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taylorroger-s · 4 years

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good company [1] // billy/four x tattooartist!reader

a/n so this came as an invasive thought one random night. might be caused by my recent addiction to tattoo videos. also i wanted to read something like this but sadly, i had to write it. and i think it turned out pretty good! plus i wanted to draw this out since i got hit by a wave of nine million ideas and it’s pointless to smush everything together when I can write it all out. and thus, this mini series was born. hope y’all enjoy!!! (me writing this: god i wish that were me)

summary: you are brand new to the tattooing world; young, scrappy, and eager to prove yourself, you took the first opportunity offered to you. your first client? a young man named billy, who’s character puzzles you to no end.

masterlist here!

warnings: uhhh tattoos (duh), cursing, ~tension~ and the like. clocks in at about 6.3k words

enjoy :)

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it was the seediest shop in town, and the only one to give you a chance. young, scrappy, and determined to make your passion for tattooing a reality, you took the first real offer you got. after a few months doing an apprenticeship with a veteran of your new tattoo parlor, they gave you a table and chair in the corner and told you to get to it. he was your very first client.

the day started off with tidying up the counter and turning on the open sign. your first few hours as an official tattoo artist were spent at the meager “reception” desk, furiously doodling any design that struck your fancy. occasionally you would give out forms and verify ages, but the shop was more into efficiency and artistry than sticking to professional protocol. they did hire you, after all.

several hours and one brief argument with a coworker later, you plopped down on the chair at your tattoo station for lunch. while nibbling at your cheese sandwich, you took a moment to examine the room further. five other tattoo artists were hunched over their own work, chugging along while their clients cringed and bit their lips in pain. framed photographs of tattoos and artwork lined the walls, broken up by miscellaneous wall hangings and the occasional pipe. chatter filled the room, just barely overpowering the music streaming from a clunky radio set up by the waiting area.

then he walked in, all ropey muscles and bright eyes, no more than a year or two older than you. he wore a grey jacket with the hood pulled up, letting just a few stands of honey blond hair peek through. his eyes swept back and forth across the stations, each one occupied except for your small set up in the far corner. you glanced up from the tree you had been drawing, almost falling off your chair once you saw how strikingly attractive the boy was.

you couldn’t help but watch as a heavily tattooed woman - stacy, one of the most experienced at the shop - walked up to the desk and greeted the boy. you unconsciously leaned towards the two, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation. the pen wedged between your fingers fell to the floor, but you hardly noticed.

“i’d… like a tattoo please.” he spoke confidently, almost brash in his tone, but the way his shoulders tensed with each loud laugh and how his eyes darted back and forth from stacy’s face to the floor betrayed his anxiety. his hands were shoved in his pockets, fingers visibly squirming behind the gray fabric. he was nervous, despite being a good few inches taller than stacy and twice as broad.

“what’s the name, love?” she asked, tucking a strand of dark blue hair behind her ear. half of her head was buzzed, the rest of her hair peppered with gray strands. tattoos snaked down from behind her ear to the column of her throat, the rest disappearing beneath a “sex pistols” shirt. she wore her age proudly on her face, smile lines creasing the skin around her bright red lips. stacy was almost like the mother of the shop, and had been there longer than anybody.

“billy.” his voice was borderline too deep for such a young face, hood slipping down a little further to expose more of his wavy blond hair. you were well aware at that point that you were staring at him, mind whirling with a million possibilities as to where such a person could come from and why he wanted a tattoo. there were upwards of three different designs you mentally listed that you thought would enhance his good looks. maybe something on his arms? or neck? you stood by the belief that tattoos could make anyone more attractive, though your parents would beg to differ.

“alright then, what are you wanting to get?” stacy pulled out a clipboard, writing down his information with a pen adorned by cracked beads and colorful string hanging from the cap.

“some numbers and letters on my knuckles, on uh… my right hand? four of them.” you gripped your sketchbook tighter, barely resisting the urge to grab your pencil and start doodling fonts. however, it was a long shot that you were going to end up with him as a client, your first client, which marginally deflated your enthusiasm. you took a large bite from your sandwich instead of drawing, turning your attention back to him and stacy.

