Under Summer Sky • Zarry

6. Tattoos

I was both a bit nervous and also fairly excited about this as Zayn parked his sick and incredibly expensive Ferrari into one of their empty garages after literally speeding up the Chianti Mountains.

I slowly crept behind Zayn through the dark afterward and we strolled up to the front door of his house. This certainly wasn't how I expected my first tattoo to go down and it dawned on me that I was putting my faith in some unlicensed, side gig artist with a needle.

But it just so happened to be Zayn, so it was automatically already worth it.

All the lights were off in every room of their massive house and an eerily quiet surrounded us. Swiftly, I continued to follow Zayn and together we shuffled up the wooden stairs to the left of the kitchen and across from the formal living room. At the top of the staircase sat a long, dark hallway that extended from one wing of their house to the other, making an overhang bridge above the open floor plan below. Gio's master bedroom was a couple of doors down to the right and it appeared as though he was already in bed.

There was not one sound being made in the dark of the night.

Zayn made a sharp left at the top of the stairs after pausing briefly to listen, and we slowly ventured to the end of the hallway next, passing by several guest bedrooms until we reached the final door on the left, which was Zayn's bedroom. In all the times I had ever gone to the Lombardi's during the summer, I think I had only seen his room maybe once or twice and I couldn't remember it in any detail other than there being a big television and a lot of video games.

But when I stepped into Zayn's room now, five years later, it was like a world of his own. And it was obviously different because I would have remembered it if his room looked like that back then.

Zayn's bedroom was like entering some other dimension. First of all, it was the size of the entire second floor of my townhouse back in London, and the walls were painted this electric, neon green color with one matte black accent wall. The walls themselves were also littered with so many of these almost graffiti-like abstract paintings everywhere and I could tell a lot of them were of his own creation.

In addition to the artwork he also had violet silk and ethnic beaded curtains, several framed posters of super heroes like Batman and The Hulk, a vintage Night of the Living dead poster, The Beatles' Abbey Road, a giant print of Carl Sagan, and what seemed like dozens and dozens of records.

I continued to scan his room as I walked in, noting a red electric Fender and two acoustic guitars sitting in stands within the corner next to a computer on a large iron desk and what looked like music recording equipment scattered around. There were also long, black shelves on the wall above it that held a myriad of whimsical, intricate looking sculptures that Zayn must have also made, as well as a few candles, many books and some magazines.

Zayn slunk in and took his boots off, leaving them on a black shag rug carpet in front of his bed before making his way toward the walk in closet at the far corner and I promptly did the same with my chelsea boots, deciding to take a seat on the edge of his king sized bed, which had a black down comforter and what looked like violet colored silk sheets to match the curtains.

"Holy shit," I muttered aloud, suddenly looking up just then and noticed that his ceiling was entirely painted to resembled the solar system.

Zayn spoke back to me from in the closet where he was rummaging around. "What?"

I then glanced over at his bed side table where sat an orange and pink lava lamp with an orange bean bag chair in the corner; above it was another shelf on the wall that was filled with ribbons and trophies: Outstanding academic achievement. Most promising young visual artist.