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Harry’s steps slowed as he passed the shop, just as they did every day. He tried to inconspicuously peer into the window, through the slight layer of grime and the etching that proclaimed ‘Tattoos – Over 18s Only’. The man was in the back of the shop, bent over another boy’s arm, and Harry felt his heart stutter as he slowed even more, dragging his steps to prolong his time in front of the window. The tattoo artist’s face was serious, a frown of concentration creasing his brow, one of his long-fingered hands gripping the boy’s arm, holding tight to keep him in place as he inked a design into his skin.
Jealousy burned through Harry as he watched, imagining it was him sat in that chair, with the artist leaning close, touching his skin, even if it was through blue latex gloves. He imagined that if he was that close, he could see the sweep of every individual eyelash, even longer and darker than they looked from afar. He imagined the way the tattoo artist’s full pink lips would look up close, glistening as he bit them in concentration.
Harry gave a sigh, dragging himself away from the window and into the shop next door. The bell above the door tinkled as he walked through and he inhaled the rich scent of baking bread.
“So, what’s he wearing today?” Louis drawled, looking up from wiping down a table.
“That ‘Obey’ shirt,” Harry answered promptly before blushing. “I mean, who?” He shuffled behind the counter, ducking his head over the case so he didn’t have to meet his friend’s eyes.
Louis snorted. “Oh, nobody. Certainly not the painfully hot tattoo artist next door, who you spend all your free time staring at.”
“I don’t spend all my time,” Harry huffed indignantly.
“True,” Louis agreed, coming over to lean on the counter. “But only because you’re afraid to go into the shop and actually talk to him.”
“I can’t just waltz in there and strike up a conversation, Lou,” Harry complained. “It’s not like a bakery where just anyone can walk in.” He gestured expansively around the room, his example slightly ruined by the fact that they were the only ones in the bakery at the moment.
“It’s exactly the same. If you’re too chicken to just go in and tell him you want to lick his cheekbones—“
“I do not!” Harry protested, even though he kind of did. But who wouldn’t? They were really, really nice cheekbones.
“Then go in and pretend you’re thinking about getting a tattoo,” Louis continued blithely. “They have, like, books and stuff. Pictures on the walls. Right? Just browse for a bit, and try to talk to him.”
“That’s—“ Harry bit his lip, really thinking about it. They did have books of examples. He had seen them on the counter when he peered through the window. He could say he was thinking about designs and maybe the guy would offer his opinion. Maybe he would touch Harry to show him where the tattoo should go. Maybe he would look deep into Harry’s eyes and fall madly in love with him and they could shag in one of the tattoo chairs—not that Harry had ever thought about that, or anything.
Or maybe he’d at least tell Harry his name, so he could stop thinking of him as “eyelashes and cheekbones.”
“That’s…actually a good idea,” he relented.
“I know. I’m a genius,” Louis agreed smugly.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Harry grumbled, but his mind was already racing at the thought of actually going into the shop he spent so much time thinking about. “When do you think I should go?”
“After work?” Louis offered, already bored with the conversation.
“What, today? I can’t go today! I have to…”
“What? Psych yourself up until you’re so nervous you can’t even look at him?” Louis laughed.
Harry would argue, but Louis had a point. “But what about…?” he glanced down at his outfit. He hadn’t put any thought into it, because he hadn’t thought anyone important would be looking at him.
“Oh, you look fine, and you know it. The teenage girls don’t flood this place because the scones are so good,” Louis rolled his eyes.
“But, my hair…” Harry touched the green beanie perched on his head self-consciously.
“Haz, shut up. You’re the picture of hipster perfection. You two can talk about ironic t-shirts and how hard it is to get into skinny jeans. It’ll be great.”
“Like your jeans aren’t just as tight,” Harry complained, but he was smiling. Louis tugged affectionately on a curl that was peeking out from Harry’s beanie and drifted into the back to check on the baking bread. Harry glanced at the clock on the wall, wishing his shift was over already.
