In This World (Harry Styles)

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(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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Ever I roam

Ever I roam

Further from home

Your hand I know, now

Revelation - Jónsi and Troye Sivan

Late November 2020

Hiroshima, Japan

The journey to Sandankyo Gorge was colored with fiery autumn foliage and leaf litter. The golden hues among us were emblazoned by the sun, and so unearthly stunning I practically hung out of the passenger seat window, snapping as many photos on the Pentax as I could. I then snapped a few of Gray, who smirked, but kept his eyes on the road. As usual, he was gripping the steering wheel with one hand and I absently studied the new tattoo along his inner wrist and arm. A simplistic black cross, around four inches in length, with the bottom post split by the name Sebastian written along it in script. I'd surprised him with the tattoo gun not long after we returned from Melbourne, as he was in a serious funk one day and I couldn't figure out why. He wanted to be alone all day and went for a long walk in the forest, then took the boat out and I feared he'd never come back. Finally he spent the rest of the evening in bed, and wouldn't even let me hold him that night.

Turns out, it was the anniversary of his son's death. Foolishly, I'd forgotten to ask for a specific date and was left gutted about that. Fuck's sake, I should've known better and should've been prepared. Although, I was certain nothing could've prevented him from collapsing mentally that day. It was just something he had to process on his own, and I could appreciate that. Still, I'd really fucked up and dropped the ball on this one, and needed to make it up to him immediately. That's where the idea of the tattoo arose. I asked him to design something for his son and he eagerly did so. Then he allowed me to give him his first ink, right there on the living room floor. Never once complained about the pain or exhibited mistrust in my ability. I'd inked him with more painstaking care than I'd done anyone in the past, because I knew the ink was not only permanent, but would be integral for his healing. I couldn't be the one to screw that up. I needed to do the image justice, because he'd done a wonderful job of drafting it up, and it deserved to be rendered accurately.

"You know I spoke with your mother..." I said, randomly. He veered along a curve, passing a slower sedan before returning to our lane.

"Oh yeah? What about?"

"You."

"Ok...Mr. Vague. Crickey, spit it out, will ya? What'd you say?"

"Told her she was a massive cunt."

"Christ," he laughed. "Straight to the jugular there, huh? How's she still kicking??"

"Kidding, kidding. I just...I dunno. I guess I didn't appreciate the shape you were after I left you in that room with her for all of ten minutes. So I, uh...had to tell her: whatever she did to make you end up that way, wasn't ok. Simple as that."

"Feisty, H. I've missed him. Where's he been hiding?" he tickled my belly and I giggled and pushed him away.

"What can I say, she brought it out of me."