“splendid, let’s see who’s open… oh um, please give me a moment.” stacy glanced around the room, searching for an empty chair. she grimaced inwardly as she realized there were none, save for the one right in front of you that was occupied by your propped up feet and a brown lunch bag. you couldn’t read further into her expression before she turned away from both him and you, walking over to the middle aged owner of the tattoo parlor. tom was a sour character, but could tattoo better than most of the more respectable artists in the city. you attempted to focus once more on the sandwich in your hand and not the boy while stacy tugged on tom’s baggy tank top.

“tom, there’s this kid here for a tattoo and no one is free.” tom looked up for no more than three seconds, tattoo machine clutched between his surprisingly thin fingers. he must have been in his early fifties, and weighed more than you and stacy combined. he was in the process of inking a bold skull on the back of a young man, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“what about our little birdie over there? she’s free, yeah?” tom huffed, clearly annoyed at being disturbed. birdie was the nickname you got after bringing mostly bird-related art to your interview, and it showed no signs of going away. stacy flicked him on the forehead, nearly making him slip and mess up a line. he glowered at her, but still turned to listen.

“no shit, but knuckles for a first tattoo? do you really think she’s up to it?” stacy had taken you under her wing from the get go, even offering a patch of skin on her arm for you to do your first tattoo. her protection was a comfort, but also a little stifling. she knew you were a good artist, maybe even great, but there were certain tricks to tattooing hands you hadn’t quite learned. she didn’t want you to mess up on your first tattoo and leave the boy with a messy bundle of lines instead of letters.

“why not? he doesn’t look that picky. now fuck off and leave me alone.” he spoke gruffly, the cigarette between tom’s lips moved precariously back and forth. he turned back to his client, but not before flipping stacy the bird, to which she replied with an obscene gesture of her own.

“bastard…” she grumbled, tugging mindlessly at a strand of hair just barely covering her eye. taking a deep breath, she walked over to you, plastering a wide smile on her lips. stacy was genuinely excited for you to begin tattooing, but it was difficult for her to step back and let you do your own thing.

“alright babe, your time to shine. ready to do some knuckle lettering?” your jaw would have fallen open if it hadn’t been for the cheese sandwich filling your mouth. your eyes grew wide and you quickly swallowed the food down, doing you very best to process what exactly stacy meant.

“what? me? but-” you shook your head, appetite suddenly lost. did she mean it was your time to actually tattoo? a paying human being? they must be mental, you thought to yourself, moving to put the rest of your lunch away. as soon as your sandwich was placed in the brown paper bag, stacy seized you by the arm and began dragging you over to where he was waiting.

“sorry for the delay, this is y/n. she’ll be your artist today,” you suppressed a laugh, looking at stacy with your eyebrows raised. she just smiled and let go of your arm, giving you a push towards him. you barely saved yourself from stumbling, quickly straightening your spine and lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. his bright, beautiful, green eyes. dammit.

“oh- that’s me, i’m y/n. and it looks like i’m gonna be your tattooist,” you gave him a little wave, doing your very best to smile professionally instead of grimace. he nodded in response, bringing his hands out of his pockets. he seemed to consider shaking your hand, but instead moved to rub the back of his neck. you fiddled with your fingers, not knowing what to do next. he was your first client, after all.

“i’m billy. um, how much will this cost?” he stuttered a little, shrinking back into his gray hoodie. until that moment, you had almost entirely forgotten that you were doing this for a job, to get paid.

“uhhh,” you were blindsided by a very common question, and looked to stacy for help. she stared at billy for a moment, tapping her index finger on the counter. he squirmed a little under her sharp gaze. his eyes flicked to you, locking onto yours. he was looking for an out, but you just shrugged, apologetic look on your face.

“mm, about forty pounds.” she finally said after a solid couple seconds. he let out a small breath, shoulders falling. his lips fell as well, tweaking down at the corners. he reached into the pocket of his joggers, bringing out a five pound note, two 2 pound coins, and five 20 pence coins. ten pounds in all.

“bollocks… i only have ten on me.” you felt bad for billy, really. you remembered how you spent weeks saving up before you could get your first real tattoo; a small raven right above your hip. hurt like hell, but from that moment on, you were addicted. the ones you got before that were terribly done, with homemade equipment, and usually done by you.

