by E M Lindsey
Basil scowled at her. ‘Since when do you not like tattoos?’
‘I love them.’ She rolled onto her side, lifting her shirt so he could get an eye-full of her songbirds which bore a ribbon with their parents’ names. She dropped her clothes and settled back in. ‘You don’t have any.’
‘Need to start somewhere, right?’ he challenged.
‘You just want to touch dicks with him,’ she said, waving her hand dismissively.
Basil’s entire body erupted with a blush so hot he was almost dizzy with it. ‘I’m helping him with sign, and he’s giving me a tattoo. There’s nothing sexual.’
‘Yet,’ she signed, spelling the word slow and pointed. ‘You’ll seal the deal with some good old fashion fucking, and I’m happy for you. I wish things hadn’t been so ugly with Jay, but I think Derek is a great guy. And he’s so hot.’
Basil rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t exactly argue with the latter part of her statement. He was a good guy, and he was so hot. More than. There was a beauty about him—something maybe a little vulnerable like his beauty had been part of why life was so shitty for him before now. But he didn’t want to read too much into it. Derek deserved to be discovered properly and truthfully, and Basil wanted nothing more than to dive in and start learning him.
‘When do you start?’
‘Tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘For sign. Saturday for tattoo.’ He dropped his hands, then let his right palm fall to his left forearm and he stared down at the blank skin there. By the end of Saturday afternoon, there would be something there—permanent and bright, and there would be no taking it back. He wanted it though, wanted to see the evidence of someone like Derek on his skin.
His thoughts were interrupted by the lights flashing, and he frowned over at her. ‘Are you expecting anyone?’
Amaranth shook her head. ‘No. It’s probably just soul-solicitors. You want me to get it?’
He grinned at her. ‘Nah. They always walk away faster when they realize I don’t speak.’ Pushing himself up, he walked to the door and flung it open, preparing a flurry of ASL in hands too fast for anyone but the totally fluent to understand.
Instead of people asking for donations, or to test their water, or to sign them up for their church service, Jay stood there looking contrite and hesitant. His hand raised, hesitated, then signed a simple, ‘Hello.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Basil demanded. He figured his total ghosting of the guy had sent the message well enough, but apparently not.
Gnawing on his bottom lip, he fidgeted a moment before he answered. ‘I wanted to apologize. I should have before. I should have texted or emailed you, but I wanted to say it in person. I was being really harsh and judgmental without considering they might have been your friends.’
Basil clung to his frustration and anger, because he didn’t want to forgive him. He didn’t want Jay to pave the way for some sort of reconciliation. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’
‘Yes,’ Jay signed. ‘You’re a great guy and I liked you a lot, and I’d like the chance to maybe start over. It had been a rough week for me, and I wasn’t at my best.’
Wasn’t there some saying, he thought to himself, about handling someone at their worst to deserve their best? Jay’s worst wasn’t as bad as Chad’s had been, but all the same, he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue on with some guy whose default was judgmental asshole. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I understand,’ Jay offered. ‘Just…think about it and text me? I’d like the chance to prove I’m not actually a bad guy. It was just a bad night.’
Basil could give him that, sure. He wasn’t the kind of guy who had unreasonable expectations. He was surly and difficult to get along with even on his good days, but something was rubbing him the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that for most of the night, Jay had centered the conversation totally around himself. And maybe it was the fact that his apology had done the same thing.
‘I’ll let you know,’ he finally replied.
Jay didn’t look overly enthusiastic about the dismissal, but he didn’t argue either. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you, but please just know I can show you a different side to me.’
Basil just nodded, then shut the door before he had a chance to go on. When he went back to the living room, Amaranth turned the TV off to give him her full attention. ‘Who was that?’
‘Jay,’ Basil told her, sinking back into his chair with a sigh. ‘He came to apologize for the bad date and asked me to give him another chance.’
Her eyebrows flew up. ‘What did you say?’
