Chapter Text
Sunghoon sat nervously in the driver's seat, palms fixed on top of the steering wheel and fingers tapping as if he was ready to drive away, onto the highway and into the night.
But the car's engine was off, had been for almost two hours now, parking roughly ten steps away from his intended destination, hiding in a blind spot behind the walls. He peered outside. Each ticking minute introduced him to another scenario, another possibility that would most likely happen; if he could just step off the car and count his steps.
The digital clock on his side blinked at him, red and baleful. Quarter past eleven.
Sunghoon supposed he shouldn't be wasting his time like this; tomorrow was going to be a big day. His big day. He knew selected members of the media would be awaiting his appearance in the morning, zooming their cameras at the slightest of his reactions and noting down the smallest of his words.
He also knew the last thing his currently soaring career needed was an extra article of him with swelling eyebags on The News' cover page.
He knew. Yet he was sitting here, at almost midnight. He felt like an idiot.
He drew in a breath, right hand unconsciously reaching to grab at his left shoulder. A throbbing ache resided under the pressure of his fingers. He knew he wanted to do this.
He took one more glance outside, sparing the LED signboard one last read — as if he hadn't been doing the same thing multiple times the past hour — and made up his mind. His hands promptly grabbed what he needed, his car keys, his wallet, his phone, his scarf, and perhaps an invisible pat on the back for reassurance.
The car opened with a convenient pull as he stepped into the winter of mid-December Seoul. Its freezing air penetrated his skin through multiple layers of clothes and icy fingers clawed their ways into his lungs, making him swing another round of knitted scarf about his neck. His hands deep in his coat's pockets and his shoulders rigid against the winds.
Seoul was cuttingly cold today, despite the odd lack of snow. It was expected to snow, according to weather forecasts; today was supposed to be the first snow of the season. Yet the sky was void of any flowers, only cruel darkness remained — a blanket of emptiness draped over the horizon. He shuddered out a dry breath. It quickly turned into steam.
He counted his steps, keeping his head low, overly conscious of every digit as he refused to look up at the signboard, letting his instincts take the lead instead. He was fully aware he could end up in another place if his feet ever took the wrong path; and maybe he entertained the idea. So he could have a reason to blame Fate, so he could point at it and accuse it of taking him elsewhere.
But Fate itself was innocent. His feet walked straight, and he ended up where he ought to be. He finally looked up, at the one last reminder of what he'd come here for; its light was bright in the gloom of night.
By Jay's tattoos.
Sunghoon came here for a tattoo. A permanent blanket of ink over his long-existed scar.
With how he was acting, people might have assumed he feared the needles, or the physical pain of tattooing, or the non-existent scary tattoo artist with a body full of such — whatever the stereotype was.
Sunghoon could only wish it was as simple as that.
Every lift of his feet was a faithful reminder of a heavy debt. And every landing of his heels was another step closer to someone he'd deeply owed to, long ago and almost forgotten.
It would be quite hard to place a finger on exactly what he owed, muchly impossible. Sunghoon didn't dare to name it. It was something more than a favor, more than any financial settlements or legal contracts — those he'd been accustomed to. It was more than what could be paid, or returned, or cowardly run away from. It was something as deep as a scar, and as far as a lifetime of promises.
He drew in a sharp breath, letting the cold air knock some consciousness to his senses. It was way too late to turn away.
Sunghoon halted his steps and found himself already standing in front of the tattoo shop.
He threw out the last of his hesitation with an exhale, and pushed the toned glass door in. There was the soft tinkling of doorbells as he stepped in. Distinct conversations and light bursts laughter could be heard inside the shop as a flush of warm air came in contact with the cold, exposed skin of his face.
"Sorry! By Jay's tattoos is almost clos-"
A piping, sing-song voice greeted him, before it came to an abrupt stop as the owner of said voice turned over.
They locked eyes.
Sunghoon wanted to chuckle. It'd been years, long enough for one to change so much appearance-wise, or at least for one to forget another. It'd been years and things changed. He changed. And yet, the slightly slouched posture, the thin frame, and the hair — though had been bleached a glistening blond-platinum color that looked a warm shade of peach under tinted lights — had still called out a name from the back of his head.
