Ink

I reached out, cradling a glass furin in my hand. Possibility.

“Yuki-chan, look—” I turned.

I’d lost her to the crowd.

Panic started to rise in my throat. She wasn’t one to abandon me on purpose. Even if she did want alone time with Tanaka, I knew she wouldn’t leave me stranded.

Anyway, it wasn’t like I couldn’t get home safely. Taking trains around Shizuoka wasn’t a big deal anymore. Festivals just weren’t as fun by yourself, and the loneliness stung a little.

I clutched my fingers more tightly around the furin.

“You looking for someone?” the man asked.

“I’m okay,” I said, stepping back into the darkness between the bright tents. I pulled out my keitai, ready to call Yuki, and then stopped with my finger on the button. She’d wanted time with Tanaka anyway. I should just grow up and do something for her for a change, even something little like this.

I slipped my phone back into my bag and pulled the drawstring tight. I watched the water table a little longer and then strolled down the row of tents.

I stared at the different festival games interspersed with the food. Eel scooping, pet bugs, yoyo tsuri balloons on strings floating in the water. I finished my sweet potato, balling up the aluminum with a satisfying scrunch. In the next tent a pool of goldfish darted around, slipping out of the way of the paper paddles dipped into the water to catch them. I watched for a minute as the fish snaked out of the way, their scales shining under the hot, buzzing lamps of the tent. The paper paddles broke and kids shouted in dismay, while the vendor gave a good-natured laugh.

I shuffled closer to the tent as the group of kids left, now just a teen couple left trying to catch a fish. The girl followed a goldfish slowly with the paddle, her movements deliberate and cautious, her giggle sounding when the fish caught on and sped away. She crouched on the ground beside the pool, paddle in one hand and bowl in the other, her red-and-gold yukata crinkling around her zori sandals.

And then I realized I knew this girl.

The pregnant bump of her stomach under the light cotton of the yukata.

And the boy beside her. Tomohiro.

Not kidnapped. Not falling apart. Not dead.

Scooping goldfish with Shiori.

I stepped back. He hadn’t noticed me yet, the two of them laughing as Shiori tried to maneuver a different fish into her bowl.

I knew right away he wasn’t cheating. It had only been two weeks since I’d returned, and he wasn’t like that. Maybe that was the attitude he portrayed at school, but I knew better. I knew he was with Shiori as a friend, supporting her.

But it still bothered me. I felt stupid then, tall and ugly and awkward in my borrowed yukata. Flip-flops on my feet because I couldn’t find zori sandals large enough to fit me.

Maybe Tomohiro wasn’t as dangerous as Jun had led me to believe. He seemed normal enough squatting beside Shiori, eyes following the goldfish, a smile on his face. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt, the usual thick wristband around his right wrist. I could still see faint ink stains streaking up his arms, the scars hidden on the other side, but it was the only trace of what had happened. He looked so…normal.

Maybe staying in Japan had been the wrong choice. Maybe I wasn’t useful to the Kami after all. Maybe they didn’t need me—maybe he didn’t need me.

“Yatta!” Shiori shouted. The fish had slipped from her paddle into the bowl. The vendor smiled and filled a plastic bag with water, ready for the new pet.

“Yatta ne.” Tomohiro grinned, reaching his fingers into the bowl to chase the fish. It swam between his fingertips, the ones that had trailed along my skin, the ones that had tucked my hair behind my ear.

I stepped back and my flip-flop scraped against the street.

Tomohiro and Shiori looked up.

I stared into Tomohiro’s dark eyes. I couldn’t look away, like prey. I felt ridiculous.

Shiori stood up, a hand on her belly. “Oh! It couldn’t be…

Katie-chan? Is that right?” Tomohiro stayed crouched on the ground, unable to move.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

“I thought you returned to America,” Shiori said.

“Canada,” I said. My throat felt sticky and dry.

“Hai,” the vendor said, thrusting the newly bagged goldfish at Shiori.

“Thank you.” She smiled, reaching for the bag. And all this time, Tomohiro and I couldn’t move.

“Katie,” Tomohiro said finally, his voice deep and beautiful and just how I’d waited to hear it. My mind broke.

“Sorry,” I whispered and turned to walk away. I pressed my way through the thick crowd, desperate to get away. I knew I was being stupid. I knew it was nothing between him and Shiori. But it stung, and I had to get away from it.

Behind me, even in the midst of all the festival noise, I was sure I heard Tomohiro call my name, but I kept walking.

I wanted to see him, but not like this. I thought he’d been losing his mind, that he’d been in danger of the ink taking over—what had happened that now he seemed just fine, as though I’d never even existed in his life?

I pushed past the takoyaki stand and the rows of roasted corn, turning down a darker street where shrine-goers rang a bell and carried lanterns. I wove in between them toward the big Abe River bridge. It was late, probably almost time for the fireworks. If I could just find Yuki and Tanaka, maybe I could forget all this had happened.

“Katie!” Tomohiro called out. I kept walking, but I could hear his footsteps in the quiet alleyway, the soles of his shoes clicking as he ran toward me. His fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulled. “Matte!” he said. Wait, like Myu had said to him in the genkan.

I stood for a moment, staring at the swaying lanterns as the small group of shrine pilgrims walked past. He held my wrist gingerly, and I knew I could shrug him away if I wanted to.

“Why?” he panted. “Why are you here? In Japan?”

“Good to see you, too,” I said.

“Hey, that’s not—”

“Hey nothing!” I turned to face him. “You’ve had your keitai off for two weeks! I thought you were taken by the Yakuza or the Kami or something, and you’re just scooping goldfish with Shiori?”

“Shiori showed up at my house crying. I’m just trying to be a friend. It’s nothing!”

“I know.” This time I did pull my wrist out from under his fingers. “I know that already.” I walked toward a nearby bench and sat down. Tomohiro followed and crouched in front of me.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, the wristband snagging on the strands.

“How the hell didn’t I know? The ink didn’t—it didn’t react at all.”

“I chose to stay,” I said. “I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t get on the plane.”

Tomo’s eyes turned dark. He sat still for a minute, then buried his head in his hands.

“Shit, Katie!”

“It’s not your choice!” I said. “I need to stay. You’re not okay by yourself. You’re going to need help—my help. I’m linked to the Kami, remember?”

“What are you going to do if the Yakuza get involved again?”

“Look, I thought about it, okay? But there are people I care about here, Tomo. Diane, Yuki… Do you even