~
The shop smelled of incense and antiseptic, an almost overpowering combination. Rock music blasted out of the speakers on the walls. It was basically the complete opposite of the cutesy bakery where Harry spent his day, soft indie rock playing and the smell of fresh cupcakes in the air. It felt a little dirty and a lot cool, and Harry was immediately intimidated.
“Can I help you, mate?”
Harry squeaked as the tattoo artist appeared from behind a curtain, raising a questioning eyebrow in his direction.
“I, um, I—“ Harry stuttered, knowing his face was bright red. He expected the guy to roll his eyes and tell him to get out, but instead he just smiled.
“First time?”
“Um, yeah.” Harry looked around the shop apprehensively. He didn’t even know what to ask. He knew he should have waited, done some research. At least had some questions prepared so he and the artist would have something to talk about.
“Any idea what you want to get?” The guy came over and leaned on the counter and Harry felt like all the air left the room. He was even better looking up close, all chiselled features and big, dark, sparkling eyes.
“Um?” Harry tore his gaze away from the guy’s perfect face and looked frantically around at the pictures on the walls. “A star?” he said desperately.
“Yeah?” The guy asked, straightening. “Well, we can do that. You’re over eighteen, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” Harry said, with more indignation than was perhaps warranted, since he had only turned eighteen the month before. The guy laughed and opened the partition in the counter.
“Great. Come on back.”
“Okay?” Harry asked, heart thumping. He slipped through the gap and stopped, standing awkwardly next to the tattoo artist.
“I’m Zayn,” the guy said.
“Oh, uh, Harry. My name’s Harry.” Zayn, he thought wildly. Just as lovely and exotic as the boy himself.
“Well, Harry,” Zayn smiled. “You really don’t need to be so nervous. Tattoos are nothing. Just a little sting.”
“Yeah, uh huh,” Harry agreed absently. Like it was this fictional tattoo he was nervous about.
“So, where did you want the star?” Zayn asked, stepping closer. He was just as perfect as Harry had always imagined, the fringe of his eyelashes and the sweep of his ridiculous quiffed hair.
“My arm?”
“Yeah?” Zayn reached out and Harry was sure he was going to die, as his long fingers closed around Harry’s wrist. He gave a gentle tug, pulling Harry’s arm out in front of him. “Like, down here?” he asked, touching Harry’s inner wrist, and then forearm.
“Maybe higher?” Harry suggested, the words coming out on a squeak.
“Yeah? Up here?” Zayn slid his touch up, over the sensitive skin of Harry’s inner elbow, to curl around his bicep.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed faintly. “Yeah, that’s good.”
“Great.” Zayn pressed his thumb into the delicate skin of Harry’s inner arm and then disappointingly let go. “Alright, have a seat,” he offered and Harry dropped like lead into the chair. This was going to so much better than he had imagined. He knew Zayn’s name and there had been touching and he was standing so close.
“I’m just going to spray it a little bit,” Zayn said. “Might be cold.”
“Yeah, sure.” Harry frowned as Zayn spritzed his upper arm and wiped at it gently.
“Okay,” Zayn said, pulling up a stool. “Open or filled in?”
“What?”
“The star,” Zayn prompted gently.
“Oh. Uh. Like an outline?”
“Yeah, that sounds cool,” Zayn agreed and Harry beamed. Zayn spun on his stool, messing with some stuff on the table behind him while Harry tried not to get lost in admiring the long line of his slender neck, gracefully bent over his tools.
“Okay, this is going to feel like a pinch,” Zayn said, spinning back around and holding up…
Fuck, holding up the actual tattoo needle. And now all the spritzing and wiping of his arm made sense. Zayn was getting ready to tattoo Harry.
“Ready?” Zayn asked, all sweet concern and Harry froze. He couldn’t exactly say he didn’t want it now could he? When he was already in the chair? He’d look like he was just chickening out. Like the sight of the needle sent him running.
