The fluorescent light quivered to life when Tooru flipped the switch of the back room of the tattoo studio. Compared to the cozy and decorated entrance lobby the backroom was bare. In the middle of the floor there was a black leather chair and stool on wheels. Next to the chair was a movable small counter, and in the corner was a table loaded with all kinds of little boxes and bottles. One of the walls was painted bright red and had a couple of pictures in frames.

"God, it feels good to be out of the room finally," Tooru said, tossed his keys on the table and draped his jacket on the little coat hanger that was revealed behind the door. He dug out his glasses and put them on. "I'ma trace the picture, you just relax and think happy thoughts in the meanwhile."

Last night they had stayed up late sketching and finishing the design. While Tooru was making the stencil, Hajime took a closer look at the pictures on the wall. The first one was obviously a family portrait. A stern looking older man in a navy uniform had his arm around the waist of a smiling woman next to him. His chest seemed heavy with medals. On the other side of the woman Hajime recognized Tooru who was taller than his parents. In front of the trio were two younger women both on their knee and also wearing navy uniforms. In the background peeked a big white house.

Next to the portrait was a horizontal picture of a sports team, and Hajime guessed it must have been Tooru's volleyball team. A group of tall guys all grinning at the camera. The picture had been cut out off a newspaper, and the caption read: "The wide smiles of AJ's team after the game. The captain and pinch server Oikawa Tooru (second row, third on the right) steered his team to yet another victory.". The picture-Tooru was flashing a peace sign and had his arm around another guy with pink hair.

"What's a pinch server?" Hajime hollered to the lobby.

"They're put on the court when the team is in desperate need of points. Like, if they're about to lose and the game needs to be turned around before it's too late."

"So, you were some kinda hotshot?"

"Nah, I rarely played that position. Serves were my thing for sure, but I was the setter. I planned and set all the plays."

So, a hotshot, Hajime thought to himself but didn't comment further.

The third and last picture was of hands, and on the inside of the wrists were tattoos of old trees. One on the left wrist was green and luxuriant. The colors looked like they had been painted with watercolors the way they had no clear lines and the pigment distribution was uneven. The tree on the right wrist looked the same except that it was bare, just the black trunk and thin branches. Compared to the other one it looked dead or at least dying. The skin around the tattoos was red and glistening in the flash like they were freshly inked. Hajime leaned closer to the picture, he had seen those trees before.

"Is this your hands? The tree tattoos?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, they were the first ones I ever got," Tooru said and came back with a big piece of what looked like wax paper. It had blue lines all over it.

"Why they're different?" Hajime figured they had long ago decided not to bother with courtesy of not prying each other's personal memories.

Tooru stood next to him and looked at the picture. "After the surgery I started having these, I dunno, kinda seasons I guess you'd call them. Like mentally. One day I'd be happy and productive and the next I could barely get out of the bed. The dark seasons didn't last that long at first, like a week or two, but after a while they stretched longer and longer. Until once I had really rough six months – not having energy to do anything and studies and everything went seriously downhill – and it all got to be a bit too much. Somehow, I pushed it through, but that time really scared me. I had never been like that. So, I thought I'd get myself a little reminder if I ever ended up in the same place again. That you just need to wait it out because it always gets better at some point. Sometimes it's sooner, sometimes later, but it always does."

"So, are you…better now?"

"I guess. I haven't had an episode for about two years. It's not all rainbows and sunshine but it's alright. Anyway, I finished the tracing. Ya ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

Tooru grinned and went over to the table. "It's gonna be fine. Why don't ya take off your pants and hop on onto the chair."

"Does that thing have a lock?" Hajime nodded at the door.

"We're closed today so no one should come by. Now come on."

With some difficulties Hajime shed his pants and hoisted himself into the high chair.