‘That I’d think about it,’ he told her. ‘I don’t really know if I should. He’s self-absorbed. He spent the whole night talking about himself when he wasn’t judging me for living here or judging the guys from the tattoo shop and calling them trashy. I’m not sure that’s someone I want to date.’
‘Did he say why he was such an asshole?’
Basil laughed. ‘Yeah, he said it was a bad night. And I guess? But I can’t imagine having a day so bad I start talking like that. And then to claim he didn’t mean it? Bullshit.’
‘Maybe,’ she replied, her expression careful. ‘Maybe he really was just having a shit time.’
Basil bit his lip. ‘Maybe,’ he conceded, but he wasn’t entirely sure he believed him.
When Derek walked into the shop Saturday morning, he was humming with nerves. He’d already had his first coffee meet-up with Basil where they’d gone over the basics of what he knew, and they’d even managed a simple conversation by the end of the night. It might have consisted solely of talking about family members and what he was studying at the university, but it was still progress. And he got to see that look on Basil’s face—the quiet smile filled with something a little deeper than pride—that made him want to do anything to keep it there.
Today, he would start Basil’s piece. They’d switched to paper to discuss it, and Basil had carefully explained, using more written words than he usually did, the meaning behind the flower. Was it coincidence or irony that one of the most captivating blossoms Derek had ever seen was something Basil’s mother had used to show her son that he was special? He could never figure those two words out, but what he did know was that it was important. That it meant something for him to get it right.
Basil had decided he wanted an entire forearm piece—more than just the flower, but he wanted Derek to design it, to come up with something that spoke to them both. It was a lot of pressure—and as an artist, it was his dream job. Not only to have the freedom, but the trust of the person in front of him to get it right.
His heart had been beating in his throat all morning, and his nerves took the place of his need for coffee. He was running on pure adrenaline as he stepped in through the back door and walked through to the main lobby, and he was ready to get settled in when he saw a familiar face in his brother’s stall.
Derek felt a small pang of betrayal when his eyes locked with Niko’s. The guy was leaning on Sage’s bench, and the two of them were bent over his ankle, discussing what looked like a very old, faded lion’s head right near his calf.
The silence and tension were almost tangible between them, then Niko cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. “Derek. Hey.”
Derek pursed his lips, looked over at his brother, but he didn’t see guilt, only a little awkward hesitation. “Hey,” he finally said.
“I swear I didn’t know you were coming in,” Niko rushed to explain. “I sort of surprised Sage—I figured if it was early enough, I’d miss you, and it wouldn’t be weird.”
“It’s fine,” Derek said a little tensely. He glanced at the clock and felt profound gratitude that Basil wasn’t coming in for another couple of hours. He turned his back away from Sage and pulled out his sketch pad. He’d been working on a few design ideas, but Basil was set on the entire thing being drawn fresh, on his skin. Derek had only done a couple of those, and only on Sage and Mat. He wanted to have at least some reference, but he realize
d the idea wouldn’t come to life—not fully—until his machine was buzzing in his hands and the image was pouring out through the ink.
Just as he was getting lost in his thoughts, a throat cleared and he glanced over his shoulder to see Niko there, hands fidgeting. “Look,” he said slowly, “I understand why you don’t want to talk to me again. I don’t blame you. I was a real shithead, and I think the worst part was, I didn’t realize why until after you left.”
With a tiny sigh, Derek dropped his pencil on the table and spun his stool around. He considered just telling the guy to fuck off, but in truth, Niko was a good person and Sage had been right about one thing—he deserved the chance to grow past shitty assumptions. “Not one single person in this shop lives life without some sort of accommodation. We got wheelchair users, amputees, brain injuries, PTSD.”
Niko blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know.”
