It had seemed like a good idea at the time-but, that could be said of most of Roman's drug-fueled endeavors. He snorted another line and looked in the mirror, slowly raising his wife-beater to reveal the bandage, which sat low on his right side. For a moment he just stared at it, wondering at the practicality of leaving the dressing there forever, or perhaps, more realistically, having it removed. Then he peeled it back. Little scabs of blood surrounded the tattoo. He picked them off and sucked up the fresh drops, then studied the image seared into his skin. A howling wolf. Not exactly subtle.
But what could he say? He'd been high as fuck. He'd been thinking of Peter. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
…
The first and only time Peter saw Roman's tattoo, it had been the end of that same summer, on a humid, stale afternoon that smelled more like rotting meat than roses. Roman had insisted on giving Peter a ride to town to pick up groceries, since it was far too hot to walk. He'd left the top of the convertible down because having it up always depressed him, though, and as a result both of them were sweltering, despite the wind and blasting A/C.
Peter kept scrolling through Roman's iPhone, putting on songs only to change them a minute later. He was an incurable classic rock fan, far more delighted by 'Don't Stop Believin' than any track on Roman's carefully procured EDM playlists.
"Oh, man, this was Nikolai's favorite," Peter said, turning up 'Dream On'.
Roman rolled his eyes, as Peter let out a howl that simultaneously pricked up the hair on the back of Roman's neck and made him laugh.
"Hey, wait! Pull over here," Peter said a minute later, grasping Roman's arm to get his attention.
Roman did as commanded, and glanced back at Peter, wondering how he could be so attractive with sweat still pouring off of him.
"You need to piss or something?" he asked, as Peter removed his hand from Roman's arm.
"There's a swimming hole just past those woods there. I went during the last full moon. You shoulda seen it."
Roman felt a shiver moving up his spine. "Show me," he said, pulling off his seatbelt.
It had been so stupid; he should've known Peter—wild, reckless, impulsive—would've wanted to go swimming. He should've known Peter would grow suspicious when Roman wouldn't take off his clothes and join him.
"C'mon," Peter said as he peeled off his own shirt. "Just a quick dive. It's hot as Satan's balls out here."
Roman crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "I'm good, man."
"Bullshit. You're sweating straight through your Calvin Klein business casual ensemble, there."
"Fuck you."
Peter unbuckled his belt then, chuckling as he stepped out of his jeans. "C'mon," he said. "You know you wanna."
He did want to. That wasn't the problem. "I just don't feel like it. Go ahead."
"Alright," Peter said, and just as Roman uncrossed his arms, Peter lunged at him.
On instinct, Roman gripped his shirt to keep it down.
Peter moved back, confused, as Roman realized Peter hadn't been about to try to pull off his clothes-just push him in the water.
"You hiding something under there, J-Crew?" Peter asked then, with a nervous laugh. "It's not like I've never seen you without a shirt on. I already know how pale you are."
"Just lay off, will you?" Roman asked.
Peter moved forward again, putting his hand over Roman's trying to pry it from his shirt. "Seriously, what's your deal, man?"
"None of your fucking business," Roman said, but then they were full-on grappling with each other, and within a moment both were on the ground. Roman resisted Peter's attempts to best him, and found himself unable to reconcile all his fantasies of the two of them together to the actual, tangible weight of Peter pinning his body to the ground. Is this really happening? he thought, as Peter's fingers fumbled against his for purchase on Roman's shirt.
"Just give in already," Peter said, his tone more like a growl than Roman had ever heard. He gave in.
When Peter edged up the shirt and saw the tattoo, he didn't say a word. He moved his forefinger down over it, and then looked up at Roman with an expression Roman couldn't quite comprehend. Was Peter confused? Surprised? Freaked out? Turned on?
Before any words had the chance to breach Peter's lips, Roman found himself panicking.
He looked into Peter's eyes. "You didn't see that. None of this is happening. Understand?"
Peter nodded.
A moment later, Roman's nose started to bleed, and they got up and wordlessly went back to the car.
Later, when Roman found himself looking at the tattoo, he'd wonder what might've happened that day, if he'd had the nerve to let Peter react.
But what could he say? He'd been scared. Blocking Peter's memory had just seemed like impulse.
In short, it had seemed like a good idea, at the time.