Sunghoon wanted to applaud himself for having such impeccable memory. If Park Jongseong wasn't such an easy name to recall, and an even harder person to forget.
He felt his eyelids squinting together by instinct. Jongseong looked healthier, more mature, better-dressed; and honestly, wealthier. He was wearing a satiny leather jacket and his earlobe sparkled with multiple studs and a dangling earring. It was different from what Sunghoon had remembered, but not too far from his memories.
Judging from the stunned expression on the other's face, Sunghoon figured the tattoo artist recognized him too.
Behind Jongseong, a seemingly younger boy popped out his head. His eyebrows furrowed skeptically as he flashed both of them a few questioning looks before speaking up, repeating what had been dropped off prior.
"Sorry. Our shop is almost closed. There won't be enough time for a tattoo. You are welcome to return at five tomorrow."
The boy gave Sunghoon an apologetic look. And Sunghoon blinked. He lifted his gaze from Jongseong — who was just as dazed — as realization dawned; he was late. If only he'd made up his mind a bit earlier, maybe just two hours betimes.
And only then did he realize he'd been holding his breath, possibly since the very second he walked in. He inhaled. A distinct flowery scent washed through his lungs.
"Ah, so sorry." Sunghoon apologized simply while lightly bowing, already turning on his heels.
"We could make you an appointment for tomorrow, or any time this week!" The young boy offered.
Sunghoon shook his head politely, hand ruffling his own hair. "Oh, no. It's fine. I'll, uh- I'll be heading now," he said before bowing once more and walked out, embarrassment warm on his cheeks. He didn't glance back.
"Wait!"
But a voice called back, and it wasn't the one that'd been talking to him the past minute. It was deeper, more powerful; one as pulling as gravity, with just enough weight to stop Sunghoon in his track. "Just a minute, please."
Sunghoon turned around.
"Jungwon, can you please prepare the tattoo room." The voice quietly ordered, its slight tremble was hard to ignore.
"But hyung, you don't take customers after eleven." The said boy refuted.
"Jungwon," Jongseong repeated firmly, looking down. "Please take our customer to the tattoo room."
The young boy — whose name Sunghoon registered as Jungwon — frowned at Jongseong, then at Sunghoon, then back at Jongseong again. He had his mouth slightly opened as if wanted to say something, possibly a further argument, but the atmosphere stayed silent and the only thing that came out was a defeated huff.
"Please follow me," Jungwon retreated and turned to him. He spared Jongseong one last annoyed look before a professional, customer-care smile adorned his lips. Sunghoon noted that the boy had very deep dimples. He looked boyish, but couldn't be more than several years younger than him — probably around the last years of college.
Jungwon deftly moved towards the staircase situated a bit further into the shop before he stopped on his feet, as if had forgotten something. He turned around at the stunned silence. "Sir?"
Sunghoon snapped out of whatever trance he was in at the address. He quickly lifted his feet and set off to follow the boy, not forgetting to steal a glance at Jongseong as he walked past the other. They hadn't met eyes since the moment Sunghoon got called back, for Jongseong had his eyes secured on a document file.
Part of Sunghoon was glad they hadn't.
He flashed Jungwon another amicable smile, since the boy was still giving him funny looks. Jungwon only responded with a wry smile, not letting go of the look. "Let's go." He beckoned.
Sunghoon was then led to a second storey, into a small parlor the size of a single bedroom. The room's decorations followed a minimalist style with wiped-clean black walls and a human-height tool shelf as mere furniture. Its light dull, tinted a dim red. The heater was running somewhere, probably had been for a while as the air was warm, slightly hot. He instinctively took off his scarf and coat, conveniently hanging them on the coathanger near the room entrance as he walked in.
A few seat cushions were scattered over the floor, next to a low coffee table, on which tattoo equipment and sanitizers were neatly placed together in racks. Jungwon placed a puffy-looking cushion in Sunghoon's general direction before excusing himself. He understood the gesture and sat on it, crossing his legs.
