âArenât you a goody two-shoes. Iâm the last person whoâd cut off fingers for informality, Iâll have you know.â Though perhaps it would still be in the artistâs best interest to show respect, after all. If he were to ever grow comfortable in addressing the Saiko-komon casually, chances are he could slip up when speaking in public, as well. Surely that wouldnât be a good look for either of them.
   With a shrug, Satoru led the other to where he could work on the tattoo, stripping himself of his shirt before laying himself stomach-down on the cushions. A PUFF could be heard as he landed, and the male would let out a sigh, knowing this comfort would only last for a few more moments.
   âIâve been waiting to get this worked on for AGESâŚâ Satoru said, words partially muffled by the cushion he buried his face in. âBut I donât think Iâd ever forget how much stress it put on me. Good thing I got the next few days off.â
   Already, he was bracing himself. Eyes staring dead ahead at nothing at particular, breathing as steady as it could be under pressure. He new full well how long itâd take to complete the tattoo, he had a feeling heâd suffer with pain for the next day or two at the very least.
   As expected, it was slow and excruciating at first. Then he felt numb for some time. And at the end, the pain seemed to come back and hit him like a freight train. If he werenât so stubborn, he very well couldâve passed out by the end of it all. Once he was told it was finished, he slowly, shakily, pushed himself to sit upwards, looking at his reflection to examine the finished product.
   âJESUS, FUCK⌠Looks good, but hurts like hell.â He groaned, hardly caring for propriety anymore. âHow long was that, six hours? Iâm gonna need dinner. And some drugs.â Pain medicine, rather, but he thought it was funnier to put it that way. âYouâre probably starving, too, right? How about joining me? I know a good place close by.â
Dimitri chuckled, âOh yes I am quite aware that the infamous Satoru Kobayashi is in fact not as scary as he portrays. Now, lay down so I can create a piece of art on your body.â They had known each other long enough that well perhaps friends werenât the most accurate term for what they were, but Dimitri felt he knew more of the real Satoru than most people. He understood how refreshing it could be to let your guard down around someone else. Still respect, especially towards those in power in an organization such as the Takahashi-Kai had been ingrained into his skin as deep as the brand on his arm.
Dimitri hummed as he set up his supplies, âYes, this is a painful process for most, even if you have a higher pain tolerance than others this will put you on rest for at least a couple of days. But, I assure you, it will be worth every sharp pain you feel. I know youâve waited a long time. You will finally get the art you deserve of something in your position.â Dimitri was reminded of his samurai days, when he worked for multiple lords and ladies as a hired sword. In a way the yakuza was similar. Even if he didnât work for them directly as a mercenary that had a similar relationship, which had the ex-slaveâs old behaviorisms leaking out.
None of that mattered when he started to work on the tattoo. His mind was consumed by the ink and needle, every movement of his hands, every stab of ink into skin, the energy of the art he was creating, and he lost himself to it for hours with a few breaks in between. By the time he was done, Dimitri was relaxed. At his clientâs exclamation of the finished product, Dimitri showed a genuine smile but also bowed his head a bit, âI hope it suits someone of your status, my-ah Satoru.â For a moment, he almost had completely lost himself to time and called the other a lord, as if that would go over well in modern times. The mention of food and drugs was enough to shake whatever minor dissociation Dimitri had fallen into, and he quickly nodded, hoping the other wouldnât mention his odd behavior, âSounds good, as long as the place isnât too fancy. I tend to shy away from luxury.â He had a near phobia of anything too extravagant, but well he wasnât about to admit a weakness to a yakuza boss. They might be friendly, but he wasnât stupid.
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