InsaneJournal

The ballpoint's been mashed beyond its usual use, run against the white concrete walls above Chidori’s bedhead until the ball itself is skewed. The tip ends up looking jagged enough to cut, but Chidori's happy. Her ink is free-flowing, as liquid as inspiration. Blue spots flower on white sheets, angling towards the valley between Chidori’s knees. Junpei lifts his eyes, but not so guiltily, not so far. She meets his gaze, smiles a kitten’s smile, and starts.

They’ve taken away her paper, her pens – it was only chance he had this one in his pocket. Next time he visits, Junpei will remember to bring her a sketchpad, something small enough that she can hide. It doesn’t stop her now, though: Chidori inks herself with abandon, graphics winding up her arms for as long as the movie runs. Junpei long since stopped watching the screen, it’s too small anyway, hung up too high for comfort.

Blue ink tattoos come into being. There are licks of red amongst the ink, thanks to the jagged metal. Junpei feels goosepimples on his arms when he realises that. But still. Still. This is better than what Chidori usually does to her arms.

Tattoos. Without the consequences.

Junpei thinks a lot about consequence, around Chidori. What it would mean, if he didn’t do so well. In Tartarus. In school. In bed. No one else has ever made him think about consequences before.

She makes an unhappy sound. Even with a licked finger, she can’t erase her evident mistake. The blue smears in an ugly way, dark blood mixed in. It’s getting onto the sheets; she’s getting frantic.

Junpei grabs Chidori’s hand. Blue fingerprints bloom on the back of his hand.

‘It’s ok,’ he says, ‘I like it how it is.’

‘What do you know?’

Junpei can’t look away from her eyes. He licks his lips. ‘I, um, come on, I know what I like, and I like it how it is.’

Chidori’s eyes narrow, but in an appraising sort of way. Her fingers tighten on his hand, and this is – they’re actually holding hands. They’re holding hands. She draws his wrist close, closer, until his elbow’s on the sheet next to her knee, until he’s kneeling on the floor beside her bed.

‘Can I draw it on you, then? Do you like it that much?’

Junpei looks with mild horror at that dripping pen, the mangled sharp edge of it. He imagines how this is going to feel, it’ll tickle, sure, but there will be those moments, sharp, red-edged moments when the sharp edge touches. He shivers. Tattoos, without consequence, except everything has consequences, every flippant remark has meaning to someone. The world’s never looked like this to him before, and Junpei – likes the way it looks.

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘And I promise I won’t wash it off for a week.’

Chidori – actually – laughs.