He took in a breath. The smell of flowers now clear and stronger than what he'd smelled downstairs, but just as pleasant.
He tried to guess which flower it was. But with the extremely limited floral knowledge of a busy businessman, it'd been better if he just enjoyed its scent.
Jungwon returned after what seemed like a minute, cotton pads and a bottle of liquid in his hands. "Disinfectant," he said, settling himself down on a seat cushion. Sunghoon nodded at him knowingly.
Jungwon looked exceptionally 'clean', in a sense. Working at a tattoo shop, yet the boy had no tattoos, no signs or traces of imprinted ink, or none that could be seen on exposed skin. He looked more of an obedient high school student than a tattoo artist, or assistant, whichever felt more suitable.
Jungwon squinted at him for another soundless moment before speaking up again. "And where would you like your tattoo...?" He asked, arching a brow.
"Oh! Yeah," Something clicked in Sunghoon's mind. "Over a scar, please. It's," he took off a sleeve of his sweater and revealed the scar on his left shoulder. "It's this one."
He inched a bit closer so that Jungwon could see the scar a bit clearer, a permanent mark etched on his bare skin, and watched the younger's expression shifted visibly.
"Shinshoubyou?" Jungwon asked after a moment, eyes not leaving the scar. It flustered Sunghoon a little.
"Yeah," he nodded shyly, pulling back a little.
"Shit," Jungwon blurted out and immediately apologized. "Sorry. Just, I haven't quite seen anything like this, let alone scars." He squinted at said scar. "What have you gone through to get this?"
The question caught Sunghoon off-guard. A muffled sound of surprise was stuck in his throat.
What had he gone through to get this scar?
He frowned. At the rather intrusive question or the memories it brought back, he wasn't sure; maybe both. A recollection of events played like a slideshow in his head, quick and cutting, and it made him wince. He didn't like to be reminded of it, didn't like thinking of it, didn't like the idea of it, simply enough. The scar was nothing less than a terrifying reminder of what he'd lost, what he'd been forced to give up on and let go of; nothing less than a scathing mnemonic of his biggest regret.
The scar was a painful fragment of his past. So painful, in fact, that it led him here, sitting in a tattoo shop, asking for it to be covered.
"It's personal," he sighed, playing it down politely with a smile. "I'd really rather not elaborate on it."
"Right, right." Jungwon nodded eagerly. "Of course it's personal. That was so ill-mannered of me. I'm really sorry."
Sunghoon recognized it was genuine. "It's okay." He smiled appreciatively.
"So," Jungwon said, uncapping the disinfectant bottle. "Have you got a tattoo idea in mind?"
"Idea?"
The younger raised an eyebrow. "Is this your first time at a tattoo shop?"
Sunghoon almost scowled at the question with offense, but it was true. He nodded instead.
"A visualization. What you'd like the tattoo to look like," Jungwon explained, stopping in motion. "You give me an image, or an inspiration. I will look for it and scan it out to transfer it on your skin — like a tracer, and we will tattoo from there."
"Oh," Sunghoon noted, but made no effort to put the information to use. "Anything, I guess." He said plainly.
Jungwon furrowed his eyebrows. "Anything?"
"Yeah, just do whatever." Sunghoon shrugged, and it seemed to only confuse the young boy further.
But Jungwon didn't ask any more questions. They proceeded with the disinfection process. Cold antiseptic glided on his skin, making him shiver a bit. The procedure finished shortly after when Jungwon stood up, gathering the cotton pads and cleaning up the spilled sanitizer.
"Hyung will be up with you soon," he informed. "Please wait a few minutes."
Sunghoon found himself frowning again at the term of honorific. A bubbling sense of uneasiness throbbed in his ribcage. He nodded in acknowledgement, knowing who the referred 'hyung' was, and watched as the boy disappeared behind the door.
His mind drifted back to the prior conversation. He really meant it when he said to just do whatever. In his subjectively practical perspective, a tattoo was just a tattoo, ink on skin. He never really cared how it was going to turn out, what shape or form it would take. He had chosen the most well-known tattoo shop for this, despite everything; he shouldn't have to sweat the trivials.