“i don’t know what to tell you then-” stacy started to apologize, but an idea began forming in your brain. bigger tattoo pieces could take upwards of twelve hours, so they were often done in multiple sessions. a knuckle tattoo wouldn’t take nearly as long, nor was it necessary to spread out appointments. but before you could stop yourself, the words fell out.

“i can just do one. today, i mean. you can come in whenever you have the rest of the money.” you could hear stacy’s sigh, and couldn’t help but cringe as well. billy’s eyebrows shot up, and he opened his mouth to talk, but he couldn’t seem to decide on words and shut it again. a moment passed in painfully awkward silence, you looking anywhere but at billy. stacy sighed again, laying a hand on your shoulder.

“okay birdie, i have an appointment in seven minutes and you seem to have this under control, yeah?” you turned your head so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. being alone and in close quarters with billy after only a few minutes after meeting him freaked you out more than it should. you were theoretically a tattoo artist, and that was an unavoidable point of the job. it was basically painting on someone’s skin with a needle for multiple hours at a time.

“i guess so…” she gave you a soft smile, rubbing your shoulder with the ink-free skin of her palm. you smiled back. you could tell she was a little worried, but so were you.

“you’ll do great sweetheart, just don’t- maggie! so good to see you, love…” she was about to give you sage advice, but her next client came a few minutes early and in an instant, you were alone. well, except for billy of course. you psyched yourself up for a moment before turning to him with your best professional smile.

“well then, let’s head over to my chair.” you told him, walking almost halfway there before you turned around to see he hadn’t moved a step. odd. billy was still looking around the room, eyeing the beams on the ceiling and highly decorated walls. his shoulders were tensed and he had taken his hands from his pockets, fingers twitching as his eyes scanned the shop. he looked ready to run at the slightest movement. the hell? you exhaled heavily through your nose, walking back over to him and waving a hand in front of his face.

“you in there?” you asked, taking a step back when his gaze snapped to you, “ah, it seems like you are. ready to get tattooed?” what a peculiar person, you thought to yourself. he shifted back onto his heels with impeccable balance, taking off his hood in one fluid motion. his honey blond hair was styled into a short undercut. you shook off the dazed look in your eyes, and in a surprisingly bold move, held out a hand for him to take.

“hell yeah.” he finally said, a sharp smile creeping onto his lips. you smiled back, letting the first-day jitters roll off your shoulders. maybe spending time with him wouldn’t be as tense as you expected. he took your hand, and you started to lead him back to your little station in the corner. his palms were surprisingly calloused compared to your never-seen-a-day-of-manual-labor hands.

“perfect,” you said after stopping at your station. you dropped his hand, gesturing for him to sit on the chair meant for clients. you snatched your sketchbook from the small square table, digging out a pen from a years old pencil pouch you had yet to part with.

“now, you have any fonts in mind? actually, a better question would be what do you actually want on your knuckles?” you already started to doodle, sketching out a curly, cursive alphabet starting with “a”. lettering wasn’t your favorite thing to draw, but there was always flexibility when it came to art. and you loved art.

“2-2-E-S on my right hand. just black letters would be fine.” you deflated slightly, tearing your eyes away from the whimsical “b” you were drawing. he sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers knitted together. until then, you didn’t realize how close you were. you lifted your eyes to meet his, faces no more than eight inches apart. the tension between you two drew taut, yanking the breath from your lungs. he was mesmerizing. you laughed to break the moment and leaned back in your chair, letting it roll away from his focused gaze. he shifted as well, crossing his arms over his chest.

“no design at all? shame on you sir.” you teased, almost immediately cursing yourself for acting so casual out of nowhere. while you were scolding yourself for being unprofessional, billy watched the minute changes in your expression as you mindlessly tapped your pen against the spiral binding of your sketchbook. he noticed that you had your right pinky extended as you drew, perfectly straight as your pen swept across the page. your eyes flicked up for a moment to meet his, then immediately dropped again before you could end up blushing.

