Page 17 of Patchwork
I found my phone in my car after dropping Hero off at work this morning. There were a few texts and missed calls, all of which I cleared the notifications for without looking at them. Then, I spent the rest of the morning hanging out at Hero’s house before going to the small downtown area of Fall Crosse to wander around and enjoy the weather a little.
At four o’clock on the dot I pull into the same parking spot as this morning, right in front of Ink Slingers. A smile plays on my lips as I stuff my keys into the tight pocket of my jeansand jog for the door. Sadly, I don’t get the same welcome as I did last night with Hero waiting to sweep me into his arms and kiss me stupid. It weirdly feels like home though, stepping into the bustling tattoo shop, several tattoo machines buzzing and conversation creating a general din over the music. I spot Hero in his usual spot, cleaning up his station to get ready for me. I pause just inside the door for a minute to admire the view of him working.
His t-shirt stretches over the broad expanse of his shoulders and his jeans hug his ass in a way that should be illegal. More than that though, I can’t stop watching the confidence in every movement he makes, meticulously setting out equipment and moving around his space with the grace of someone who’s memorized every step.
“Onyx, hey, man.” Arrow is the first to notice me, giving me a nod in greeting before returning his attention to the tattoo he’s working on.
“Hey,” I call back, my eyes still fixed on Hero as he spins around at the sound of my name.
“Is it four already?” He rakes his fingers through his hair, his lips tugging into a smile.
A few feet away, Jag snorts a laugh. “It’s so easy to lose track of time when you’re only checking the clock every five minutes all day.”
Hero holds his middle finger up in Jag’s direction and he pretends to catch it like a blown kiss and mimes tucking it into his pocket.
“Come on up.” Hero waves me over.
Instead of using the stairs, I stride across the shop and heave myself up over the railing to reach him. I pull my shirt off and settle into the chair while he grabs his sketch pad and taps on it for a second before turning the screen in my direction.
“How do you like this lettering?” he asks.
I study it for a second, then nod. “Looks awesome. Let’s do this.”
Over the last four years, Hero has given me dozens of tattoos. It’s the only thing we’ve done together more than fucking, and that’s only because he can tattoo me for hours after we’re wrung out on orgasms. The smell of the familiar lavender antiseptic tickles my nose and immediately sounds like sex and the rhythmic buzz of a tattoo needle. It’s happiness, the color yellow, and Sundays, and it’s my second favorite smell in the world after whatever lovely, homey brown smell lives on Hero’s skin. I’ve only been tattooed at the shop a handful of times, but I love the light, chaotic energy here, and I take it all in while he finishes prepping for me.
“Is that same song just playing on a loop?” I ask as Hero whips out a cheap disposable razor to clear the spot along my lower belly.
“Don’t start, we’ve already argued about it all morning,” he says in a low voice with a warm chuckle.
“Got it, not starting.” I mime zipping my lips.
Hero cleans off the spot, goose bumps rising on my skin from the chill of the sanitary wipes, then lays the transfer paper and carefully peels it off.
Tex wanders over, uses his thumb to push his cowboy hat up another inch, and nods in approval.
“That’s going to look awesome.”
“Everything Hero inks on me looks badass.” I fold my arms under my head so I won’t be tempted to reach out and brush his hair out of his face or touch him while he’s working.
Did he tell his friends about us when he got to work? I wish I’d actually asked this morning what he planned to tell them. That we’re just fucking around? That we’re seeing each other? That we’ve been falling in love one fleeting encounter at a time for years and that I’m here because the life I thought Iwanted feels empty? That the only time I’m happy is when we’re together? I guess he probably didn’t tell them that last one since I haven’t told him… But maybe his own version of that? Is he feeling any of what I am, or am I just going to make an ass out of myself when I finally get around to telling him all those things?
“Ready?” he asks, just like he always does, with the needle hovering over my skin.
“Ready.”
I let out a slow breath so I won’t accidentally flinch when the needle touches my skin, and I sink into the familiar feeling of the first few strokes. The bite of the tattoo needle has its own sound, of course, and no, it’s not just the steady buzz of the machine. It’s a mixture of the squinky metallic sound and a warmwhoosh, with the undertone of a plucky, excitable melody.
“Do you guys have any plans tonight?” Arrow asks.
Hero pauses the needle strokes to meet my eye questioningly.
“I was thinking we might head to Milwaukee to find something fun to do,” he says.
My eyebrows pull together, and I chuckle. “Why would we go all the way to Milwaukee?”
“All the way” is probably a bit of hyperbole considering it’s barely over half an hour away, but I feel like I’m already sinking into my old Fall Crosse mindset that there’s no reason to “go to the city” when there’s plenty to do around here.
“Yeah, why go all the way to Milwaukee where you’ll just pay twice as much for a drink as you will at Wooley’s and the bar there won’t even have darts?” Tex says.
