Angel's ink

Chapter six

      The door to the studio opens and closes with a quick ringing, announcing a customer walking in. I put my earphones out and leave my station I was just disinfecting to greet them.

"Are you my 10:30?" I ask while before turning on my chair.

"10:30 it is," a familiar voice answers, making me look up immediately.

My gaze locks with Nate's and leaves me shocked a bit. I didn't know my client was him. I certainly didn't recognize his voice through the phone when he was calling a week ago.

"Oh, you," I breathe out and invite him over to my station.

"Disappointed much?"

I quickly eye him before he sits on the bed for clients. He's in all black, everything with a motorcycle jacket still on, smelling like gasoline and cigarettes.

"No, I just didn't expect you,"

I print the design he picked - a moth I drew a few months ago and put the stencil on him. He asks me if my hair is dry.

"It's been two days, come on," I roll my eyes and lean back on my chair. Bringing back memories from the party is the last thing I want.

"I hope you didn't have a concussion, wouldn't want any shaky lines-"

"Nate, be quiet and let me work," I tell him and start tattooing. He doesn't even flinch the moment the needle breaks through his skin.

He wanted it on his knee at first, but after trying it on his chest, we decided it was a way to go, so now I'm leaned over him. His shirt is off, a view I never though I'd get to see, but here I am. Best thing about being a tattoo artist, they get so vulnerable under my hands. Even the toughest ones.

His Addam's apple bulges every now and then when I'm too close to the collar bones, but other than that, he's very brave. So was Tobias.

"So how come you were at the party?" I ask him when the silence gets too loud.

He doesn't answer, his eyes keep looking up at the ceiling, concentrated.

"Nate?"

"Am I allowed to speak, now?"

I sigh, "yes, you are,"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know Tyler," I mutter and do a line of wings.

"Why do you think I don't know Tyler?"

"He's younger than you," I shrug my shoulders.

"It's a small town," he answers and silently hisses in pain when I go over his collarbone.

"Hmm,"

I quickly go through his torso to look at a small tattoo of a date. It's a bit faded now, probably a few years old.

"Sorry, did you want me to say I went there just  for you?"

"Looks like you did,"

"Well, I didn't,"

"Well, I think you're full of shit," I click my tongue, feeling his gaze on me.

He chuckles, but remains silent for long minutes after. I don't mind the silence, it's not the uncomfortable one anyway. I can focus on my work, because that's what matters and-