“i’m not really the creative type anyway.” his voice felt so familiar and alien at the same time. like every single boy you had ever known - cocky, fast talking, scrambling for a laugh. yet there was something more behind his deep voice and quick movements. you shook your head, dragging yourself back into the real world.

“somehow i don’t buy that,” you couldn’t see him smile, focused instead on making the last line of the “e” straight as possible. you held the drawing away from your face once completed, tilting it back and forth. your innate need for perfectionism only grew after you decided tattooing would be your career, and every piece of art you did since then had to be flawless in case you would have the chance to put it on someone’s body. after a moment, you nodded, turning the page around so he could see it.

“four plain black numbers and letters, as requested. looks good?” you were quite proud of the nearly perfect lines and proportions. it cooled the nerves simmering under your skin as the tattoo machine lay waiting in a shallow drawer.

“yeah, yeah. good.” he nodded, moving to roll up the sleeves of his jacket and put his right hand on his knee, right within your reach. you took a moment to tear off the page, making sure your letters were still nice and neat.

“excellent, give me a moment to get this stencil-” you started to stand up, paper pinched between your index finger and thumb. you were about to go to the printer by the back wall, but billy piped up before you could take a step.

“you don’t have to do that,” you froze, turning on your heel to watch him. he had leaned back onto the palms of his hands, still seated in your client’s chair.

“what?” you asked, voice coming out almost as a squeak. you immediately cleared your voice and he smiled a little.

“i mean, you don’t have to use a stencil. just freehand it, i don’t mind.” he just shrugged it off like having someone draw with a goddamn needle on his skin was just another day at work.

“you do realize i could very easily fuck up and leave you with permanent lines on your hand, right?” you were starting to wonder if he actually didn’t know tattoos were permanent, especially since getting them on a visible place like your hands would scare away most employers in a heartbeat. actually, what job did he have? the money he showed was a slim window into his life; ten pounds in various, loose forms. now that brought you back to university in a flash.

“in fact, i do.” you raised your hands to the sky in a “why me?” gesture before dropping them back down to your sides, integrity of your sketch forgotten. he snickered at your - overly - dramatic reaction, to which you responded with a quick glare. why did i have to get such a memorable first client?

“must be in a rush.” you shrugged, accepting that this was how the next thirty minutes of your life would play out. you were about to throw the page of your sketchbook in the trash, but changed your mind at the last minute and stuck it in one of the drawers of your small table. you then grabbed your pencil bag again, rooting around until you came up with two pens: one light green, the other black.

billy was silent as he watched you shuffle around the space, taking out your hand-me-down tattoo machine from the top drawer of your table. you gently placed it on the table top, laying out a small cap and filling it with a brand new bottle of jet black ink. you put the pens on the seat next to him, opening a second drawer that contained a disposable razor and replacement parts, sealed wipes, towels, and other things for sterilization.

one of the most important things to remember is cleanliness, you heard the voice of stacy echo in your ear. you cast a look over your shoulder to where she was, watching for a moment as she carefully laid a stencil on her client’s leg. you watched her for a moment until she stood back up from where she was crouching and looked back at you, giving you an encouraging thumbs up. you returned the gesture with your best play on a confident smile.

“you all alright?” billy asked, pulling you immediately back into the task before you.

“mhm,” you responded, lips pressed close together. you pulled on a pair of latex gloves and plucked a razor and wipe from the drawer.

“give me your hand,” you told him, taking a seat on your rolling chair. he held out his right hand and you gently took it in your left, shifting his fingers so the knuckle of his pinky finger was between your own. you scooted forward until you were almost between his knees, doing your best to wholly focus on the razor in your hand and definitely not how warm he was and how his hand felt in yours. nope, not going to think of that at all.

slowly, carefully, you cleaned his knuckle, making sure that there was no way possible for an infection to set in. you could hear billy humming to himself quietly and tuned in to listen. it was hard to make out the song, but something about it tugged at your memory. you shook it off and tossed the sanitizing supplies into a nearby rubbish bin. you turned back to billy, surprised to see him holding out the pens for you with a small smirk on his lips. slowly, you took them, tensing as your fingers brushed his.