“I get that. You don’t know us. And I get it, because working here, it’s easy to forget. Talking to these people every day, you don’t really think about it. Everyone’s chill and we’re family, man. We don’t let those things define each other. But some nights, we can’t help it. Like when I have a panic attack which fucks me up for days. When I can’t let anyone touch me because it sends me to a dark place. Or like when my buddy Sam is fighting the system because the government suits think a man with tattoos and a wheelchair can’t properly care for a kid. Like when my boss and the only man who’s ever treated me like a real son asks us all to learn his daughter’s language because she deserves the world to bend to her, and not the other way around. And it don’t matter if she’s the only one, you know? She still deserves it.”
He was breathing slightly heavy after that, carefully watching Niko’s expression as the man took it all in. He wasn’t sure what to expect, either. He didn’t think he’d deal too well if someone read him to filth without any sort of pull back or remorse, but Niko simply nodded and took a step back.
“I know. I knew it after you walked off and didn’t come back. I realized the kind of asshole I was because I had been lucky enough in life I never had to consider shit like that before, and I’m sorry.” He dragged a hand through his hair and glanced back, but Derek could see Sage had already vacated the main floor. When Niko looked back, his eyes were droopy and a little sad. “We had such a good time, and I fucked it up, and I’ll never stop being sorry for it.”
Derek felt a small pang in his chest. “It’s not okay, but it’s not something I plan to hold a grudge over.”
Niko’s lips twitched at the corners, like maybe he wanted to smile, though he didn’t let himself. “Would you,” he started, then stopped and huffed a breath, his eyes darting away for a second. “A drink? Would you go for a drink with me? Let me try again? Your brother was right about you—I like you and we could be good together. Even if it’s just as friends.”
Derek felt himself torn directly down the middle. Making headway with Basil felt like a tiny triumph, but he had no promise there would ever be more. And frankly, he didn’t exactly get along with most people, so it seemed a little reckless to let an opportunity like this pass him by. There was every chance that in the near future, his feelings for Basil would cool and he’d be ready to meet someone else.
That someone else might be standing right there in front of him.
“Yeah I…as friends. For now,” he clarified.
Niko’s face stilled, then he let himself grin, wide and sunny, eyes lit up with it. “Can I text you?”
“Yeah,” Derek said with a nod, then rolled back to his desk and turned around to face his table. “You can text me.”
Niko was long gone before Basil arrived for his session. Derek could feel the nerves on him, see it in the slight tremble of his fingers as he laid back in the chair and rested his arm on the cushioned side.
Derek had his gloves on, and he quickly pulled out his bottles of alcohol, witch hazel, and his tube of ointment. He watched Basil out of the corner of his eye as he dabbed some of the ointment on the little cups, then carefully filled them all with his colors. It would be simple today, he wanted outline and shading on the bloom, and a little shadow around it. And then…well, he wasn’t sure. He’d wait for Basil’s skin to speak to him, but he knew there would be more. Basil’s skin was singing for it.
When he finished up, he switched his gloves and grabbed his razor and bottle of alcohol. Before he began, he caught Basil’s eye and signed, ‘Nervous?’
Basil’s face twitched a little, then he let out a breathy laugh and held his hand out flat, see-sawing it back and forth.
‘Pain?’ he signed, trying desperately to recall the signs he’d practiced so diligently in order to communicate it all effectively with him. ‘You hate pain?’
Basil licked his lips, then signed, ‘New,’ mouthing the word along so Derek could be sure what he was saying.
‘If you want to stop, tap me,’ Derek told him, then gave his left arm a pat. ‘We will go slow, we can take breaks.’
Basil’s mouth eased into a smile, and he reached for the little notepad he’d brought with him. You practice all signs for today?
Derek flushed and quickly wrote back, Is it obvious?
