Chapter Text
A thin streak of white smoke floated towards the ceiling, rising from the carved holes in the censer. A wooden box stood on the counter, on a round tray with decorative embossing, surrounded by various minerals. In addition to the stones, it was accompanied by a fox skull, a small succulent, and figurines in the shape of a toadstool. Most of these decorative souvenirs were gifts left by regular customers of the tattoo parlor, who usually left something behind and booked their next visit.
The soothing scent of sandalwood and amber could be noticed throughout the place; it caught one's nostrils from the very threshold, and the delicate mist added a certain charm and mysticism to the waiting room. Calm music was playing from the speaker, perfectly matching the decor of the room.
The colors of the walls were subdued, perhaps too neutral for some people for the service provided in this place. After all, most people, when they hear the word "tattoo studio", have in their minds an image of a dark cave with walls in dark, intense colors and music that was supposed to arouse fear in the client from the very beginning. Geto and Shoko’s studio had a much softer image, and although some might consider it bland, these accessories, flower pots, and an impressive number of pictures and posters on the walls gave this place an artistic and cozy atmosphere.
For Shoko and Geto, this place was their own temple.
They were just enjoying their break, sipping coffee from mugs with jagged edges that they wouldn't trade for anything in the world. These mugs were a pair from one set. Bulky, with an ear curved at the bottom and an abstract pattern, the content of which remained a mystery to the pair of friends. Even bigger than before, because over the years of use, the edges have chipped, taking fragments of the pattern with them. Sometimes, curious customers would question them, why they wouldn't throw away worn-out dishes and buy new ones, personalized with their studio's logo, they replied that it wouldn't be the same for them. This tired cliché could have been their motto, but for the two owners of The Inked Spirits, it was reality. They started the business with these two mugs as one of their first pieces of equipment and intended to use them for as long as possible.
Sometimes, when they were alone in the studio, they joked among themselves that their battered mugs would serve them well. Even many years after they stop working in their profession; the two would say that they would take them with them to the end of the world. Shoko laughed that she would make her mug the most important ashtray in the house, and Geto imagined his mug having its own room and being treated like a member of the family. They laughed about it often and as their imaginations ran wild, the stories of the mugs became more and more unpredictable and crazy.
c
For now, however, it was a distant prospect that, given their daily workload, they did not have time to think about it too often.
They were approaching their thirties and had their whole lives ahead of them - the end of their careers wasn't even on the mental horizon yet. They preferred to look back on their school years and time spent together, as the two were waiting for the instant coffee in broken cups to cool down a bit.
This time was no different - taking advantage of the afternoon break, the black-haired man was sitting in his favorite armchair in the waiting room, with the tablet resting on his knee. His friend was leaning on the window sill right next to him and looking over his shoulder from time to time while taking a drag from her cigarette. Blowing smoke through her nose, she waved her hand to clear it up a bit, because, in the quantities she produced, it really irritated the eyes. She knew about the rule, Suguru made, about smoking outside, but today the weather was particularly bad, and Geto had yet to comment on her presence in the waiting room with a lit cigarette. It looked like he was having a good day.
Shoko opened the window as the male looked up from the project he was working on. He didn't have to say anything, she knew that she was overdoing it with the number of cigarettes.
At all of this, Geto only sighed slightly - he realized that stopping his friend from smoking was like tilting at windmills, so he didn't even try to argue with her. From time to time, he only allowed himself a sarcastic joke or a malicious remark.
“If this continues, you'll have to pay for all hair and skin cleaning products from all of your smoke”. Although he didn't do so much as look up from his work, Shoko knew perfectly well that Geto was smiling.
“You need to change the joke,” she replied, taking one last drag on her cigarette and extinguishing it in the remnants of coffee that stood in her mug on the windowsill. “You remind me about these shampoos too often, and we both know perfectly well that your beauty routine is a fifteen-in-one soap” she snorted. “Unless you truly want me to pick out your shampoo, but then you'll have to ask me nicely, Sugu,” the woman said, looking over her shoulder at the pattern her friend was finishing designing.
Geto's line work was definitely one of her favorites, and even though she had tattoos from under different hands on her skin, the ones her best friend had done for her were her favorites. The man used the line weight perfectly, and the ideas he came up with were astonishing. And yet, what Shoko admired most of all was how new ideas came to him easily, and he could draw them quickly.
“A real talent” she liked to say when she hung another of his designs on a corkboard with available patterns. To this, Geto would just shake his head, making his black bangs bounce slightly.
“You know perfectly well that it takes years of practice and a lack of social life” he replied to her, to which Shoko only gave him one of her many crooked smiles.
“Years of practice and a few missed events are a small price to pay for the quality you show me every day”. More out of duty than any other reason, Shoko defended her opinion. “Admit it, Sugu, you are one of the few who are gifted with real talent.”