“just a 2 for today then,” you muttered, almost to yourself, not waiting for an answer and diving right in to recreate the perfect number “2” you had drawn just minutes earlier, on his knuckle. you were so silent that it was nearly possible to hear his heartbeat as the light green sharpie swept over his skin. it was a relatively awkward place to tattoo- right on the joint between his pinky finger and hand. since it was so close to his bone, it would be more painful than he might expect. even drawing it was tedious as you tried to make the lines connect smoothly over the joint. billy watching you draw very carefully didn’t help the anxiety that started to simmer under your skin.

once you were satisfied with how it looked, you grabbed the black pen and repeated the drawing, tensing every muscle in your body to keep your hand from shaking. the nerves were already coming and you hadn’t even started up the tattoo machine. you leaned back into the light, holding up his hand to inspect your penmanship. billy stared at you as you held his finger up to the light, carefully scrutinizing your work without noticing his gaze. he watched the small crease between your eyebrows form as your thumb swiped at the ink. you glanced up momentarily and met his eyes, and in that moment you could have sworn he blushed. hell, you might have too.

you looked at him for a beat then dropped his hand like it was a hot rock. it was hard to ignore the tingle shooting down your spine as his lingering warmth faded from your hand. it’s just the nerves, dumbass, you said to yourself, now hush up and do your job. you cleared your throat, immediately turning around in your chair and sliding over to finish setting up your tattoo machine. you soon froze when there was nothing left for you to waste time doing. you had to get started.

it’s fine, you’re fine, this is just a man, a boy even. a nice, attractive, fit… goddammit. you were mentally cursing yourself as you slowly turned to face him again. billy just smiled, holding out his right hand to you. you took a deep breath in and pulled on a new pair of latex gloves.

“alright, ready freddie?” you said to him, taking his hand in yours, repeatedly chanting ‘don’t fuck up’ to yourself.

“ready.” he responded, letting his hand relax into yours. you moved his fingers so his pinky finger was front and center, the perfect “2” you had drawn clear against his skin. with your right hand, you picked up the tattoo machine, dipping the tip of it in ink.

“here we go.” the tattoo machine started with a buzz as you pressed on the pedal. you took a deep breath and touched the needles to his skin, right at the top of the “2”. billy’s fingers quickly tensed, holding tighter onto your hand. you tried not to smile while you slowly pulled the needle across his skin. he took a sharp breath in, holding it for a moment before slowly releasing it. his hand stayed clasped around yours as the tattoo machine hummed between your fingers.

minutes passed with no conversation. the buzz of the tattoo machine helped you tune out the various sensations trying to distract you. hard rock from a nearby speaker, an occasional bout of laughter or pained shriek from across the room, steady humming from billy that you still vaguely recognized. eventually, about a third of the way through the tattoo, you started to get antsy from the lack of talking and had to break the silence.

“hmm… what’s billy short for?” you asked, wiping off some excess ink from his finger. you looked up at him, slightly surprised to see him focused entirely on your face. he cleared his throat, using his free hand to comb through his short blond hair.

“william.” you couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across your lips, dipping the needle into the ink once more. a name like william didn’t fit with his scrappy, self-assured attitude and appearance. neither did billy, for that matter.

“was billy always your go-to nickname? ever gone by will? or liam?” you went back in with the needle, billy hissing through his teeth as it punctured his skin again and again.

“my primary school teacher always insisted on william, which made me hate it. she was a major arsehole, mind you.” you chuckled, wiping off more excess ink.

“now that i understand. i knew a william once, but he went by… will, i think. he also gained the unfortunate nickname of ‘willy’ somewhere around secondary school.” billy laughed loudly, drawing the attention of a few others in the room. and he moved. you drew the tattoo machine back just in time, narrowly avoiding a potential accident. you glared at him, but he couldn’t take the frown on your face seriously and continued his chuckling.

“you done?” you asked when he finally calmed down. he nodded, still smiling like a school boy.

“sorry, i have the humor of a twelve year old.” you rolled your eyes, biting hard on your bottom lip to ward off a smile. but it didn’t work. it felt terribly natural to be around him and you were not having it.

“i’ve noticed.” you muttered, glancing back up to billy. you raised an eyebrow at him in a silent question and he nodded, letting you return to your work. dipping the needle in ink, you once again put it to his skin, and once again, his hand tightened around your own.