He'd like to pay less of his mind into things he knew would go well, and focus on what wouldn't. Keeping an eye on the uncertain was never vain work; it was a crucial sentiment that he'd unfortunately had to learn of the hard way. He'd rather not elaborate though.
Sunghoon was deep in thought when the door finally clicked open and Jongseong appeared behind it. A mop of blond hair peeked from the entrance as he walked in, with several tiny bottles which Sunghoon assumed was ink. The tattoo artist scanned through the room and landed his eyes on him. Sunghoon could feel the stare prickling at his skin.
See, Sunghoon wasn't quite conscious that he'd had his bare arm out. The room was warm enough for him not to notice before. But something in Jongseong's gaze made him feel bare, and successfully reminded him that he was basically half-shirtless.
Jongseong was contrastingly calm, though. He certainly didn't expect Sunghoon to have his sweater sleeve hanging so weirdly, but it wasn't anything worth losing mind over. Sunghoon figured it was part of the job and Jongseong should practically be used to it by now. People got tattoos at funny places.
"Hey," said the tattoo artist, settling himself on the seat cushion opposite of Sunghoon's, where Jungwon had sat prior.
"Hey," Sunghoon replied back with a small smile, silently watched as Jongseong propped the ink bottles onto the nearby coffee table. Two of them fell down horizontally.
"Jungwonie told me you 'wanted whatever'," he quoted, deftly picking up the bottles and conveniently arranging them into a line, along with the rack of tools. Sunghoon recognized the artist had his fingers tattooed. "You really don't have anything in mind?"
"Mmhm," Sunghoon hummed mindlessly, his attention focused on the brief skin in between Jongseong's knuckles and finger joints. The ink read three letters P, J, S on separate fingers, presumably the initials of his name, and a deep red heart on the pinky. "Anything over the scar." He continued.
The tattoo artist nodded in an inaudible rhythm, understanding his customer.
Sunghoon cleared his throat. "Do you and that boy work together?"
"Jungwonie?" Jongseong turned to him, and Sunghoon failed to ignore the nickname. "Yeah. He's my assistant."
"Assistant?"
"Part-time work. Helps me with the scheduling, daily accounting, customer care, sometimes cleaning — basically everything except tattooing." He explained, continuing with the rack of tools. "Why?"
Sunghoon lifted a hand to scratch at his nape. "Ah, just thought you seem really close."
"He's a good kid." Jongseong smiled, voice fond; and added when he noticed Sunghoon stayed silent. "I'm not, like, dating him or anything though."
Sunghoon slightly jolted in surprise. "O-oh?" He wondered to himself if he'd unknowingly asked the question at some point. But apparently it was just Jongseong and his mind-reading abilities. "Sorry if it's random. Didn't want you to think I'm being creepy or anything working with someone so young." The tattoo artist scoffed.
Sunghoon shook his head. That wasn't his reason. But he let guilty relief swarm his chest anyway.
"That's good to know," he said.
"Alright. Now," Jongseong announced, finally done with the equipment. He dropped his palms on his knees like a light smack. "Can I see the scar?"
"Of course," Sunghoon huffed, silly and almost like a laugh. His left shoulder pushed forward as he positioned himself to get Jongseong a better sight of the scar.
Sunghoon had only shown his scar to a handful of people in his lives, and only two people had seen it up close — the Jungwon boy, and now Jongseong. He was a rather private person. Even his parents had only had a brief look of it, considering the age he'd gotten the scar and he wasn't required to show every inch of his skin to mum and dad. And yet today he'd exposed it under not one, but two pairs of eyes. Ironic. It wasn't as uncomfortable as he'd expected, but what had been outstandingly notable, were the expressions on their faces looking at the scar.
When Jungwon had looked at it, his expression had changed, but he'd been more intrigued than most and looked at it even further. Sunghoon felt like every millimetre of his skin, every curve of his scar had been taken in and memorized. Like he'd been perceived through the healed cuts of a deep scar. Indeed, it had been uncomfortable, of some sort; but he was also curious. He wondered what had spite the boy's sudden reaction — which one of the scar's uncountable strokes and edges were so different from the norm of tattoo artists, that'd got Jungwon astounded.
