38 - Rora Jade

38

Rora Jade

I rub my hand over Isaiah's back. "You okay?"

Isaiah inhales and exhales. "Yeah."

We've been staring at the postal box for five minutes now. My crutches lean on the hood next to me, and the sun peeks through the clouds overhead as we sit there. Dragging my hand back up and down his arm, I find his hand and take it in my own.

"You don't have to do it, Isaiah."

He turns to me, the tension falling away when he looks at me. "I know. But I miss my brother."

The statement is simple, yet it feels like a punch to the gut. I say nothing. Instead, I choose to rest my head on his shoulder until he's ready. It's been two weeks since my surgery. PT has been painful and taxing both mentally and physically. And Isaiah has been writing and rewriting this letter since.

He hasn't texted or called his brother, but I know that a part of him wants to. Or wants to be able to without feeling guilty or vulnerable. Without wondering if Elijah will answer. Without the fear of him disappearing again. Whether that takes weeks or months or years, I'll be here every step of the way. This letter is different than the previous—that was short. A confirmation that he received Elijah's. This one is far more personal.

Isaiah squeezes my hand and takes a big breath before letting go and stepping up to the mailbox. I watch him slide the thick envelope inside and out of his control. For a second, he stands there, hands in his pockets, staring at the box that now has the letter. I contemplate going over there, but I think he needs this. Officially opening this line of communication to his brother, opening himself up after being hurt the way he was—that's hard. So, I give him the space and know he'll come back to me shortly.

Isaiah tips his head to the sky before turning around. And when he does, there is nothing but devoted attention to me. The corner of my lips turn up as I take him in. Starting with the ink on his legs, covering one almost completely and dotted around the other, my heart beat picks up as I take it in. It never gets old, looking at tattoos on his thighs and how they disappear into his shorts. His sweatshirt covers the rest aside from his hands, but I know exactly what lines each arm.

He approaches, hands landing on my waist, heat spreading in response. I reach up, fixing the edge of the beanie that covers curls before threading my fingers behind his neck.

"Ready for the fun stuff now?"

"I am if you are."

Isaiah pats my butt. The low simmering heat turns into a steady pulse that only worsens when his lips brush the shell of my ear. "Let's go, superstar."

I hum in displeasure when he lets go of me, dragging him back for a searing kiss. "Greedy," he murmurs against my lips. His hand splays dangerously along the band of my leggings.

"You made me this way."

He chuckles before handing me my crutches and opening my door for me. "I like you this way."

"Obsessed with you?"

"Exactly."

Shaking my head, I climb into the car. Isaiah bends down, hands on the frame of the door. Everything about the move is unfairly hot; I don't know how to describe it. It's ridiculous that he exists, and that's enough for me to melt.

"The feeling is mutual, Matthews."

Just like that, my heart flutters into oblivion. And kissing him feels like landing among the stars.

The loud buzzing sound greets us as soon as Isaiah opens the door. Artwork is plastered on every surface of the bright, airy space, and colorful couches and chairs line the waiting room.

Almost immediately, the tattoo artist, Theo, greets us. He's only slightly less tattooed than Isaiah is—at least from what I can see—but still, dark ink covers most of his brown skin. Even standing next to Isaiah, I admit this is a very pretty man—not as pretty as Isaiah, but a very pretty man.

He reaches out his hand to shake Isaiah's. "What's up, man? How are you doing?"

"Good, good. Thanks for getting us in today."

"‘Course. Nice to meet you. Aurora, right?" Theo asks, stretching his hand out. I balance on the crutches and shake his hand.

"That's me. Nice to meet you."

He grins at me and motions for us to follow. Isaiah walks slightly behind me, as he often does since getting the crutches. Theo runs us through the process—or me, since Isaiah's seen him once since moving here. We sign all the necessary forms, and the process goes quickly.

Isaiah scoots his chair closer, hands on both my thighs. "You excited?"

"To memorialize your existence on my body forever?

He snorts, caught off guard. "Yes."

"Yes," I say, grinning. And I am. I have a few small ones, mostly in places no one sees, like behind my ear and on my ribs, but these are going on my arm. Really, I'm just copying him. Getting each of our birthdays on my forearm and the number seventeen on my wrist. The other ones I'm getting are the name of his poetry book below the bend of my elbow and two puzzle pieces on the back of my arm.

