Work Text:
Severus lowered his cans. Someone was behind him. “Move on,” he said, turning around.
“That’s usually my line,” said a young constable staring up at the still-wet wall. “Wow. Impressive work.”
“Thank you.”
“Sorry, but do you have permission to…”
Glaring at the proselyte had no effect, so Severus spoke slowly. “This is my property, Constable…”
“Potter.” He offered a hand. Severus shook, reluctantly. “I’m new – haven’t met all the shop owners yet. Are you the bakery or the tattoo parlour?”
Severus pushed up his dark sleeves, revealing his other canvas. “Do I look like a baker?” To his shock, the officer took his outstretched arm and turned it towards the street lamp.
“Incredible.”
Severus stayed silent as the second arm was admired.
“You’re probably booked up for ages.”
“What?”
“Don’t suppose you have any openings?”
“Ink requires serious thought. A flash decision isn’t…”
“I’ve had the design for years, but I’ve been holding off until I found…”
“A man vandalising his own property?”
“The right artist.”
Unsettled, Severus turned and busied himself with the clean up. He heard retreating footsteps and a muffled good night, then. He stood, knowing he’d likely regret his decision.
“Half ten, tomorrow. Be prompt.”