Yet when Jongseong looked at it, it was another story entirely.
Jongseong's eyes landed on his scar, and for a passing moment, one the length of a clock's tick, one so short he could've missed if he'd blinked — Sunghoon thought he'd seen through Jongseong's soul.
Fear, or worry, or panic, or bitterness. It could've been either of them or a mix of all. For one fleeting moment Jongseong had shown himself in utmost transparency — his pupils trembled and his lips twirled. He had the most perplexed expression on his face looking at Sunghoon's scar: one that Sunghoon had never seen on anyone, nor could he read the meaning behind it. All Sunghoon knew was that it scared him. And he wanted to pull back.
But he never got the chance to anyway. The moment came to an end as Jongseong had his eyes shut. Not scrunching forcefully, but the type of closed eyes people did to regain patience. He took a shallow breath, and Sunghoon wondered what the other had had to recover so badly from the prior sight.
A question on the tip of his tongue, but it immediately disappeared as Jongseong opened his eyes again. And Jongseong asked for him, a smile on his lips, stilted and awkward.
"Shinshoubyou?"
It was the same question that he’d been asked, so Sunghoon simply nodded. He tried to ignore how the other's voice pitched a little lower, hoarse.
Jongseong smiled at the scar once more, this time more genuine, and he looked sad. It was like he'd already known, already been sure even without Sunghoon's confirmation. And Sunghoon asked himself why.
They stayed in silence for what felt like seconds before Jongseong spoke again, another query on his lips.
"Is it our scar?"
It was a simple, four-word question. Jongseong's tone was low and kind. Yet so blunt were the syllables, hinting ambiguously, like knives piercing his heart. Sharp and sweet and shocking at first, before the pain spread out and turned aching.
Sunghoon dreaded he understood the meaning behind it. Guilt curled up at his fingertips as he gripped the fabric of his pants unconsciously.
It was a simple question, but Sunghoon felt as if he'd killed a man.
He dipped his head low, long dark fringe forming a curtain over his eyes, hiding Jongseong from the chest up. He didn’t have the courage to answer while maintaining eye-contact. His left shoulder which had been stretched out and shown off now fell flat as he retreated into himself. His head hung on the heavy of regrets; the complete pull of the universe weighing on the balance of his shoulders. And the throbbing, aching pain that reposed in his scar was more than unbearable at once, cutting him open.
A million, billion, trillion of apologies chanted in his head like a muddled choir. But all he managed was a tiny, weeping, "Yes. Yes it is."
After all, it was just a simple question. And simple questions required simple answers.
Sunghoon didn't know what he awaited, maybe a sigh in disappointment, or an exclamation, or another question. Anything. Anything that would let him know what Jongseong had in mind. He'd take anything, whether it was pity, or rage, or even disgust. He would take them all, he deserved it.
But he heard a soft hum, nothing less than kind. And he peered up only to be met with a smile.
Sunghoon didn't know what he awaited, but it was definitely not this.
For the second time tonight, they locked eyes. This time within a smaller distance, knees almost touching. This time, though with their faces only inches away from each other, Sunghoon couldn't read whatever expression Jongseong had worn. A smile plastered on his lips, not giving away.
Sunghoon's focus moved to his eyes instead; deep in the dark ocean of his pupils. Yet still, Sunghoon couldn't find a single wave of turbulence in them.
For the first time tonight, Sunghoon wondered how much time could change a person.
Jongseong, in turn, kept smiling idly at him, only speaking up when the silence had prolonged a bit less than comfortable. "Let's get to it, shall we?"
"How did you know?" Whispered Sunghoon.
"Know what?"
"That it was our scar."
Jongseong huffed a smile. It came out like a sad sigh. He quickly grabbed a needle from the racks and connected it with the small machine, hands conveniently pouring different colors of ink into ink caps, each the height of a fingernail. The tattoos on his fingers turned every movement oddly eye-catching. Sunghoon observed closely at each of Jongseong's knuckles, at how delicate it looked right in line with the rough strokes of tattooed ink.