And even though it did look scary as fuck, Harry didn’t want Zayn to think he was a pussy. Not when he could see dark ink scrawled all over Zayn’s own arms.
“Ready,” he said and closed his eyes. His mother was going to kill him.
But then Zayn reached out, taking hold of his arm and turning it gently and it almost didn’t matter that this was the stupidest thing Harry had ever done. He blinked his eyes open to find Zayn even closer than before, and it was just like he had always imagined. Zayn’s white teeth sunk into the plump flesh of his lip, the downward sweep of his ridiculous lashes, the way the light hit the planes of his face…it was all perfect.
Harry barely even noticed the bite of the needle as Zayn set it into his flesh.
“Take deep breaths,” Zayn reminded him, and Harry sucked in a shaky breath, not so much for the pain as to try and survive Zayn’s proximity.
He didn’t know how long they sat like that, Zayn asking simple little questions about Harry and what he did—‘really? Just next door? You think I would have seen you around’—before he sat back, smiling.
“All done.”
“What? Really?” Harry glanced down at his arm and was shocked to find a stark black star emblazoned in his skin.
“Yep. Not so bad, right?”
It hadn’t been, really. Zayn had provided ample distraction from the pain in his arm.
Of course, now Harry had a tattoo to deal with.
“Here are your care instructions,” Zayn said, handing him a folded piece of paper. “I’m going to wrap it up now, so just take the cling film off in about three hours, wash with plain antibacterial soap, and then moisturize. It’s really easy.”
“Okay. Yeah, that sounds…fine.”
“If you have any problems, you know where to find me,” Zayn smiled and Harry couldn’t help but smile back. “That’ll be a hundred total.”
“A hundred?” Pounds? His brain supplied, horrified. For a little tattoo he hadn’t even meant to get? “Do you take cards?” he asked weakly, already revising his monthly budget.
“No problem, mate,” Zayn grinned, processing the transaction.
Their hands brushed as Zayn handed Harry his card back and Harry bit his lip, glancing up at the other boy. Zayn was watching him, too, a small smile on his lips.
“See you around?” Harry offered.
“Definitely. Maybe I’ll even stop in for coffee some day,” Zayn agreed and Harry let himself out of the shop with a wide grin on his face.
He decided to call the evening a success.
~
“Honey! I’m home!” he called as he let himself into his flat.
“Where have you been?” Liam asked, ducking his head out of the kitchen. He was wearing a ridiculous ‘Kiss the Cook’ Apron, which was generally a sign that something either had been or was about to be on fire. Harry leaned over and gave him a sloppy peck on the cheek, cackling as Liam made a face and wiped furiously at the saliva on his skin.
“You asked for it,” Harry pointed out, gesturing at the words emblazoned on his chest, before ducking past him into the kitchen to see what could be salvaged for dinner.
Louis was sat on the countertop, eating the ingredients off of the cutting board and generally being of no help whatsoever. “Hey! How did the grand seduction go?”
“Seduction? Who are you seducing?” Liam bustled back into the room.
“Nobody!”
“The tattoo guy,” Louis sing-songed.
“The one you’re obsessed with?”
“I’m not obsessed!” Harry protested.
“Suuuure,” Louis drawled. “So, did you go in? You must have, you were gone forever.”
“I did,” Harry said, feeling smug.
“And?”
“And his name is Zayn.”
“Well, that’s a start!” Liam said optimistically. “Wait, what’s that on your arm?”
Harry flushed and drew his arm protectively closer, but both his flatmates had already seen the cling film sticking out the bottom of his sleeve. “I got a tattoo?”
Liam’s eyes went very, very wide. “You what?”
Louis burst out laughing. “Harry, I said pretend you wanted a tattoo. Not actually get one!”