To Hajime there seemed to be a ton of preparations to be done before Tooru even touched his skin. He began to set his station on the smaller table on wheels. Bottles and electric cords were covered with plastic bags and tubes, and gun parts were screwed together. Packages of sterile needles, a disposable razor, a sharpie, a pair of scissors, and little plastic cups were laid on the table. From various bottles of ink Tooru poured black, red, and white colors into the cups. There was a whole new kind of concentration on his face that Hajime hadn't seen before.

"Okay, ready to roll? You feeling good?" Tooru pulled a pair of black gloves on. "Got any allergies I should know about? Fear of needles?"

"Shouldn't you have asked those before doing all that?"

"I just don't want ya to pass out on me and make me screw up."

"My leg's been blown clean off, you think I'm afraid of a little needle?"

The little plastic package rustled as Tooru popped a sterile needle out of its wrappers and attached it to the gun with what seemed like a rubber band. A big dollop of milky colored wax was swept on the edge of the table. The stool was pushed closer, and the leg of Hajime's boxer briefs rolled up. Hajime flinched at the sudden touch.

"Relax, it's nothing I ain't seen before."

Before placing the stencil, the area was shaved and cleaned. With firm, flat movements Tooru pressed the blue prints from the paper onto the thigh and carefully pulled it off.

"Check and make sure it's the way you want it. Is the position good? Is it straight? There's no return after this."

Hajime inspected the print. "Looks good to me."

The gun gave a couple test buzzes, and Tooru leaned over Hajime's thigh. "I'ma make a little line at first, so you can see how you like it."

Tooru tightened the skin, and the gun buzzed again. It felt like something sharp was pressed down and dragged against the skin. It hurt a little – he could definitely feel something was going on – but it wasn't as bad as he had thought.

"There, how's that?"

Hajime looked at the little black line on his skin. He was a marked man now. "It's not too bad, I think I'll survive."

"The thigh is a quite sensitive place, and it's gonna feel more the closer we get to the knee. Let me know if ya need a break."

With the side of his thumb Tooru pushed his glasses up and set to work, and it soon became clear he hadn't been kidding about the sensitivity. The little sample hadn't really hurt that much, but now that the needle started to hammer the skin in earnest it looked like this could turn out to be a long session.

"It sometimes helps to just concentrate on breathing and tap a finger or something. Just don't move your leg."

As the needle kept irritating the skin it began to tingle and burn. It became more sensitive to Tooru's touch than the needle itself. Every time Hajime was just about to get somewhat used to the pain, Tooru stopped to wipe off the excess ink and painfully rubbed the burning skin. To distract himself Hajime stared at the ceiling and counted the cracks zigzagging across the white paint.

"So, how come you haven't gotten any tattoos before? The military takes their ink quite seriously, and you've been with them for years."

"I dunno, just never felt like it. Guys got them as mementoes, but I knew what I had done and that was enough. I thought they were as useless as you think honor is."

"I never said it was useless, I said it was used to trick people into thinking a certain way and to keep them quiet. I've been doing this for years, and a lot of military folks have come and gone through those doors. Each and every one of them should take great honor in what they have done but in their own terms. They shouldn't settle with the honor the government tries to sell them."

"Your admiral dad must've loved you."

Tooru's concentrated frown gave away to a small smile. "We were both stubborn, so you can only imagine. But I know he loved me and was even proud of me deep down. The most important thing to him was to believe in your cause, whatever it was, and get off your ass to fight for it. I learned to never give up because of him. But in all seriousness, what made you change your mind?"

"I met this really stubborn, pain-in-the-ass guy who said I was like a tiger, and he had already drawn the picture and everything, so what can you do in that situation other than get the damn thing."

"Wow, he sounds like a really hardworking, awesome guy doing all that for you."

Hajime was quiet for a while and listened to the steady buzz. "Last night you said that I should be the one making the decisions about the design because it's gonna be on my skin for the rest of my life. And I realized that I'd given up the control because I thought I hadn't had it in the first place. Someone had come and mutilated my body for good and there had been nothing I could've done about it, so I just gave up and rolled over. Well, now I decide, and I wanna do something that reminds me of it."