Jongseong didn't answer Sunghoon's question, he didn't look like he would either.
They wordlessly dropped the topic. Sunghoon just watched as the other functioned the equipment with deftness, understanding that the tattooing process is now taking place.
The tattoo artist took out a lotion container from the drawer under the table and started rubbing the ointment onto Sunghoon's left shoulder, where the scar resided. The gel smooth and cold but rapidly melted into the temperature of his skin. Sunghoon realized Jongseong's hand was warm.
"While tattooing, if the pain gets too much in any case, you are allowed to request a stop of the process, though not highly recommended." The tattoo artist explained, a perfectly worded script. "You can also watch something on your phone in order to distract yourself from the pain, or hold onto any stress relief devices."
Sunghoon hummed.
"Or you can hold onto me, I'm a pretty decent stress reliever myself." Jongseong suggested teasingly. The tension in the parlor dissolved into the laugh at the back of his throat.
"Do you say this to just about any of your customers?" Sunghoon joked back, catching up on the atmosphere.
"Nah," Jongseong shook his head. Sunghoon once again waited for a continuation, but the artist turned on his machine and the needle started vibrating, threatening to stab him on the skin.
Sunghoon winced at the thought. "Wait, wait, hold on a second." He raised a hand to stop the other in motion, and earned a confused look in return. "Can I at least know what you're drawing on my skin first?"
"You said you wanted whatever." Jongseong countered.
"Yeah, doesn't mean I'd like to be clueless while you sew ink onto me." Sunghoon chuckled dryly, defense up. And Jongseong just smiled, less masked than fond.
He put the machine on hold. Sunghoon realized how noisy it'd been now that the room faltered into silence again.
"Do you trust me?" He asked, voice quiet.
A defeated sigh escaped Sunghoon's lips. They both knew the answer to this one.
"Always had, Jongseong-ah." He answered nonetheless, the term of endearment coming out naturally.
Jongseong flashed a teethy grin, boyish and young and satisfied and it hit Sunghoon in the chest. "Alright then." He said, restarting the machine and firmed his grip on the pen.
Sunghoon didn't stop him mid-action this time, and the needle poked at his skin, brisk and merciless and repeating. The sudden contact made his body jolt back a little, not in pain but in surprise, and luckily Jongseong held his elbow back in time to prevent any mistake from happening.
"Sorry," he said apologetically. And the other just shook his head, not responding a word. Sunghoon knew better to stay silent and let the tattoo artist concentrate on his job.
The atmosphere dimmed to soundless after a few minutes as Sunghoon grew more comfortable with the tattoo needle. His eyes deliberately searched around for something to focus on, now that they weren't being closed shut every two seconds with each wince anymore. There wasn't anything too significant — he'd already looked through the whole parlor the moment he walked in — except the temperature might have risen a bit higher than before, little to Sunghoon's liking.
So he stopped searching and dropped his eyes down to the hand on his elbow. The sensation suddenly making itself known. Its grip was firm and fingers wrapped an almost perfect round about his thin bone; the texture of Jongseong's palm felt soft. Sunghoon thought his skin could burn under the touch.
It was the same hand that bore the finger tattoos. Now that he was getting a clearer sight of them, the letters weren't fonted but rather handwritten, probably without a tracer. Its strokes were slightly broken and unprofessional, and the ink had more or less blurred into the other's tanned skin.
Perhaps the tattoos had been from long ago, maybe from when Jongseong had initially started out his job; or when he'd first tried out tattooing and experimented on his own body. Sunghoon wasn't sure of the specific time, but he could guess, and his guess dated far back — years earlier.
Maybe it'd been somewhere in Jongseong's timeline, an unfamiliar point where Sunghoon hadn't been present. A distant echo of time when it had called their names separately.
Sunghoon was a goner, both literally and figuratively. He'd missed out on a lot.