“I think it’s cool,” Harry protested, deciding to skip over the part where he was so entranced by Zayn’s face that he didn’t realize he was getting a tattoo until too late. They’d never let him live it down.
“Well, let’s see it then,” Louis slid off the counter, grabbing for Harry’s arm.
“Careful, it’s sore!”
“Of course it is! You let someone jab a needle repeatedly into your skin! A needle covered in ink!” Liam sounded a bit hysterical.
“Do you need to sit down?” Harry asked curiously.
“Yes.” Liam sank into a kitchen chair while Louis plucked at the fabric of Harry’s sleeve, trying to get at the tattoo.
“Quit, you’re ridiculous,” Harry grumbled, rolling back the fabric to reveal the cling-film covered ink.
“Oh, that’s not so bad,” Liam relented, craning to see from his seated position.
“It’s…nice, I guess,” Louis shrugged. He narrowed his eyes. “But you better at least have gotten a date out of it.”
“Well…”
“Styles!” Louis groaned dramatically. “You’re hopeless.”
“He said he might come into the bakery!” Harry said quickly. “I’ll talk to him more then. It’s a slow burn.”
“Yeah, well, Louis doesn’t know anything about that,” Liam smirked.
“I know everything about everything,” Louis countered with a sniff. The conversation quickly devolved into a tickle fight and Harry took the opportunity to slip out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, holding up his arm to see his new ink. It looked…cool, really. Stark and black against the pale skin there, and drawn by Zayn’s own hand.
He might be a bit broke after the expense, but Harry decided it was worth it.
~
Zayn didn’t come into the bakery. Not the next day, or the day after that, or the whole next week. After a few days Harry stopped looking up expectantly whenever the bell chimed, and even Louis noticed he was being a bit grumpier to the customers.
Maybe Zayn just didn’t really like coffee, Harry reasoned. He certainly wasn’t into pastries, if his narrow waist was anything to go by.
Harry would just have to go to him, he decided, as he left work for the evening and his eyes skated towards the tattoo shop. He could say he was worried about how the tattoo was healing, or something (even though Liam had been making sure he took obsessively good care of it, trolling tattoo blogs for tips and buying expensive moisturizer).
Decided, Harry strode into the shop, hoping he looked a little less nervous than the last time.
Zayn’s head popped up from where he was bent over a desk, sketching. “Hey, Harry!”
Harry grinned, knowing his cheeks were probably pink. Zayn remembered his name. “Hey, mate,” he said, aiming for casual but most likely coming off a bit more crazy-eager.
“Back so soon?” Zayn set his pencil down carefully and stood, coming over.
“Well, you know,” Harry hedged.
“I do,” Zayn agreed, grinning wolfishly. “It’s addictive, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Harry said, unthinking. It certainly is. He certainly is. His gaze swept over Zayn’s pretty face, the slight scruff on his chin that gave him such a bad-boy look, and his long, lean body.
“So what’ll it be this time?” Zayn asked, leaning forward eagerly, and Harry’s brain caught up with his mouth.
Oh, he thought with a sigh. I’ve done it again.
“Umm?” he glanced around, looking for inspiration. “I was thinking, some song lyrics?”
He had been blasting his favorite Temper Trap song in the bakery as he swept up. That was at least a bit more personal than a generic star, right?
“Nice,” Zayn nodded approvingly and Harry’s heart swelled. Zayn thought he was cool. This was totally the right thing to do. “Come on back.”
Harry settled into the tattoo chair more easily this time, biting his lip in anticipation of Zayn leaning close.
“Where?”
“Uh, just under the star,” Harry remembered the feel of Zayn’s hands on that sensitive skin, even through his slippery gloves.
Zayn pulled out some transfer paper and showed Harry some fonts he could pick from, before sketching out the lyrics ‘Won’t stop till we surrender’.
“Perfect,” Harry breathed, watching the way Zayn’s pencil traced the letters, his lovely fingers curled around it.