“so, how long have you been tattooing?” billy asked, after a minute or two of silence had passed. you lifted the needle for a moment, thinking about your answer.

“like, professionally?” you had certainly tattooed under less than proper circumstances. on drunk people and often drunk yourself. your roommate in university had a horrendous bird silhouette between her shoulder blades, and your very first love had your name inked on their ankle. you had done it yourself two days after discovering they cheated on you. but you didn’t really want to divulge those… questionable stories to a client.

“uh, i guess.” he said, voice suddenly tinged with concern. you spotted a chance to mess with him and immediately went for it.

“about,” you glanced up to the clock fixed to the wall, “twenty minutes.” you bit back another smile at the fearful look in his eyes. it didn’t stop you from snorting with laughter, though.

“your warnings make sense now.” he was speaking slower than before, which only made the moment funnier. to you, at least.

“i’m thrilled. you scared yet?” you teased, smirk growing by the second. he laughed nervously, rolling his eyes at you. your shoulders relaxed, and you didn’t even realize how tense you had been until that moment. the playful banter back and forth with billy swept your earlier nerves right away.

“not even close, birdie.” you groaned, a nervous laugh slipping past your lips. it felt a little weird to have someone other than your fellow tattooists call you birdie, but you could listen to billy say it for hours with that smooth, deep voice of h- OH MY GOD, you screamed internally. stop. fantasizing. about. your. CLIENT.

“ah, you’ve heard my nickname. what can i say? i like birds.” you laughed again, a little too high pitched to be normal. he raised his eyebrows in confusion, but went back to his tense state as you started to tattoo again.

“i like it, much better than billy.” you bit back yet another smile. he was really starting to worm his way under your skin, and in such a short amount of time. but you had to agree with him. he looked more like a… well, you couldn’t think of any other names that fit him but billy was certainly not anywhere near a fitting name for such an interesting - to say the least - person.

“now that i have to agree with.” you said, still chipping away at your work in progress tattoo. he chuckled, shifting in his seat.

“you are coldhearted, woman.” he declared, and you couldn’t help but let out a short laugh.

“oh, i aspire.”

too soon, yet also not soon enough, you finished. you wiped away the last of the ink and blood - don’t worry, it’s normal - from his finger, lifting it up to the light. the tattoo turned out rather nice. the “2” was plain black, thick, and relatively free of wobbles. it warped a little as billy flexed his fingers, but that was to be expected. he started to stand up once you let go, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest. you could feel his heartbeat under your palm, and slowly drew your hand back. a moment passed in perfect silence where the only thing you could hear was his breathing, and the only thing you could feel was the residual warmth radiating from him.

“slow down there, i still need to bandage it.” you said after clearing your throat. he sat back down, thankfully making sure to not use his freshly tattooed hand. you took a step back. then another. and then almost ran into your table. flashing billy a quick, slightly embarrassed smile, you turned your back to him and focused on getting out the clingfilm, bandage, and ointment that was standard procedure for tattoo aftercare.

“okay, so,” you started, turning back around with an armful of health care products. billy was still seated on your chair, right hand resting on his knee.

“what you should do is try not to use your hands for a couple days, plus, your knuckles might swell up and it’ll hurt like hell to use them. gotta keep the area nice and clean with this ointment,” you held it up for him to see, then put it down by his side, “a good thing to do is wear is some nitrile gloves to keep a barrier between your hand and the horrors of the outdoors,” you took a small container of gloves from your pile, placing it right next to the ointment.

“here’s a little pamphlet thing if you want it,” you took it from in between your arm and side, adding it to the small pile on billy’s left. he was nodding along with your instructions, but his eyes were wandering from your face to examine the rest of the tattoo shop once again. you ignored him ignoring you, and got to work bandaging his finger.

“okay billy boy, you’re all set.” you said once you made sure his bandage was airtight and clean. you rolled yourself over to the trash can, disposing of your latex gloves and other used-up items. when you came back to your station, billy was back on his feet, almost unconsciously flexing his fingers to see if his right pinky still worked. spoiler alert, it did, and he was just paranoid. probably.

he seemed a little unfocused until you spoke, then immediately turned his attention back to you. he stuck his non-tattooed hand out for you to shake. still a strange guy, you said to yourself.