Eventually, I'll get his initials, but I have a plan for those.

Maybe it's dumb. Some people will undoubtedly think it is, but I know that that's not a concern for us. For me. No part of me thinks we don't make it through the rest of our days without each other.

"You're still not going to tell me?" I pout when he shrugs.

"You'll see soon enough."

"What if it's something awful? Like my face?"

"I love your face," he says, laughing, both hands reaching up to cup my cheeks. "But I would never do that."

I hum but drop it. Theo returns and leads us back to his station.

"Who's going first?"

Isaiah volunteers and moves toward Theo to go over sizing and the stencils. Sitting back, I take in the view. Two beautiful tattooed men, one of whom is coming home with me. Sneakily, or not so sneakily at all, I send a picture to the group chat.

Maazina: Who is that?

Sylvia: Her boyfriend, duh.

Vivian: Sylvia…

Maazina: Not him. The other one.

Me: Your new crush?

Maazina: Kian's got some heavy competition. Any chance you'll send me your exact location?

Me: No.

I laugh to myself when she sends a sad emoji back and turn my eyes to the man in front of me. Theo is finishing up the stencils and stands back to check their placement.

"Let me see."

Isaiah closes the short distance between us, and I spot the stencils immediately. The first is on an empty space on his right arm. And it's a cute looking octopus, like an animated style, filling the empty space. My chest aches at the sight of it. When I look up, he's fighting a smile, and I wait for him to show me the second one. Isaiah holds out both of his hands, which previously, both knuckles were bare. Now, they are not.

My name is spelled out over his fingers, Rora Jade , along with line work stenciled on each of his thumbs. In my chest, my heart stops.

"You can't."

Isaiah crouches down so he has to look up at me. "I am."

"Isaiah."

"Aurora," he mocks, amusement clear in his eyes.

"What if—"

"What if nothing. This was always in the plan. I just figured I would do it with you here." Simple. Nonchalant. This…part of it is insane, and part of me absolutely fucking loves it. "You aren't going anywhere without me. Where you go, I follow. We are in this life together. It's as simple as that. And the whole world may as well know it." His voice is loud enough for only me to hear, and every word is a shot to the heart.

Every time I think I've hit the floor on how far in love I can fall, he drags me even further in.

Pressure builds behind my eyes and around my heart, squeezing so tight it might burst. Somehow, I hold it together and settle for kissing him on the cheek. He holds me close and whispers in my ear, "I expect an onslaught of kisses later."

"You expect?"

He squeezes my wrist. "I want to be covered in them."

My heart flutters, and I nod, heat flooding my cheeks. Isaiah kisses my forehead as he stands, heading over to Theo.

"You doing alright over there?" Theo asks, a smirk on this face. He and Isaiah partake in a simple handshake.

I narrow my eyes. "You were in on this?"

He shrugs. "I read his book. He told me the story." Theo pulls on tattoo gloves, an amused smile remaining on his face. "I got invested."

Isaiah shakes his head with a laugh as he gets comfortable. There's a glint in his eyes—cocky or confident or both, who cares. I like it.

I lean back in the chair, eyes never leaving Isaiah. "Can't say I blame you. It's quite a story."

At that, Isaiah grins big and wide, bright and full and warm. That man, my man, loves me more than I ever thought someone could. It's funny watching the tattoo gun get pressed against his skin. I remember viscerally how I felt seeing him for the first time with ink covering his skin and being jealous of it. Feeling empty and lost at him showing up physically different than he was when he left. I thought the years lost would never be found. That nothing could've been done to reconcile them. But my God, haven't we? We changed, sure, but not to the extent I'd believed. Not in ways where we couldn't relearn those changes, adjust to them, and in the ways that matter, we are the same. At least to each other.

My soul recognizes his. As his does mine. Two halves of one whole.

From thinking I would have to spend the rest of my life without him just months ago, to knowing that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him is something out of a fairytale.

Maybe it's magic. Maybe it's just how the tables turn, but either way, I like our story.

And I wouldn't change a thing.