“So,” Zayn said, applying the transfer. “You wanted tats for long?”
“What?”
Zayn smiled. “Well, you just turned eighteen, right? Must have been waiting for awhile to get one.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Harry agreed. “Ages.” All of two minutes before he realized it was even happening.
“I was the same way,” Zayn said, starting up the needle. A gentle buzz filled the small room. “Wanted them forever, and finally bullied my mum into letting me at sixteen.”
“And did you already know you wanted to be an artist?” Harry asked, leaning unconsciously slightly closer to the other boy.
“Designed that first one myself. After that, there was no looking back,” Zayn agreed with a nod.
“That’s awesome,” Harry breathed. “Maybe you could design one for me.”
Zayn looked up, smiling. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely,” Harry agreed fervently. “I’d love to have some of your artwork on me.” And a lot more than that, he thought ruefully.
“Well, I’d be into that,” Zayn gave him a small, pleased smile. “Next time?”
“Sounds perfect,” Harry agreed, lost in the depths of Zayn’s pretty brown eyes. He could swear he saw flecks of gold glistening within them, but maybe it was just the pain from the tattoo making him dizzy.
The tattoo was over far too quickly, as the needle practically raced over the delicate lettering. Zayn only took fifty for this one—‘it took like ten minutes, man. No worries’—and Harry was out the door far sooner than he would have liked. He reached down, tracing over where Zayn had held him and realized he was going to have to come back. Again.
~
When Harry walked through the door that evening Liam took one look at his wrapped arm and let out a wail. “Noooo, Harry. Not again!”
“Another one?” Louis asked, smirking. “You’re pathetic.”
“I’m not. I like them.”
“Sure you do. It’s why you’ve spent so much time talking about getting tattoos the last few years. Oh, wait. That never happened.”
“I like them now,” Harry insisted. “You’re just upset that I’m so much cooler than you now.”
“Yes, it’s so cool to get tattoos just because you think a boy is cute,” Liam grumbled.
Louis gave him a little shrug. “Calm down, mama bear. Harry’s fine, even if he is a little stupid.”
“Hey!”
“Maybe next time, just ask the bloke out for a date?” Louis suggested gently, holding out his arms for Harry to sink into.
“Yeah, maybe,” Harry allowed, looking down at the ink on his skin. It would be nice to feel Zayn touch him without latex in the way, anyway. Or, at least, different latex, he thought with a flush.
~
Two days later Zayn came into the bakery. Harry glanced up at the sound of the door and nearly had a heart attack seeing Zayn standing there, his perfect quiff and his sleek leather jacket completely at odds with the cutesy décor of the shop. “Hey! Hi!” he said, wincing at the sound of his own voice.
“Hey, mate,” Zayn gave him a slow, lazy grin that had Harry’s heart pounding.
“You want a coffee?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Zayn sauntered over, all cool, easy grace. Harry was sure he was bright red, and cursed his nerves yet again. At least in the bakery he couldn’t accidentally get a tattoo, he reasoned. “I sketched you something.”
“You did?” Harry gulped. Zayn drew something for him?
“For your tattoo?” Zayn reminded him, holding out a piece of paper.
“Oh, right. My next tattoo.” He was fairly certain he heard a snort issuing from the back room. He’d have to remember to smack Louis later.
Zayn slid the drawing across the counter. It was more delicate than Harry was expecting, having seen Zayn’s own bold tattoos—a massive, comic book ‘Zap!’ mostly came to mind. It was a birdcage, the bars made up of lovely intricate lines.
“I thought,” Zayn cleared his throat. “You said some stuff, about working here and not knowing what you wanted to do with your life.” He shrugged minutely. “It sounded like you felt a little…trapped.”
“Ohh,” Harry breathed. “Caged. I love it. I mean, I do feel that way.”
Zayn gave him a small smile and Harry was sure the boy must be able to hear the pounding of his heart in his chest.