“thanks, uh…” you felt a grin growing, and this time, you didn’t try to stop it. plus, he seemed to have forgotten your name, which was objectionably hilarious. is that why he called me birdie? and how does he remember ‘birdie’ and not my name?

“y/n,” you confirmed, shaking his hand. billy smiled at you, showing a hint of bright white teeth.

“y/n. here,” you almost shivered hearing him say your name. you almost didn’t notice he was holding out the money until he cocked his head to the side, giving you a confused look. it looked almost like he was pouting. you let out a nervous giggle, cringing internally the second it passed. billy didn’t seem to mind, laughing along with you. it soon devolved into a laughing fit as you finally accepted the awkwardness of the situation. many of the other people in the shop shot the two of you quizzical glances, but that didn’t stop you from nearly falling over with laughter. what were you laughing at? nothing, really. it just felt good to be so wildly happy for a brief moment.

billy started to walk away waving goodbye. you raised your hand to do the same, but froze halfway. there was something you wanted to know before he left for an undetermined amount of time.

“wait! i never got to ask you what it meant. the tattoo.” he was halfway to the door but turned at the last moment, in the process of pulling the hood back over his golden hair.

“i’ll be back soon, i hope. i’ll tell you then.” you brightened at that, giving him a playful salute. billy returned the gesture, even adding a silly wink for good measure.

“i’d like that. until next time, billy.” he gave you one last wave as he strolled out the door, and you watched as he walked past the windows and eventually disappeared from sight. for a moment, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from that spot. a high pitched laugh broke your focus, and you whirled around to see stacy giggling at you.

“what?” you asked, doing your best attempt at a glare. stacy just smiled, batting her eyelashes as innocently as possible. crossing your arms over your chest, you started to say something, but got interrupted.

“nothing. say, tom, do you think this is how most people behave after doing a tattoo?" she called out in a sing-song voice. tom was in the middle of cleaning up after his client left, but for some reason decided this was the time to cash in one of his few conversation checks.

"no." tom responded gruffly, and blissfully brief. stacy grinned again, turning on her heel to face you. you opened your mouth to retort, but your mind went blank and you ended up just standing there with nothing to say. what could you say? you were stressed because your first tattoo was a knuckle tattoo? that it was stuffy and looking out the window made it less so? that you had developed an immediate crush on your first client? fresh out of ideas, you blurted out the next thing that came to mind.

"i smelled bad… uh… yeah. i-i smelled bad, and i was embarrassed. i was watching him through the window to see if he had any reaction from being away from my… smell." you wished for a second that time travel existed just so you could go back to that exact moment, after you figured out a good response, to stop yourself from looking like a fool. because oh what a fool you sounded like. stacy could tell. tom could tell. and you bet that billy would be able to tell as well. stacy shook her head, visibly trying to stop herself from laughing. even tom seemed to have a smile tugging at his lips.

"you keep telling yourself that, love. now buck up, don’t know when the next customer is gonna come in. gotta be ready, you know, if you happen to be the only one free…” you immediately perked up, billy momentarily scrubbed from the forefront of your mind. the chance to do more tattoos, more of what you loved, had you interested in a split second. your eyes drifted to your discarded sketchbook on the other end of the room.

“you serious?” you asked, nervous edge clinging to your word. more freedom came with more chances to fuck up, but now that you got over an initial nervous edge thanks to billy, you were rearing to go. stacy looked equally excited for you, and equally worried. but she came over and patted you on the shoulder.

“deadly. now go, there is art to be inked.” you were bouncing on your toes, but took a moment to lean right into her, even giving her a quick side hug.

“yes ma’am.” you mock saluted her, then almost skipped back to your chair. you sat back in your swivel chair, letting it roll you to your small side table. you started to pick up the discarded papers, but found your mind drifting back to him. to billy.

the thought that he would be back eventually brought a small smile to your lips. it could be a few days, a week, a month, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t flake out. it was just a matter of time. plus, he was good company.

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so,,, what’s the vibe with this lads? please lmk if y’all wanna see more!

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