Page 50 of Midnight Ink

Heat pours into his eyes. “No.” Then he rolls them. “Fuck that.”

I strip off my pants, and his gaze drops to my leg. The heat from earlier returns. Low and dangerous. Being around Julian is like a warm hug from someone you love. Comfort and sunshine. He’s been my best friend for years.

Now I just wish that stupid flicker low in my gut would remember that.

Julian pulls off his T-shirt, and now it’s my turn to stare. I’ve had my hands on him dozens of times. Platonically, unfortunately—I mean, obviously. Platonically, obviously. Most of the tattoos on his skin are from me. A few from apprentices we’ve had.

But most of it’s my work.

I look at the lion, the very first tattoo he ever got. For his first tattoo ever, he did so well. I was a little worried. I don’t think people fully understand how much ribs hurt until they do them. Not him, though, he sat like a rock, even though I know some parts were pretty rough. Then I take in the wraith on his chest. I fucking love that tattoo. Scribbled black lines, sharp claws, and a gaping mouth that looks like it’ll swallow you whole.

His mother’s name is above his heart, an angel on his other side. Then he steps out of his jeans, leaving him in baby-blue briefs that look painted on molding to the outline behind the fabric.

“I’m uh, I’m going to brush my teeth,” I blurt, then grab the toothbrush I bought at the airport. He lets me use his toothpaste without comment.

In the bathroom, I brush my teeth then just stand here for a moment. Breathing. Trying to get it together. There’s so much happening, or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s okay. We’ll get home soon. I will get my bag and his ashes back. We can try again another time. It’ll be okay.

Everything will be okay.

I wish it didn’t feel like I was failing him. Although I guess that’s all it’s ever felt like. Maddox wouldn’t let shit like storms and an overcrowded schedule get him down, he’d make the most of this. He would thrive under the pressure, and I’m one wrong move away from destroying the shop he worked so hard to have. “I’m pathetic.”

I look at my reflection and wince. My auburn hair’s a disaster in the mirror, sticking up everywhere. I try my best to tame it just a little. “Just breathe. You’re alright. Everything will be alright,” I whisper to myself. No big deal. Just trapped in this room with an insanely beautiful man who I may or may not have real feelings for.

Jamie’s teasing about Jules comes back to me.

He calls me out every time we’re together now.

Why is he pushing it? He was Maddox’s best friend.

It’s really hard to deny this feeling. Of course I find Julian attractive. He’s sweet and funny, and he balances all my bullshit. We have so much fun together. My thing has never really been intense feelings or butterflies, it’s more how you feel in the quiet you create with the person you like. Those were always my favorite moments with Madd. Not the crazy impromptu day trips or the late-night calls to go out and find an adventure.

It was the quiet moments back in his trailer. Drawing peacefully with his head on my lap. The soft laps of the lake we would visit together, sitting on the beach just watching the waves. Lying together on my couch watching movies. Or the rare moments of vulnerability when Maddox’s doubts would swallow him. He’d share his fears with me, and in those moments, I was reminded he wasn’t Superman. He was just a boy with dreams bigger than the reality we were forced into.

The bathroom light hums a little too bright, and I grip the edge of the sink, trying so hard not to let the wave of grief crash over me. Porcelain cools my fingers. I drag my gaze back up and I don’t recognize myself. Pressing my lips in a hard line, I try to fight the tremble. My chin quivers anyway. “Just breathe.” A sharp inhale jerks my lungs. I try to swallow down the emotion. I need to force this grief back into place. Julian has had enough of it. I don’t need to make this heavier for him.

“Ian? You alright?”

I make a last attempt to swallow the pain. It swells just under my ribcage like a living, breathing monster threatening to break me open.

I’m so tired.

“Uh, yeah,” I force out. Tears gather despite the effort I’m using to force them away. I close my eyes and breathe for ten. In and out. I swallow and shove this pain somewhere it can’t reach me.

It’s been seven fucking years. Why does it still feel so fresh?

When I finally feel somewhat normal, I cap my toothbrush then step back into the room. Julian is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me.

His full back piece steals the air from my lungs.

A dark forest with danger awaiting in the thick foliage. Massive trees closing in around a dirt path. A woman stands there, dagger in hand. She’s small compared to the massive woods surrounding her, but unafraid. Ready. Her tight curls bounce around her head giving the piece movement, as if she’s snapping into a fighting stance ready to face whatever danger awaits her inside the woods.

It’s how anxiety feels, he told me.

When he drew this tattoo, he told me it’s a visual representation of what his anxiety feels like. The world around him looms big and scary, but he faces that fear every day. I’ve drawn all his tattoos except this one. We planned it together. I may have tattooed it, but this is his artwork.

My steps creak on the floorboard, shaking him out of whatever he’s thinking about. He turns to me with a smile. “You okay?”

I inhale through my nose. “Yeah.” I blink. “Long day.”