“The best thing about cages,” Zayn said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Is they always open some day.”
“That’s…” profound, beautiful, perfect, marry me, Harry thought wildly. “Great.”
“You think you might want to use it?” Zayn asked, and for the first time he looked a little shy.
“Yes! Of course,” Harry practically tripped over his own tongue in his haste to answer. He could hear Louis giggling in the backroom. “I would love to have this be my next tattoo.”
“Yeah?” Seeing Zayn look so pleased was more than worth the fact that if Harry got another tattoo any time soon he was going to have trouble making rent. “How about tomorrow night?”
“Perfect,” Harry breathed.
“See you, then.” Zayn picked the drawing back up and left with one last smile.
“You are the most pathetic person in the world,” Louis stated matter-of-factly, slipping into the room.
“He drew me a tattoo,” Harry countered dreamily.
“Yes, he did. Which you’re apparently going to get permanently etched into your skin.”
“You just don’t understand.”
“I do, Haz,” Louis said, voice softening. “I was listening. He’s into you. If you ask him out, he’ll say yes. You don’t need to keep getting tattoos just to hang out with him.”
Harry bit his lip. “You think so?”
“He came over here, didn’t he? And he was listening to you ramble enough to draw you a pretty picture.”
“Don’t be an arse,” Harry grumbled, but he was grinning. “You think I should ask him out?”
“Haz, I thought you should ask him out two tattoos ago. Yes, I think you should. In fact, I demand that you do.”
“Alright, alright. Tomorrow.”
“Before you get another tattoo, right?” Louis demanded, as Harry shuffled to the back to check on the cakes. “Haz? Haz? Before, right?”
~
The smell and feel of the shop was fast becoming familiar to Harry. He inhaled deeply as he stepped inside, smiling at the incense and tobacco that clouded his nose.
“Hey!” Zayn grinned. “You ready for another one?”
“Absolutely.” Harry had spent the night tossing and turning and thinking about the new tattoo. He knew that Louis and Liam thought he was ridiculous, but suddenly he really wanted it, wanted that beautiful drawing inked onto his skin. Maybe they were addictive. After a lot of thought, he had finally decided where he wanted the tattoo to go. It would look nice, he thought, and would serve as a final test, of sorts. To see if Louis was right, and Zayn had any interest in him.
Catching at the neck of his t-shirt, Harry tugged it right off, watching the way Zayn’s eyes widened and his gaze dropped. If he wasn’t totally mistaken, the other boy was definitely checking him out, gaze skating over the flat planes of Harry’s stomach. “I thought I’d get it right here,” he offered, placing a large hand over his left side.
“Yeah, that looks…that sounds good,” Zayn stammered and Harry grinned. Maybe Louis was right, after all.
He settled into the chair, lounging back to expose his side and looked at Zayn consideringly. He felt more comfortable with the boy now, less like he might faint if he so much as looked up and met Harry’s eyes. Louis was right—now was the time to risk it. “Zayn?”
“Hmm?” Zayn looked up from where he was meticulously applying the transfer to Harry’s skin.
Harry sucked in a breath. Don’t stop till we surrender, he thought wildly, and blurted, “Do you want to go out with me?”
Zayn’s smile was slow and sweet and perfect. “I was wondering how many tattoos I’d have to give you before you finally asked.”
Harry looked down at the birdcage mapped out on his skin. “Let’s make it one more, okay?”
“Sounds perfect,” Zayn grinned, ducking down over the design.
When Harry tried to pay that time, Zayn merely shook his head, stepping forward to curl a hand around Harry’s waist, just under the cling film encircling his body. “This one’s on me,” he whispered, leaning in.
Their lips touched and it was even better than Harry could have imagined. Zayn tasted like tobacco and smelled like incense, and his ribcage burned, and it all was just absolutely right.
“I do love a man with tattoos,” Zayn murmured against his lips.
Harry laughed brightly, leaning back in.
~