With a laugh, she placed her hands together as if in prayer, looking up at her friend with a wide smile on her face. Suguru just rolled his eyes and went back to sketching, but he still had a smirk on his face.
“Oh great lord, Suguru Geto, teach us poor commoners how to create such masterpieces. Without you, we'll all die.” Shoko was perfect as a damsel in distress, spinning in place with a cigarette smothered in coffee between her fingers. “Show us the path of true devotion to art and all five hundred sketchbooks that you hide in the closet.”
At such moments, the black-haired man burst out laughing, no longer able to hide his amusement at his friend's words.
“You are not serious” he laughed heartily, mentally appreciating all the compliments from Shoko “but know the grace of the savior and look at it, what do you think?” He asked, pointing at her, the tablet screen with her image sitting on a large cigarette. “Not bad, isn't it?”
Shoko laughed, punching Geto on the shoulder:
“We are printing this miracle, it will be perfect for a board of available patterns.”
A corkboard with free patterns hung on the wall in the waiting room. It was visible from the threshold of their studio, but you could also look at it from a comfortable place on the guest sofa. They joked that this was their best marketing tactic - customers while waiting for their turn, had enough time to look at all the new designs and mentally plan their next visit to add one of them to the collection on their skin.
Although Geto would never admit it out loud, he liked the attention his designs were receiving.
It was no different this time - together with Shoko, they acted out their scene, joking about the importance of talent and practice, pushing each other, and chasing away the gray cloud of smoke that the woman was producing like a dragon. Opening the window no longer made any sense - the heavy smell of tobacco had already mixed with the smell of incense, which Geto lit every day, the second he entered the studio. So they sat, shrouded in light, bluish-colored smoke that smelled like a very strange combination, between a shop for people seeking enlightenment and a school toilet during a long break.
The smell was strange, but to some extent standard for their studio - no matter what incense Suguru might buy this time, its scent could never fully cover the stench of cigarettes. He had to come to terms with it and find a shampoo that would remove the smell of smoke from his hair a bit better than the one he had been using before. Ultimately, he could also come to work wearing a plastic suit for hazardous occupations. This thought seemed so funny to the black-haired man that he snorted quietly under his breath, drawing the lines of his next project.
Shoko looked over his shoulder at the screen, but before she could open her mouth to express her opinion, the bell rang throughout the place. A new client entered their temple, with the loud clanking sound of wooden heels on the floor. He coughed on entry, covering his mouth with his hand. Geto sent Shoko a glare saying: "It's your fault, turn off the smokehouse", to which the girl, holding back a laugh, opened the second window.
“Since you're already standing there, can you take care of our client?” Suguru asked, in a tone that was so innocent and kind, as if he hadn't asked her that question every time a customer walked into the studio during their lunch break.
Due to her addiction, Shoko was on her feet much more often, and Geto, usually absorbed in work, could not move from his favorite armchair and kept drawing for several hours without respite, leaning over the tablet.
They joked about that too - Shoko loved to roll her eyes at her friend's request and nod her head and tell him:
“I'm like a secretary to you, admit it, Sugu”.
Geto smiled in response, “But the best and irreplaceable”. He answered.
This time, which surprised the black-haired man, the woman did not comment on his request, but only went to the front of their parlor to greet the customer. The man coughed again, clearly surprised by the peculiar fragrance blend of the Inked Spirits brand.
Partially interested in who the newcomer was, the black-haired tattoo artist shifted slightly in his seat to be able to steal a few glances towards the guest. It was a tall man with white hair, dressed like an office worker - elegant trousers with a crease, made of dark material, were definitely of good quality - even sitting a few meters away from the newcomer, Suguru was able to assess it without any problems. The shirt, in a delicate blue color, was probably also of similar quality; the man had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his completely "naked" forearms. Geto assumed that the potential client works in a higher position in a corporation - so he probably comes to get a discreet piercing or an even more discreet tattoo. The man was wearing dark glasses, which he did not take off when entering the premises. The word "corporate smart ass" quickly flashed through Geto's mind as he discreetly looked at the man, but the thought didn't stop him for long.
Almost completely losing interest, the black-haired man returned to browsing through inspirations for the next project.
“Good morning, I'm coming to you for a tattoo. A friend recommended your shop to me” said the client.
His voice was loud, laced with hilarity and excitement, completely snapping Geto out of his state of concentration. There is no chance that he will be able to fully focus on his work… The tattoo artist sighed quietly to himself, got up from his chair, and stretched like a cat after basking in the sun all day. He slowly joined Shoko, who took out a notebook from under the counter to check the next available dates.
