"No one else ever noticed them."
"No one else was looking."
I stare at the ink, small enough to hide under any shirt, hidden for a decade while he watched me through screens and across parking lots and from a bench where he fed pigeons he didn't care about.
"And the one on your back? The flowers?"
He shifts slightly, letting me see. "Bamboo and wisteria. Neo-traditional."
The design is intricate with thick bamboo stalks on one side and cascading wisteria on the other, meeting in the center of his spine. I trace the edge of the wisteria where it meets his shoulder, following the ink with my fingertip.
"Why those?"
"My parents." His voice goes careful. "Bamboo is my father. Rigid. Traditional. Bends but doesn't break, or so he likes to believe. Wisteria is my mother. Adaptable. Beautiful. She taught me to move between worlds."
"They're on your back."
"Behind me." He swallows. "Where they've always been. Watching me walk away into a life they didn't choose for me."
"And I'm over your heart."
"For ten years.Hotaru." The Japanese is barely a whisper. Firefly.
My palm flattens against his chest, over the firefly. Over me.
"While I thought I'd lost you." His eyes finally meet mine. "While I was trying to move on and failing. It was the only way I could keep you without actually having you."
I lean down and press my lips to the firefly, soft and deliberate.
Then I rest my head right back where it belongs, cheek against the ink, over the ten years of wanting he carries on his skin.
"You impossible man."
His arms tighten around me.
We lie there in silence, breathing together with my head on his chest over the firefly and his hand stroking slow paths down my back.
"I cried." The words come out quiet, wondering. "When I looked in the mirror. During the binding."
"I know."
"I keep crying with you. Before you came back, I hadn't cried during anything intimate in years. Now I can't seem to stop."
"Angelina." He tips my chin up. "Don't feel bad about feeling."
I hold his gaze. The gold flecks in my eyes must be going crazy right now.
"Thank you." He says it quieter. "For letting me see."
I don't respond. I settle closer, my palm flat over his heart.
My breathing evens out. Almost asleep. But there's one more thing.
"Cole?"
"Mm."
"Next time..."