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Outside, the trees sway in the strong wind, their branches whispering against the glass. Mal’s just explained to me that monsoon season in Japan is approaching, bringing with it typhoons and other huge winds.
We got a taste of it earlier, with black clouds and whipping, raw gusts chasing over the hills above Kyoto, but it’s quiet now.
The peaceful silence is a welcome contrast to the chaos that’s been swirling for days now. His arm is draped over my shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the skin near my collarbone and down my breast, sending little electric shocks through me. I tilt my head back, looking up at him. His face is cast in shadows, his strong jawline lit only by the moonlight.
There’s something about these quiet moments with Mal that makes me feel like the world could end, and I wouldn’t care—as long as I was here, in his arms.
“You never told me about it,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through the stillness.
I blink up at him, confused. “About what?”
His hand brushes over my ribs, fingers hovering over the tattoo etched into my skin just below my left breast.
Memento Mori
“Memento Mori,” he murmurs. “Why that?”
My breath hitches.
“Just a thing I got when I was younger.”
He doesn’t reply. When I glance back up at him, he’s looking at me with an intensity that honestly freaks me out a little.
“What?” I mumble.
Mal shakes his head. “Youcanbe impulsive. But this wasn’t. You planned this. You picked exactly where you wanted it, the font…”
I shiver. Goddammit, he’s too good at digging into people’s heads to get at the truth.
But he’s not going to get it from me. Not all of it, at least.
He doesn’t need to know about the time-bomb inside of me.
“It means?—”
“Remember you must die, I know,” Mal says patiently. “Which is why I want to knowwhyyou’ve got this of all phrases tattooed near your heart.”
I swallow hard, suddenly feeling the full meaning of the words on my skin. “It’s just…a reminder,” I say softly, trying to brush it off. “To live with purpose. To remember that life is short.”
Of course, the truth is much heavier than that. It sits deep in my chest like a lead weight, the knowledge that I’ll never grow old, never experience life in all the ways I want to. I’d accepted it—at least, I told myself I had—but now, having Mal, feeling this connection with him… I want more time.
And I’m heartbroken I won’t get it.
He doesn’t push or ask for more, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, waiting for me to share something deeper.
I want to, but I can’t.
Not yet.
So I change the subject. My eyes drift over the dark ink that covers Mal’s body, tracing the intricate patterns and shapes. There’s one tattoo in particular that’s always caught my eye—the large piece that curls across his upper arm and shoulder, a copy of the iconic Japanese wood block print by Hokusai called “The Great Wave off Kanagawa.” I’ve seen it on posters or wallpaper a hundred different times—the swirling ocean wave crashing down, frozen in time. But on Mal’s skin, it looks almost alive.
“What about this?” I ask, my fingers brushing over the tattoo. “Why The Great Wave?”
Mal looks down at me, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You know what it is?”
“Of course,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I just don’t get it. Why this? Love for Japan?”
He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering away, as if he’s debating whether to answer. Mal’s not one to share easily—he holds everything close to his chest, every word a secret he can’t afford to let slip. Tonight, though, something feels different.