He eyed the man sitting front of him. Jongseong was deeply concentrated and immersed in the process of tattooing. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth quirked into a focused pout, his jaw clenched tightly and Sunghoon was once again reminded of the delicacy of the other's face shape. His sharp jawline clear-cut from his chin and connected with the end of his ear, curtained with the long blond fringe over the apples of his cheeks. Jongseong tilted his head slightly to monitor the pen's movements, revealing the heart shaped birthmark that stayed on one side of his neck. It brought an unconscious smile to Sunghoon's lips every time.
He tried to take everything into his eyes — the shallow wrinkles of Jongseong's forehead, the smooth slope of his nose, the high cheekbones that'd made him look ever so intimidating. His eyelashes shook as he blinked, hiding away the depths of darkness in his pupils.
Sunghoon's eyes then trailed down to Jongseong's lips, where a tiny bite pricked at the lower lip as he tried to get something right. An intrusive voice told Sunghoon to reach out and feel how soft they were, very weird.
He was suddenly back in high school, years ago, when he would turn around in his desk to silently watch the uniformed boy behind him draw. He recalled Jongseong had used to draw a lot of things, from portraits to scenery to flowers and especially clothes — the tattoo artist had aspired to be a fashion designer at one point. Jongseong had drawn and drawn restlessly whenever he had time, betting his future on the fine strokes of his pencils. And Sunghoon, Sunghoon would just watch the other boy draw all the time, carefully and intently — how his eyes had aflamed with passion, dreams, ego and pride as his pen glided on smooth paper.
Even right now, at this very moment, Jongseong looked the same; the fire in his eyes never really died down. It did grow a bit more mature, and Jongseong was a bit more certain with his work. But there stayed this burning vigour of confidence that never left, of an artist's dignity perfecting his work, and of a teenage boy with wishes further than he could reach.
Sunghoon's mind wandered. If there'd been something that was most similar to Jongseong, it would've been a blazing flame — alive and fueled with art.
Jongseong, though intensely concentrated, felt the gaze on his skin, and asked playfully.
"Something on my face?"
Sunghoon smiled, somewhat embarrassed. He shook his head even though the other couldn't really see him. "It's like high school again."
Jongseong just hummed, and Sunghoon felt the need to elaborate, filling in the silence. "Back then, you used to draw, a lot. Your artworks were always so pretty and I would always turn on my chair to watch you." He reminisced, observing the other's reactions closely.
"I missed watching you draw." Sunghoon admitted. "It's been a while."
There was a momentary halt in Jongseong's motion; the needle hovering in close air, before it poked down again, still as brisk and merciless.
"It's been a while since we last saw each other." He said.
Sunghoon felt like he'd been hit with words too many times today.
They stayed silent but it wasn't for too long, for Jongseong informed after a few passing minutes. "We're almost done."
Sunghoon looked down at his left shoulder; the familiar scar now replaced with a blanket of red ink. The position didn't allow him to make out what was being drawn, but he trusted Jongseong enough to wait for the final product.
He glanced at a clock hanging in a corner of the room — he never really noticed it was there — and widened his eyes in surprise seeing that it was now almost two in the morning. It'd been nearly two hours.
People said time passed faster when you were with someone you deared. Sunghoon never doubted it.
Another fifteen minutes flew by as Jongseong made a few final touches, bent to scrutinize the new tattoo from different angles, and then clicked his tongue when he was finally satisfied with the work. "It's done," he said, smiling contentedly. The tails of his eyes crinkled.
He dropped the electric pen and turned off the machine before handing Sunghoon a mirror, offering the customer a look at his work.
Sunghoon accepted the mirror from Jongseong and brought it to his newly imprinted tattoo. A small gasp escaped his throat at the reflected image. "Oh wow. It's beautiful." He exclaimed.
"Really?" Jongseong's smile widened.
"Really." Sunghoon affirmed. "The flower is really pretty."
The reflection showed a deep red, crimson bloom of flower, lively and charmingly it looked as if fresh out of a garden. Its petals swirled into each other like a maze, connected and never-ending; its bud thin and small yet withholding the weight of the large blossoming flower. From Sunghoon's perspective, the tattoo looked like a sparkly Christmas tree ornament hanging upside down.
