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“What's that?” Clancy murmurs, pointing at Torchbearer's arm.
The breeze is warm now, thick like a blanket, especially under the sun. And Torch- Torch is in shower sleeves. Not for the first time, but the first time in daylights after they got close.
Or Clancy got comfortable asking questions about things he didn't know. Specifically to Torch. Spending a few nights just kissing tents to foster trust of some sort.
It's almost embarrassingly late when he asks. Months of them knowing each other, multiple rescues. Now out by the creek in the dead of summer, you'd think he’d have asked sooner.
Torch agrees. “What’s what?” he looks down at himself, concern flickering on his face. “Is there a bug? Clance- I don't mess around about bugs. Where is it?” water splashes around his boots as he spins.
Clany giggles, head connecting with the tree he’s leaning on a bit too hard. “No no, nothing like that. Just. uh, the like. Paint on your arm?”
Torch looks up at Clancy, then back down at his arm. “My… tattoos?”
“Is that what they're called?” Clancy stands, walking to Torch. He leaves his note book on the ground, it and all its cryptic doodles and sad notes. “This, I mean. It's so pretty.”
Before he can double guess it, Clancy is standing beside Torch in the stream, grabbing his bare arm, and running his fingers over the painted skin. It leaves no residue, but is so achingly colorful and beautiful.
A tree, a beautiful swirling sky.
Torch’s breath hitches slightly before he huffs in amusement. “Yeah, tattoos. It's not paint- well. Not the way I think you're thinking.”
Clancy looks at him skeptically, turning his palm over in his hands. His fingertips continue dancing over the skin, leaving a wake of raised hairs and bumps. “Explain then.” touches the soft skin of Torch’s inner wrist, following the imaginary strokes.
“It's a form of art. Its ink under skin-”
“Under?” Clancy's grip tightens.
“Under. Put it there with a needle. Ink, I mean. Not paint. It's permanent, a way to always have art with you.”
“Huh.” Clancy doesn't stop his tracing, brow furrowed as he looks closer now. It does really look like part of Torch’s skin, like it's always been there. “Pretty.”
“Thank you. You don't have these in Dema?”
“There's only black ink there, and they're used for tracking, I guess. They aren't called tattoos, just tags.” Clancy finally lets go of Torch, taps on the side of his head, behind his ear where a small rectangle sits with a line through it.
District marker.
“Oh. would you ever want one?” He sounds slightly sad.
Clancy thinks. “Yeah.”
Torchbearer hums, a smile spreading across his face. “Well, I think we can arrange that for you. Go plan something out and we can get that done at some point.”
-
A few months later and a lot of convincing, Clancy is watching with fascination as the tattoo gun is pressed to his wrist. It hurts, but it's manageable. He can't look away, lines of black pressed under his skin forever.
He couldn't go with anything colorful, didn't trust it.
His notebook is full of plans.
Torch is the one doing it, glancing up every once in a while to check on him. He flushes slightly more each time he sees Clancy's enraptured expression.
When he’s done, small black lines wrap around Clancy's wrist. He loves it.
Torch wraps it carefully, explaining how he’ll need to be careful and wash it very softly for a while and to not scratch it.
Clancy just asks when he can get his next one.
-
Clancy is in love with his tattoos. It takes a while to convince Torch he’s certain about each of them and they could just get a bunch of them done in one go. But after he does, he feels amazing. Cryptic rectangles on his chest, shoulder. Lines and symbols and odd block shapes that he doesn't explain, even if Torch figured out the Carpe Noctem one.
He still remembers Torch doing his chest tattoos. He leaned over him, face furrowed in concentration and pretty. Very pretty as his hair hung over his face.
Clancy told him as much.
He’d never seen the other man so red. It was adorable.
Torch explained it was because he was a part of a permanent alteration to Clancy's being. It felt like a deep connection to him, something important. He takes his tattoos very seriously.
It gave Clancy an idea.
-
“No- absolutely not,” Torch doesn't miss a beat.
Clancy visibly deflates. “Why?”
“Clancy- those are permanent. You know that, right?” Torch sounds mildly distraught, pacing slightly in the woods.
Clancy knows. It still fascinates him every time he washes them and they stay. Sometimes it scares him, but more often he loves them. Which is why, “I know, but you're a permanent fixture of my life. A tattoo would just visualize it.”
“I dont know, that's a big thing to just do.”
“Ive been thinking about it for a while. But, I mean. If you don't want one that's okay. I just thought…” he trails off.
Torchbearer has so many tattoos. He gets them sporadically, whenever he wants, whatever he wants. Clancy planned his own out for a long time.
He thought he’d understand he wanted this. He thought Torch might want one too.
Torchbearer stops pacing, looking at Clancy with a panicked and fond expression. “No, it's not that. I'd love one, I just don't want you to rush into something like a matching tattoo- or our names. Thats- thats a lot.”
“Why?” clancy shoots back. “I know ill always want you in my life.”
Torch looks uncomfortable. “No, I know- I’m just saying you don’t know where you’ll end up…”
“It’ll either be here or Dema. And once it’s there it’s not like they can’t take it off.”
“I know, that’s not what I’m worried about.” He gnaws on his lip, considering saying more.
He doesn’t.
“If you don’t want it that’s okay. I understand,” Clancy says quietly. “But I do. You mean the world to me, you know? Having that in my skin just means everyone knows it.”
Torch’s expression softens.
Just half an hour later they are in a tent, tattooing their names onto each others legs.
Before torch presses the humming needle to Clancy’s upper thigh, he gives on last out, even though he went first.
“You really want this?”
Clancy nods, pink faced.
Torch smiles softly, almost sad. “Well, don’t say l didn’t warn you.”
When he’s done Clancy peppers his face with kisses until they are both pink and laughing.
-
And now, Nova sits in his tower alone. His fingers trace over the old, blurred ink. It’s faded by time, yet burns like the moment it was done.
He can still see the top of Torch’s head, feel the warmth of his hands.
It means little now, like all the others.
He should have listened.