“So, what are you taking pictures of these days?” Seth asked. I couldn’t recall talking to him about my photography, though I’d shot a few pictures for the school blog at their request.
“Have you seen my stuff?”
He shrugged. “I must have seen you with your camera around school.”
“I’m getting more into portraits. Experimenting with different backgrounds and trying to focus on the attribute that sets the subject apart.”
Seth sat up to face me directly. “What sets me apart?”
I studied him with an artist’s eye. There was so much that set him apart: his nose, which steered a little to one side; his eyes, deep-set and coppery brown with thick, dark lashes; the point of his chin and a dimple on one cheek, both of which gave him an impish quality; the way he was looking at me right then, which caused my throat to tighten.
I took a risk and grabbed his hand, turned it over. I traced the infinity symbol on his wrist. “This is interesting. What does it mean to you?”
“Infinite potential. I do that sometimes…trace it like you just did, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. It calms me, like a fidget. It’s a route that never ends.”
His answers were even better than his questions, a real-life sphinx. For all that Seth could be, he was never boring.
I started to pull my hand away, and Seth curled his fingers to hold on. I stared at our fingers intertwined, encouraged by his gesture. “For your portrait, I’d put you behind a chain-link fence, like when I first saw you, with this by your face, maybe leaning your forehead against the back of your hand to create a little mystery. The best photographs leave the viewer wanting more.”
“Aren’t you a clever one?” Seth said with a smile, almost like he was proud of me. He let go of my hand, and my eyes drifted to his lips. I wondered if he might kiss me. I wanted him to, but I didn’t want to mess anything up.
“Do you have any other tattoos?” I asked, which was a flimsy cover for,I’d like to see more of your skin.
“Just this one.” He lifted the sleeve of his T-shirt to show off a detailed anatomical rendering of a heart on his shoulder. I admired the artist’s shading and how the heart molded around the shape of Seth’s muscle so that it almost looked like it was beating.
“How literal,” I remarked and he chuckled.
“You’re funny.” His eyes searched my face and landed on my mouth. “And you’re pretty.”
“Pretty?” I asked dubiously.
He shrugged. “Handsome, hot, whatever gender-conforming adjective suits you. When I look at you, I like what I see. And I want to see more of it.”
I glanced away, feeling intensely aroused and fearful that it might be blatantly obvious.
“Do you like that?” He turned my chin so that I’d look at him directly. “When I comment on your looks?”
I cleared my throat. I didn’t know what was normal between two guys who might be into each other; I only knew I wanted to please him. “I don’t mind it.”
He trailed one fingertip up my arm, giving me goose bumps and making me shiver in a most pleasurable way.
“Do you have any tattoos?” Seth asked, dipping in close so that his breath tickled my neck.
I shook my head.I’m only fifteen,I almost reminded him, but I stopped myself because I didn’t want our age difference to be a thing. “My parents would probably disown me if I got a tattoo.”
Seth wanted to know why, so I told him about the stigma surrounding tattoos in Japanese culture. My grandmother considered anyone with a tattoo to be a gang member or a criminal, and in some public pools and hot springs in Japan, people with tattoos were forbidden altogether. My parents were only slightly less discriminating. It definitely wouldn’t leave a very good first impression with them to see Seth’s tattoos. I didn’t tell him that last part, but Seth probably guessed at it anyway because he then asked me what my parents might think of him.
“I don’t know.” Seth’s brow wrinkled as if he knew I was holding back. “Do you want to meet them?” I asked.
He looked away so that I couldn’t see his eyes. “It’s probably best if I don’t.” I wanted to argue that point, but I kind of agreed with him. Not only because of his image, but also because my parents might pick up on the chemistry between us. I didn’t know how they would react to me telling them I was gay. I was their only son, and there was more pressure on me than on Mai to carry on our family name. My mother would probably be heartbroken and try to hide it for my sake. My father might never speak to me again.
“It’s a good thing you don’t have any tattoos,” Seth said, interrupting me from my worrisome thoughts. He drew one fingertip along the shape of my face. “You have beautiful skin. I wouldn’t mark it up with something as common as ink.”
“But you have tattoos,” I pointed out.
He nodded. “I’m a rock star wannabe. It’s part of my look.”
I liked that he was able to make fun of himself. And I appreciated his ability to shift a difficult conversation into something more lighthearted and fun.
