Word Challenge - Tattoo
It was a tiny little hole in the wall.
He had heard about it through his cousin, after a conversation about one of their friends. It was a clean place, with standards, and a certain habit of overlooking major details.
He had walked passed it by chance that morning. With its cream colored stone and green door, it was hardly what he expected. And the inside certainly added to that. A soft sage green. Plush brown couches. Classical music tumbling out from hidden speakers. Definitely not what he was expecting.
Maybe it was because of this that when the lady behind the counter asked if he needed anything, he nodded.
It took a total of twenty minutes before he sat in the chair, straining to see a needle just beyond his vision. And when it made contact, he could not resist the vicious snarl that found a home on his face. Concern was expressed and promptly shut down as he commanded the kind lady to finish. It was not long before the angry red mark was taped up and his bill was paid.
Dinner that night was long and awkward at best. His siblings were entirely unsure how to react. He had given no explanation, simply informing them that he was content. He was not concerned with how others viewed the new, intentional blemish. They talked enough about the unusual shade of red his hair was and the permanent dark rings around his eyes. What was one more feature, really?
The week before school started back up, he had received a phone call from a familiar voice, all but demanding he haul his ass out of bed at 2 in the morning to meet him for coffee at the diner.
And so that’s where he was. Sitting in the last booth on the left, cradling his mug in one hand, the other coming up to absently trace the lines above his eye. Waiting. Waiting on the stupid blond that was half an hour late, per usual, who happened to be strutting through the door just then. He hadn’t noticed until his hand was pulled away and calloused fingers replaced his upon the scar. He had not expected the almost instant tears brimming in blue eyes, though the death hug that followed was standard with the blond. Said blond then took his seat, demanding to know everything, his hand occasionally reaching through the space between them to brush loose strands away from the tattoo.
He had heard about it through his cousin, after a conversation about one of their friends. It was a clean place, with standards, and a certain habit of overlooking major details.
He had walked passed it by chance that morning. With its cream colored stone and green door, it was hardly what he expected. And the inside certainly added to that. A soft sage green. Plush brown couches. Classical music tumbling out from hidden speakers. Definitely not what he was expecting.
Maybe it was because of this that when the lady behind the counter asked if he needed anything, he nodded.
It took a total of twenty minutes before he sat in the chair, straining to see a needle just beyond his vision. And when it made contact, he could not resist the vicious snarl that found a home on his face. Concern was expressed and promptly shut down as he commanded the kind lady to finish. It was not long before the angry red mark was taped up and his bill was paid.
Dinner that night was long and awkward at best. His siblings were entirely unsure how to react. He had given no explanation, simply informing them that he was content. He was not concerned with how others viewed the new, intentional blemish. They talked enough about the unusual shade of red his hair was and the permanent dark rings around his eyes. What was one more feature, really?
The week before school started back up, he had received a phone call from a familiar voice, all but demanding he haul his ass out of bed at 2 in the morning to meet him for coffee at the diner.
And so that’s where he was. Sitting in the last booth on the left, cradling his mug in one hand, the other coming up to absently trace the lines above his eye. Waiting. Waiting on the stupid blond that was half an hour late, per usual, who happened to be strutting through the door just then. He hadn’t noticed until his hand was pulled away and calloused fingers replaced his upon the scar. He had not expected the almost instant tears brimming in blue eyes, though the death hug that followed was standard with the blond. Said blond then took his seat, demanding to know everything, his hand occasionally reaching through the space between them to brush loose strands away from the tattoo.