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Suguru’s pretty certain the universe likes to peek into his head and fuck with him for fun.
Case in point: he has quite literally just made the decision to close up shop, having chugged down the rest of his water bottle and managed to muster up the energy to haul himself up onto his feet from his cozy chair when he hears the familiar clatter of that ancient, rusty bell. A customer.
He can't help it. He groans aloud.
"Wow. Should I turn right back around and leave? Cuz it sounds like you don't want me here!"
"Yeah, might as well take the money that’ll pay a good chunk of my bills and toss it into the trashcan next to the door while you’re at it, yeah?”
Despite everything, his would be ( now is? ) customer grins. “You’re funny.”
Now— Suguru is very familiar with this customer type. For context: there’s a bar down the street, one that, in the years since opening his humble shop, he’s grown to share quite the unconventional relationship with. To put it another way, he’s very familiar with its happy hour time, and with their proximity to that fancy new office building the city had erected just the other year…
He sees it immediately in the complete flush of his face, the way the smile on his face is stretched a little too wide, too thin— this man is piss drunk. Worse than most people, actually; he’s surprised the guy even managed to get through the door. And are those sunglasses because of the lights? That photophobia must be severe . ( Trust him: he knows how bad it can be. )
But his suit is extra, extra nice, and he did appreciate Suguru’s bite, so, what the hell. He appreciates someone with a sense of humor. And money in his pockets.
“Thanks. I try to be.” His smile is wry, amused, head tilted as he assesses the mess in front of him, pulling out his binder of designs. “Let me guess. Came over from the bar next door? Lost some kind of bet? Drinking game? Now you had to shuffle here for your punishment?”
“And a mind reader too!” The stranger cackles, taking the binder. “Yeah. They want me to get something… super duper stupid. Embarrassing.”
“Yet they don’t even bother to send a chaperone to make sure you followed the rules?” Suguru clicks his tongue and hums dramatically as he sneaks a peek out the window; he can’t see anyone trailing after him. “Or perhaps they know you’re too drunk to be anything but honest…”
“Yeah, they’re stupid as hell,” the stranger continues, like he hasn’t heard that last bit. He leafs through the plastic pages, squinting at the designs. “So can you make it small? And somewhere no one can see it?”
“Then that defeats the point of it, no? What’s the point of a dare if you don’t go all the way? You’d be a coward otherwise.”
That seems to make the stranger bristle, even as Suguru’s turned around to start preparing his equipment. “What the hell do you know about me?”
“Not very much, admittedly.” Suguru hums and peeks over his shoulder. “I don’t even know your name.”
That, for some reason, makes him stop. There’s the briefest, instinctual flash of… fear? Hesitation? What, we’re done? Is Suguru’s very first thought; the stranger, though, seems just as startled by his own uncertainty, rubbing the space beneath his nose like it’s an attempt to jumpstart his thoughts as he looks down at the book, seemingly less to continue design hunting and more to hide his expression, uncharacteristically bashful.
“... Satoru,” is what he eventually comes up with, which is only stranger. Suguru’s right eyebrow arches up high.
“Given name, hm?” Suguru forces himself to return to prep. He picks up his bottle of sanitizer and hums. “Satoru, then. You’ve chosen your design?”
“Um,” Satoru says. “You choose? Surprise me.”
Suguru glances over, like he’s a student leaning over his classmate’s shoulder for a desperate peek for test answers. It’s some pages of his flower designs, and Suguru openly snickers as Satoru just groans aloud.
“I told you, I dunno! That’s why I asked you to choose.” He shoves the binder back in his hands and Suguru briefly juggles the bottle, paper towels, and the binder before he manages to place down everything but the binder as he quickly runs his thumb through the pages.
“So much trust for a complete stranger— the one who is responsible for the tattoo himself, no less.” He clicks his tongue. “You don’t think I’ll choose something totally stupid you’ll regret forever?”
“That’s why I asked for you to make it small and put it somewhere no one can see it,” Satoru huffs, rolling his eyes. There’s that unexpected boyishness again, as he crosses his arms like he’s some kid demanding candy.
“That’s quite obtuse, you know.” Suguru chews at the inside of his cheek and looks between two designs. “You know how genies work? If you’re not specific enough I can twist your words to make the worst possible outcome for you.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
Like… I put it beneath your armpit. Just big enough to be covered by your arm. Then you’d be cursed to never be shirtless… less you embarrass yourself.”
“You’re being stupid. Obviously I wouldn’t let you tattoo my fucking armpit.” Suguru doesn’t need to see Satoru’s eyes to know he’s practically rolling them into the back of his head. He only laughs.
“Okay, okay, armpits are off the table. Fair enough.” He raises his hands in fake defeat, and the gesture somehow has Satoru’s attention shifting to the binder between them again.
“What? A fucking goldfish?”
“You couldn’t choose anything. Now you want to be picky?”
“Why are you scolding your customer?” Satoru rolls his eyes but there’s not an ounce of bite to his words, surprisingly; instead he takes the binder and lifts his sunglasses to squint. Like he’s seriously considering it.
“I’ll take that as a sure, why not.” Suguru turns around and properly starts prep. “So where do we want this? No armpit, right?”
Okay, he’s strangely quiet again. This time Suguru decides to let him take his time, and it’s once he’s gotten to opening up all his single use tools Satoru finally speaks up.
“Can you do my neck?”
“Your neck?” Suguru can’t help but echo, and he turns around. And for a moment— one so short Suguru swears he could’ve imagined it— it’s not like Satoru’s… sobered up, but there’s a strange sort of heavy solumness as he touches his neck. The next moment though he just looks sleepy, maybe a little sheepish, in the way he squints up at the light and rubs his neck, just beneath his ear.
“Yeah. I think it’d actually look kinda cool… what do you think?” His eyes flicker over, and somehow it's in that moment Suguru is taken aback by just how blue they are.
Because he’s a professional, though, Suguru shakes his head and it's all gone. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of having a stupid tattoo? What about the bet?”
“Who gives a fuck about the bet.” Satoru smiles wide at him, that sort of shit eating grin stupid rich people like him think people like but Suguru absolutely loathes . Despite himself, though, Suguru finds himself snickering back. “I want a cool tattoo, actually.”
“Well, don’t blame me if the god of drunk betting karma decides to bite you in the ass.”
“I can take that,” Satoru says in a very particular tone that’s meant to imply a very particular thing. Suguru finds his eyebrow arching very high again. “Among other things. Also, by the way, what’s your name?”
Suguru glances over, and considers him for a long time. He guesses, very correctly, that tonight will be a very long night.
Hopefully Satoru tips handsomely.
“It’s Suguru.”