Work Text:
The tattoo had hurt as much as Kyouji had predicted, but the final result wasn't that bad. Sure, the skin was still red and sore, but the boss was better with letters than drawings.
What would the boy say if he saw it?
Kyouji laughed alone in his car, driving through the city and imagining Satomi's horrified face seeing his name permanently inked on his arm.
He would probably also feel guilty that I'd lost the competition, even though he'd told me not to sing Crimson. Would he cry again?
At the time, it had been funny to see how much his accident had shaken Satomi, his tears and his anger, his complete lack of judgment in yelling at a bunch of yakuzas for thinking they were hanging out and having fun while Kyouji was dead. And how cute the way he got embarrassed when he realized what was really happening.
However, later, the moment became a little bittersweet.
No one else in the world would have done something like that for me, not the boss, or my siblings, or any of the people I dated.
Hours after the contest, smoking a cigarette and staring out the window of his apartment, he decided it would be best not to look for him anymore.
He'd already ruined Satomi's big choir performance unintentionally. What else would he ruin if he continued to hang around him? How much would Satomi give if Kyouji was selfish and sick enough to ask for?
Even if it was what Satomi wanted too, he was too young to know all that entailed, how much he could fuck him up.
Lost in his thoughts, Kyouji only realized he'd driven to the street where Satomi's school was when he was already there.
The school bell rang, and soon the crowd of students poured out of the gates. And there was Satomi, looking serious, talking to two other boys his age. And how he fitted in in that scenario compared to the last time Kyouji had seen him.
For about five seconds, Kyouji allowed himself to just look at him, drinking in his image, sweet and distant.
After the five seconds were over he drove away.