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The lie was always going to come back to bite him in the end. Kyouji had known that, and he'd told it anyway.
"Now you can get rid of that stupid tattoo," Satomi says, glancing at the envelope he'd shoved into Kyouji's hand. He straightens his glasses and licks nervously at his lips, and Kyouji thinks he feels his heart break at the earnest artlessness of it all.
"Why would I want to do that?" he asks lightly, still trying to make it a joke—to pretend that he can do what Satomi's asked him to. "I happen to like Satomi-kun's name."
Satomi shrugs and stubbornly refuses to look at him again. "You won't have to worry anymore," he says. "About people thinking I'm your soulmate or something."
Kyouji stares hard at the envelope so he doesn't have to see the look on Satomi's face—so he doesn't have to see Satomi standing in his Osaka apartment two days before Christmas and know that this is the end.
Stupid, he tells himself. It had been so stupid. Wanna see something funny? he'd said, and rolled up his sleeve, all to hide the fact that it wasn't funny at all. That Satomi's name had appeared out of nowhere his first hour out of prison, like a cruel stroke of fate on his skin.
He should have hidden the tattoo forever. He'd known it then, and he knows it now. He should have stayed away, no matter how badly it made his soul shrivel. He should have done anything but make up some stupid lie in case Satomi ever saw it and asked questions, all so he could get a few more months of Satomi's life.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Satomi demands, and Kyouji finally opens his eyes.
He sighs, because he knows exactly what should happen now. He should thank Satomi for the money, and pretend he can get the name removed, and never see Satomi again.
He should squash any tiny flame of hope that maybe Satomi won't look at him like he's dirt and will somehow let Kyouji stick around.
But he's so tired, and what comes out is something different entirely.
"Ah, Satomi-kun," he says with a tight, painful twist of his mouth. "You really shouldn't trust me so much."
Satomi frowns at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Kyouji laughs, but it's a bitter, self-deprecating thing. He lifts his right arm, the one emblazoned with Satomi's name. The soulmark is covered by his shirt and jacket, but he can feel it glowing warmly in Satomi's presence. "The boss didn't give me this."
He doesn't say anything more, and he doesn't need to. Satomi's a smart kid. It only takes a couple of seconds before his eyes are darkening with something that looks a lot like anger.
"It's okay, kid," Kyouji says. "You know they're not always reciprocal. Just because I have your name on my arm doesn't mean—"
"Shut up," Satomi says before Kyouji can finish—before he can reassure him that just because Satomi is his soulmate, there's no way he's going to be Satomi's. Soulmarks can be fickle things; they appear when they want, and where they want, and half the time all they bring is heartbreak.
"I'm sorry, Satomi," he says, and he is. He really, really is, and for all of it: that Satomi's been lied to, and the months of saving what looks like every spare yen, and the fact that some old yakuza has his name on his skin and can never, ever take it off.
"I told you to shut up," Satomi says, but this time he doesn't sound angry. He sounds—Kyouji isn't quite sure what he sounds, and he doesn't get a chance to figure it out, because Satomi doesn't say anything else. He just pulls at the collar of his sweater, until his right shoulder is peeking out, and Kyouji feels the world go sideways.
Gently, after what feels like a lifetime, he reaches out with one hand to tug Satomi's sweater straight again, hiding the characters on his skin.
Kyouji.
He doesn't know how he winds up on the floor, back against the wall, Satomi crouching down in front of him. He lets his forehead tip forward onto Satomi's shoulder—the one marked with a name that shouldn't be there—and the laughter that comes out is close to hysterical. It's full of pain. It shakes his whole body.
"What are we going to do?" he asks, his voice rasping on the words. He can't chain Satomi to him forever. He can't—
He can't—
The envelope is a crumpled mess in his hand.
"What do you think we're going to do?" Satomi says stubbornly. His arms slide around Kyouji's shoulders, and Kyouji doesn't have the strength to push him away. "We're going to be together, Kyouji-san."
Kyouji closes his eyes again. "It's not that simple, kid," he whispers.
"Too bad," Satomi says, firmly. His arms tighten around Kyouji's frame. "I'm making it that simple."
He doesn't let go until Kyouji stops shaking.