It was dainty and ravishing and easy on the eye. Sunghoon loved it. Especially because he could barely see the scar underneath anymore.
"It's a carnation." Jongseong replied to an unasked question, also looking at the tattoo.
Sunghoon hummed, wondering if there'd been any meaning behind the species of flower. Carnation. He noted in his head.
"The tattoo will take about two days to heal completely. You can shower, but try not to use any chemicals on the tattooed skin. Minimize movements in the arm-shoulder area to prevent any blurring. On no account should you scratch at the tattoo or... try getting the ink off." Jongseong instructed carefully as he rounded Sunghoon's upper arm with a protective, see-through wrap. "I'm especially serious about the last part. This is probably my best work to date and I would not forgive you if you dared to scratch it off."
Jongseong glared jokingly. And Sunghoon couldn't bite back the giggles.
He mumbled a few 'I know, I know,' before gathering his courage and asked what he'd been meaning to ask. "Jongseong-ah?"
"Hmm?" The other responded mindlessly, now turning back to tidying his workspace.
Sunghoon drew in a breath.
"At the beginning..." He hesitated. "How did you know it was our scar?"
It was silent.
Silent, even the ruffling sound of gathered equipment stopped. Jongseong sighed reminiscently, retreating from reorganizing his tools. He turned, facing Sunghoon eye to eye, he sighed again. A smile adorned his lips, sad and sorrowful and penitent.
"I, uh- I have one, too." He said, and it shot Sunghoon in the ribs.
"H-huh?"
"It appeared about a week after you left." He estimated, running fingers through his blond hair. His voice deep yet calm, as if merely retelling a favorite old tale.
Sunghoon gaped. The collective chants of apologies returned deafening at the recalled memory. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. He looked down at the resting fingers on his knees, brain not processing any of what had been said.
And it was Jongseong with his mind-reading ability again, because the artist was quick to reassure. "It was hard for both of us. I don't blame you."
But you should.
"What would youth be without a heartbreak, hmm?" There was a chuckle.
If only I hadn't been a coward.
"Hoon-ah."
I'm so sorry, Jongseong-ah. I really am.
Sunghoon felt a hand on top of his, tattooed fingers rubbing the expanse of the back of his palm, and he was forced to look up. "It's passed. Don't think too much about it." Jongseong continued to reassure.
Sunghoon gulped, nodding tentatively. He tackled the topic one last time, biting the insides of his cheek.
"Did you... ever think about tattooing over it? Wait, no, you probably have. It's your profession." He scratched his nape, feeling silly. It'd been a long night, Sunghoon put the blame on the malfunctioning gears of his brain.
But Jongseong disagreed and pulled back. "Nah," he shook his head lightly, smiling.
"Never have. Never thought of it either."
Sunghoon heard his world crumble at the words.
The freshly imprinted tattoo felt itchy on his skin, and Sunghoon wanted to do just what he'd been advised against — to scratch the thing off. He regretted as to why he'd even come here in the first place, giving into his cowardly self and refusing to face the scar of his past.
Guilt swallowed him whole. He realized he'd done something unforgivable — not by Jongseong, but by himself. Suddenly he was eighteen again, feeling his skin burn as the scar formed itself on his shoulder; it ached of regrets and it hurt the way an open wound did.
The chants of apologies finally stopped. His head void.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, to Jongseong; and maybe to himself as well. He was sorry for a million things.
"It's okay." Jongseong repeated without fail, accepting the apology ever so easily. And Sunghoon breathed out, not much in relief.
It's okay. It was the same thing he'd told himself the past years, but this was the first time he deemed the words believable. A portion of weight lifted off his shoulders.
He'd made bad choices, done horrible things, and he'd hurt people when he never meant to. And it was another night of feeling like he'd repeated everything all over again. But tonight Jongseong was with him, and Jongseong told him it'd be okay, so it would be okay.
Sunghoon shuddered a breath. He realized he hadn't been feeling this way in years, either — the comfort in knowing that something of his had returned, and the solace of knowing some things never change.
Because tonight, Jongseong returned. And Jongseong never changed.