Tooru straightened his back and wiped the skin. While he inspected the work, he also stole a glance at Hajime.

"So, it's not a memento? Not a badge of honor?"

"Maybe one day."

"Can I – and you don't have to tell me if you don't wanna – but can I ask you about the accident? Like, do you remember what happened? When Mattsun told me about it, it sounded like a hell of a blow."

"I don't really remember anything about that day. Everything I know has been told to me by other people, so it's kinda weird. I came to with just one leg, but I had no idea what happened. Or more like, I don't have any memories of my own."

The needle was dipped in the black ink cup, and the gun continued to buzz as another inch of skin was pricked. Hajime frowned when Tooru's finger once again rubbed the irritated skin. Each wipe of the paper towel revealed a new patch of skin that would never be the same again.

"But when I fall asleep some of it comes back to me, but I can't be sure if those are real either."

"Is that when you have those panic attacks?"

"Yeah."

"You scared the crap out of me. I've never seen anything like that. I mean, I know dad had nightmares and anxiety sometimes, but mom made always sure we never really saw it. It looked scary."

Hajime swallowed. "Yeah."

"So, what do you remember in your sleep?"

When Hajime didn't answer, Tooru back-pedaled. "Sorry. I know I'm nosy, you don't have to tell me…"

"It's just feelings for the most part," Hajime said quietly. "I don't really see anything, it's just darkness, but I can feel I'm pinned down by something. There's a solid weight on my chest, and it's warm. Like, alive warm. And I can't feel my limbs."

"Is it like those sleep paralysis things?"

"I don't know. All I know is, I have this growing urge to get it – whatever it is – off me right that second, but I can't move a muscle. It creeps me out and fills my head with these…flashes."

"Flashes?"

"Yeah, I never remember them when I wake up."

The tone of Hajime's voice made Tooru think he wasn't telling the whole truth but decided not to push for more. He moved on from the lines to shading and coloring. The hard needle switched to a softer one. Sharpness to a burning. Steady-handed, precise strokes to tiny circles whisking the ink into the skin.

"Have you ever talked to anyone about the nightmares? Like a doctor or something?"

"Mattsun told me to go see someone, but I never went. You may not have noticed, but I'm not that big on sharing. As long as talking couldn't give me my leg back, I didn't see a point in sobbing about it to some stranger with a fancy degree. But of course, I could see I was still taking it all out on someone, whoever happened to cross my way. For the most times it was Mattsun. I put him and Em, and the kids too, through a lot."

"To me he seemed more worried than upset, though."

"Yeah, I dunno, I said some shitty things. I was angry and jealous. It wasn't fair. On some fucked up level I blamed it all on him. He was about to leave the army and me and go live his happy family man life. What the hell was I supposed to do? I hadn't planned for any of this. I had no place anywhere anymore, but he had it all. He had it all just like that while I had gotten completely fucked."

The needle brushed the last finishing touches, and Tooru put the gun down on the table. The vibration tingled the nerves all the way to his elbow, and he flexed his fingers. He wiped the picture clean, and the tiger stretched along the skin. Its thick tail fused with a dark tree branch that had red flowers blooming. Little splatters of red glowing against the skin here and there. It was finished.

He smeared the burning hot skin with soothing cream and covered the glistening area with some plastic wrap. His legs were stiff, and his bad knee cracked when he stood up. He leaned over Hajime whose blurred eyes looked up at him.

"I think I'm a bit lost," Hajime said with a gruff voice. "I don't know what to do next."

Tooru cupped his face, and his gloves left stains of ink and wax on Hajime's cheek as he stroked it. When he leaned in and pressed their lips together Hajime uttered a little sound of surprise but didn't resist when Tooru's tongue licked his lips and dipped between them. When he pulled back Hajime's eyes were wide and his tongue darted out to flick Tooru's taste on his lips.

"I think I've fallen in love with you, Iwaizumi Hajime," Tooru said and looked down at Hajime with soft eyes. "Stump and all."