My last tattoo covers the inside of my right wrist. And I guess if I wanted to try to besubtleabout what the crescent moon and cherry blossoms are covering, I would’ve done something else, like used makeup. But it is what it is, and while sometimes the compliments I get sound unsure, I’m not ashamed of it. At least, not further than having covered up the thin, pale scars that shine like silver in the right light. Absently, I rub the crescent moon that looks like it’s dripping black ink down my arm. It’s not my favorite tattoo, but it was my first.
Unfortunately, I still have no idea what Iwant. My flower and animal theme is pretty obvious, except for the moon, and I think I’ll probably stick with that. The only thing Idoknow is that I want the tattoo on the back of my neck, or between my shoulder blades, depending on the size. I want…
I blink and look up from my phone, having been absently scrolling through tattoo inspiration, and narrow my eyes at…
Well, I don’t know what has the hair on my arms standing up, actually. I twist to look behind me, but no one’s talking to me, looking at me, or trying to get my attention. I don’tknowanyone here, either.
Maybe I’m just getting paranoid.
But I get up anyway, still looking around, and jam my phone in my hoodie pocket along with my tea. I take a step, and that’s when my eyes fall on a dark-haired man, who’s also decidedlynotlooking at me, and nowI’mthe one being a creep.
He’s gorgeous. It’s not just his physical appearance that catches my eye, though. It’s the confidence that leaks out of every part of him as he laughs at something another older man says to him.
When he turns to look at me, I feel a jolt in my stomach because,holy fuck; I look like some kind of stalker. That’s not cool of me.
But he just looks me over with dark eyes that are almost as dark as his black hair and smirks like he isn’t upset or surprised by the attention I’m giving him. He tilts his head at me and turns away, back to the conversation he’s having, like some weird girl dressed in all blackisn’tstaring at him from twenty feet away.
Yeah, I totally need tostopdoing it. I blink, finally tearing my gaze away, and find that most of my anxiety over being watched is gone. Evaporated, like it’s being blown away by looking at some guy who has never met me and who I certainly don’t plan on talking to.
It’s time to go. Before I do something like trip over myself or the bench or fall in the fountain and embarrass myself thoroughly. Him thinking I’m some kind of creepy stalker is bad enough. Him thinking I’m a clumsy, creepy stalker, which I am, would be so much worse.
My long strides take me away from the square quickly, and I leave through a different exit than I came in, letting my steps slow when I see a familiar neon sign above one of the smaller buildings.
Inkubus.
I hadn’t realized the tattoo shop washere,of all places. No wonder they’re fully booked all the time. I’m sure that anyone who walks by stops in for a small, dainty wrist tattoo. Or judging by the art in their windows for something bigger and more intricate.
I don’t have the guts to get something that would take over an entire body part, but I stand still in the pinkish-red light from the swirling, cursive letters and let my eyes travel over the designs in the darkened windows. Even the door is dark, and I can’t see anything other than figures moving around inside.
Three more days, though, and Iwillget to see what’s inside.
I just really need to figure out some kind of design by then.
Twenty feet away, I stop, turning to glance back at the shop, and see the black-haired man from the fountain opening the door. He pauses and turns to give me another quick grin, this time accompanied by a wink, before slipping inside and letting the door close behind him.
I can’t do anything but feel awkward that he’s caught me looking at himagain.