“What would you like to get, exactly?” she asked, and the white-haired man beamed like a child when asked if he would like some candy. “How big and wh-…”
“Oh, I've got the perfect pattern ready for me, just a minute,” he said the white-haired man, interjecting into Shoko's sentence, showing his perfect white teeth in a smile, and took out his phone. “I have it written down here, I thought for a long time, but this pattern is all me.”
Geto looked at Shoko out of the corner of his eye, but she didn't notice his gaze, focused on trying to read her friend's handwriting in the notebook. Despite the phenomenal line work, the black-haired man's handwriting left much to be desired. The woman had to squint her eyes and slightly turn her head to finally read it and with a triumphant look on her face she announced to the white-haired man who was standing in front of her, still looking for a pattern:
“The next available date is in three days at three o'clock,” she said. “But it’s for a small pattern only. If you want something larger, the earliest available date would be in two weeks.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine… it's a small pattern” the white-haired man assured them, still looking for it in his cell phone, focused on the activity, he didn't even notice when he stuck out his tongue and gently bit it. They stood in silence for a moment - he was looking for his chosen project, and they were waiting for it to be shown to them. Finally, the customer beamed, turning the phone towards Shoko and Geto. Both of them, as one, leaned over the tiny screen of the cell phone, curious about the pattern. “That's it! The perfect tattoo for me”.
The sign of infinity was lit up on the screen. Shoko turned her head, leaning lower behind the counter, pretending to reach into her purse for another pen to hide the smirk that spread across her face, while Geto clenched his jaw tightly to keep from laughing out loud.
“This pattern is perfect for me, I would like it to be on my hand, but not too big, just smaller so that it doesn't disturb me while I'm working and doesn't attract attention,” the white-haired man said with conviction, looking at the woman who had already turned back to him.
“I see, then we'll book you in for Wednesday. You can discuss all the other details with my friend Geto. He will be very happy to answer all your questions.”
The black-haired man just gave his best friend another look, which she again didn't notice - or only pretended not to see. Meanwhile, the customer took his wallet out of his back pocket and placed a few banknotes on the counter to pay. Shoko scooped them up and counted them hastily, biting the tip of the pen she held in her other hand.
“Almost ready. The only thing left is your contact information. Name, surname, phone number, and we are ready,”, she said with a smile.
“Gojo. Satoru Gojo” Geto smiled to himself. Almost like James Bond…
“Noted,” Shoko said, putting down her pen and hiding the notebook with this month's deadlines under the counter. She made sure to add a small infinity symbol with a smiley next to Gojo's name. It was a design that had been made so many times that Shoko couldn't even believe that anyone would seriously tattoo it. She looked at Geto and patted his shoulder.
“You discuss all the details with the gentleman, and I'll go for a smoke, I'll be back in a moment.”
Without waiting for the black-haired man's answer, she moved to the door, the bell hanging above it rang again, but Geto didn't even hear it. He focused back on his work, explaining in detail to his client how to prepare for the tattoo. Silly or not, the first tattoo was a big event in many people's lives, and it was necessary to explain to the client all the details related to preparing for the session with respect and professionalism.
The white-haired man nodded, sending polite smiles occasionally to show that he was listening. Suguru unconsciously returned some of them, wanting to make the best impression on the customer. However, he was still disturbed by the fact that the customer's glasses had not been removed from his nose. If there was an image of tactlessness in the Internet search engine, it was Satoru Gojo in Suguru's mind right now.
When they had everything arranged and the man was slowly getting ready to leave, Geto decided to ask him one more question:
“Sorry for the question, but which of our clients recommended our studio to you?” he asked with a twinkle in his dark eyes; he was always pleased when clients were satisfied enough with his work to recommend him to others. “Of course, it’s fine if you don’t want to tell”, he said but got interrupted mid-sentence.
At this question, Gojo stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
“A colleague from work, Nanami Kento,” he said and opened the door with a sweep. “He'll probably show up soon too, he mentioned something about an idea for a new project,” he said and was about to leave when he suddenly stopped in the doorway and turned back to the tattoo artist standing behind the counter. “See you on Wednesday!” With that he waved and left, closing the door with a bang that made the bell above it jingle loudly, as if indignantly.
For a moment, Suguru stared at the door, behind which the white-haired man had disappeared. Small tattoos like this were good. Quick and uncomplicated work, during which Geto had a moment to mentally rest.
He leaned his elbows on the counter and sighed deeply. The apparent silence in the place was dissipated by the delicate melody still flowing from the speakers. After a moment, it was torn apart by the bell that rang above the door, which opened again. The black-haired man raised his dark eyes towards them.
“He had nice glasses,” Shoko said, entering the place. “Although there is no sun today, he probably forgot that he had it on his nose due to the excitement of his first tattoo”, she added with a smile.
Wednesday's session promised to be interesting...
Unmoved, like a white wand of smoke, it rose to the ceiling.