving glare.
"I wouldn't want you regretting it when you sober up." It was the first time the tattoo artist wasn't tattooing sober individuals, and it happened to be the first tattoo for a drunk guy.
Dealing with intoxicated first-timers usually ended in disappointment, and the fact that the kid chose such an inappropriate time for his first tattoo silently urged the tattoo artist to talk him out of it.
"Then don't make a tattoo I'll regret." The response pleased the tattoo artist; he couldn't help but chuckle. He had clashed with a stubborn person who was quite determined when he wanted, and this person, under the influence of alcohol, wasn't holding back. The tattoo artist found himself liking Satoru.
"However you want it." As the tattoo artist turned away, Satoru was left face-to-face with the broad expanse of the man's back. About to reach out to the dragon tattoo that caught his attention on the dark skin, the artist turned back around, leaving Satoru's hand hanging mid-air. "Do you have an idea in mind? Where do you want it?"
The tattoo artist handed the catalog to Satoru and, subsequently, a piece of paper and a pen, extending them to the smaller figure. Satoru pushed the catalog aside, taking the paper and pen in his hands.
"I have an idea, and it's a bit silly, okay? So don't laugh. If you laugh, I'll kill you." Satoru buried himself in drawing on the paper, making sure to keep his eyes wide open to ensure he got it right; a small mistake could be fatal.
Meanwhile, the tattoo artist's gaze oscillated between the dozing figure on the doorframe and the body in the nearby chair, as if trying to acquaint himself with the two strangers, his customers, whom he might never see again. They seemed to be amusing.
"Here," pointing with his hand, he pulled down his white T-shirt, revealing the area below his collarbone. "I want you to draw this."
He handed the drawn paper to the tattoo artist. "You won't laugh, will you? Or say it's stupid?" Satoru began firing questions at the figure, who was still examining the sketched design.
A sick black beta fish with a damaged tail, on the verge of death. A memento from his childhood. Trying to escape the sounds rising from the walls of a television-less home, he would gaze at the tired fish swimming in the small aquarium, cross-legged.
If he was still in his teens, he had made a self-declaration that his first tattoo would be of a beta fish—an immature bet that he ended up winning.
"No, I like it," said the tattooed artist, turning to transfer the design onto the tracing paper. "You're quite an interesting kid."
As Satoru furrowed his brows again, Yu was looking for a reason to leave the scene. Lightning bolts seemed to strike in his mind as he exaggeratedly brought his hands to his mouth.
"I think I'm going to throw up." His acting skills were questionable at best, and the small theater happening in front of the tattoo artist made him laugh. "I'll wait for you outside, Satoru. It's probably better for everyone."
Satoru’s eyes are wide open, he is attempting to get up from the leather chair. However, the increasing weight of his body caused him to fall back into the seat.
"Hey! If you leave me alone, I'll never forgive you!"
He was getting his first tattoo, and he had no idea how much it would hurt. Given his penchant for theatrics, he'd probably make more fuss than an average person.
"I'm already afraid of needles, you know." Yu suddenly spilled the secret he had been trying to keep inside during the journey.
"What?" Satoru, oblivious to the procedures on his clavicle, shot lethal glares at the person in front of him. "Idiot, why are you suggesting getting a tattoo then?"
"I don't know, I thought you were sensible enough to refuse." Yu shrugged, speaking the unvarnished truth.
Unlike the older one, he noticed the machine that appeared and, disregarding the shouting figure behind him, threw himself out.
"I'll kill you, Haibara Yu! I'll even tell Yuki—ah!" Satoru flinched suddenly at the presence of the needle piercing his skin and tried to pull back.
Meanwhile, the tattoo artist, who could only see his hair at the moment, was concentrating on approaching the exposed clavicles of the small body.
"Would you like me to hold your hand so you don't cry?" the tattoo artist continued tauntingly while Satoru worried about his well-being.
With the scent of apple filling his nose, he closed his eyes and began to grip the arms of the chair he was sitting in.
"Just give me a heads-up before you stick those needles into my skin," Satoru murmured. He didn't neglect to play along with the tattoo artist's tune; after all, his life was in his hands. If he wanted, he could hurt him, or worse, he could wander around with some ridiculous sentence or shape on his clavicles contrary to what he wanted.
In the past few minutes, the dominant sounds in the room were the music from the vinyl records and Satoru's half-hearted attempt to sing along.
"Will you do another tattoo for me later?" He could guess that the tattoo was coming to an end; otherwise, he might see a much longer sentence in the mirror than he expected.
There were still tattoos he wanted to adorn his body with, and the tattoo artist was on the verge of gaining a regular customer.
"If you pay, why not?" The tattoo artist had just finished the final touches, took a deep breath, pushed the chair back, and admired the masterpiece -well, his masterpiece- in front of them.
"I thought we had a sweet friendship going on." Satoru fake-sniffed and pouted. "Bringing up money is disappointing."
As the tattoo artist stood up, leaving Satoru behind, Satoru's gaze never left his body for a moment.
"You're hot," Satoru blurted out as soon as the words left his mouth, immediately covering it, but it was too late.
Turning on his heels, the tattoo artist raised an eyebrow, perching on the edge of the chair, gazing at Satoru. Meanwhile, Satoru was turning redder by the second. What was this heat?
Approaching Satoru's skin again, this time, the tattoo artist was performing the necessary steps that Satoru couldn't quite understand but were probably essential to avoid infection after the tattooing.
"You can't charm me like this, little one-"
With every word, his breath grazed Satoru's neck, and that was the fuck-it moment for the white-haired man.
Grabbing his cheeks and lifting Suguru’s face to meet his gaze.
White haired man’s lips crashed onto the tattoo artist's.
Gojo Satoru, shattering all his ideals, had just kissed a stranger he had met minutes ago.