Basil shook his head, but Derek knew it didn’t mean no. He was wearing a fond grin and his eyes were soft, like he might have even found it endearing. Ready to begin, ready to break the intensity between them, he carefully took Basil’s arm in his hand, sprayed it with the alcohol, and removed as much of the hair as he could. Tossing the razor in the bin, he swiped Basil’s arm down, then reached for his pen. He wasn’t going to do everything, but he was going to give himself a place to start. The pedals came to life in red ink as he sketched, just the bare outlines, the image more in his head than anywhere else. He could see it forming, taking shape, becoming something more beautiful and alive than the rough lines on Basil’s skin now. When he was finished, he stared at just how much of Basil’s arm it took up, and it looked right. Glancing up, he saw Basil’s gaze fixed on his arm, and it stayed there for a while. When he finally looked up, Derek nodded to him, and Basil’s lips stretched into a tight smile.
Derek had the machine prepped and ready, fresh gloves on, his fingers itching to take up his machine and get to work.
He loved this part of the job more than anything, that first line drawn on fresh skin, watching the ink imbed itself into a person as a permanent symbol of his work. And with Basil, it felt deeper, it felt more important. He breathed out, then signed, ‘Ready?’
Basil’s own breath was a little shaky, but he shifted downward in the chair to get more comfortable, then nodded and motioned with his free hand for Derek to start.
Closing his eyes for a moment, just to ready himself, he switched on the machine and it whirred to life in his hand. Normally his first-time clients jumped a little at the sound, but he knew Basil wouldn’t react until he could feel it. He wondered what that would be like, to not know the impact of the first line until it hit your skin. He thought maybe it would be better like that, without the moment of overwhelming anticipation had by the loud buzz just before the needle sank in for the first time.
He smiled at Basil, an attempt to reassure him as he dipped the needle into the ink. He watched it drip down onto the table, then carefully reached over and laid his free hand over Basil’s. Their eyes met, and he tried his best to convey a message. I’ll take care of you, it will hurt, but it will be worth it. You’re safe with me.
Basil blinked after a moment, and he seemed to acknowledge it. His arm didn’t tense, so Derek brought the needle down and began.
Basil didn’t quite know how to describe the pain, except that it was startling and annoying, but not the agony he anticipated when he considered needles pulsing ink into his skin. The first touch jolted him, and he worried for a second like he’d caused Derek to slip, but the other man merely smiled serenely and met Basil’s eyes to reassure him it was fine.
And then he began to work, and it was possibly the most
mesmerizing thing Basil had ever seen. Derek’s face was rapt with concentration and passion as he made short, clipped lines all around, not like the way he’d looked when he was merely drawing it out. The red lines soon became black. With every swipe of the kitchen paper, pulling away smears of ink, the tattoo started to come to life. The concentrated pain in every drag of the machine kept him consciously aware of what was happening, but he didn’t want to stop. Something about it made him want to keep going forever, for the pain to drag him to some place of euphoria and keep him there.
It was absurd, and maybe it was just his adrenaline talking, but really it didn’t matter. He was still here, and Derek’s free hand pressed to his skin, the glove warm as it kept him grounded like a ballast. Every so often, Derek would look up, their eyes would connect, saying a thousand things between them without voicing, without signing. Then he’d go back to work and lose himself again, and Basil would be helpless to look away.
Finally, when it felt like just short of eternity had passed, Derek stopped the machine. His skin felt numb in some places, stinging in others, and there was an almost visceral relief to have the vibrations go quiet. Derek swiped him down with something wet and a little soothing, then he grabbed some ointment and rubbed it into the skin.
It wasn’t done yet, that much was obvious. It was an outline, just the beginnings of what it would become, but already it was beautiful. He looked back up at Derek who was scribbling on a notepad, then he handed it over. Ten minute break, and if you’re up for it, we can keep going and I can fill and shade.
Basil just nodded, his hand not really up for moving enough to write a reply.
Derek didn’t seem to need one, and he took up the paper again. Do you want some food or drink? One of the guys usually gets dinner around now, and he can bring something.
Basil blinked, then grabbed his phone to tap out, Is it safe to eat during a tattoo?
