Born Losers

12.

December 24
15 Weeks Before
3:19 p.m.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate- oh, bitch!"

Em clamped her lips together and made an incoherent noise deep in her throat, and August, his hand tight around hers, his eyes dancing, fought back a laugh.

"It's okay," he soothed her. "You made it through the first ten seconds. Only an hour more to go."

The look she shot him was pure venom, and he smiled at her winningly and fitted his fingers more securely around hers.

"I'm beginning to see why you'd get tattooed for him," said the artist dryly, wiping off Em's arm and leaning back over, the machine whirring beside him. "You're still sure this is what you want it to say?"

Em laughed despite herself and raised her face to accept August's kiss of encouragement.

"I'm sure," she said.

"Thanks a lot, Danny," August retorted, and Danny, a distant cousin, grinned and bent back over to the crook of Em's elbow.

Insieme said the stenciled words, the barest part of the I already outlined.

Per sempre read the other half, lying on the table next to them and waiting for August.

The whir of the machine was almost hypnotic despite the tiny bursts of pain that it left behind, and Em watched, fascinated. It took less than twenty minutes and he had her done and bandaged with the Saniderm, the skin pink and slightly swollen around the script that she could only see when her arms were open.

"I love it," she said finally, after twisting her head to admire it from every angle. "Merry Christmas, thanks for choosing pain as my present."

"Mine has more letters than yours," August pointed out as they swapped spots, as Em refitted her fingers back into his, and watched Danny swab everything down with disinfectant. "It's going to hurt more, but you don't see me complaining."

"You will," she predicted smugly, and things went on from there.

"Danny," August said three-quarters of an hour later, one arm also now bandaged, the other slung companionably around Em's waist. "You are a true artist. And also please do not tell my mother about this until after Christmas is over."

"I'm not going to that stupid dinner," Danny said in disgust, methodically cleaning his tools and slotting them back into place. "Did you hear what Granny called me Thanksgiving?"

"Beck told me," August said with a grimace. "She's a character, isn't she?"

Danny obviously disagreed, but shook his head and stayed silent.

"Thanks, Danny," Em said. Her arm stung and she was also not looking forward to her mother's reaction, but her face was wreathed in a smile and she kept bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Thanks a lot."

"When you get tired of him," Danny said, cocking his head towards August, "come back and look me up. Together can mean a lot of things, baby girl."

"I will!" she promised, and August elbowed her and, over her twinkle of laughter, called Danny something their grandmother had almost certainly taught him.

Em was still giggling as he escorted her out into the wash of late afternoon sunshine and pulled her against him by the wrists, putting a gentle kiss on her elbow and a longer, better, kiss on her mouth

"My mom is going to kill me," she said gleefully, pulling away from him and looking at her arm again. "Will you give me a nice funeral?"

"It's cute that you think she would leave me alive," he said, and tugged her back, drew her face to his and kissed her again. "Of course if she kills me first, you can always come back here and marry Danny."