Chapter Text
Ashton was a little drunk.
He wasn’t going to deny that. He was a sensible adult who knew his limits and he wasn’t going to try and argue that he was sober because he wasn’t. He wasn’t going to do silly things that stupid, reckless teenagers did because he was not a teenager – he was a grown-up, rational man with a steady income and a little shoebox of a loft to call his own.
A loft that now felt very empty because his ex-fiancée had just moved out.
What he hadn’t realised, however, was just how tipsy he was until he found himself gravitating towards the dingy, hole-in-the-wall doorway down an alley with a bright, neon sign spelling out in glowing blue and pink letters:
TATTOO & PIERCING
A muted electronic buzzer announced his arrival when he opened the door. The receptionist, a pale lad whose bright red hair bursting out in all directions from beneath a black snapback, looked up disinterestedly from a phone screen and greeted Ashton with a nod of his head. Ashton smiled back briefly, taking a moment to examine his surroundings.
The shop was surprisingly clean and bright, considering its somewhat questionable location. The flooring was comprised of polished black slate tiles that matched the glossy granite counter behind which the receptionist currently sat, once again pre-occupied with his phone. A glass display cabinet attached to the counter’s front, showing off an impressive array of gleaming body jewellery. The walls were adorned with photos of previous works as well as framed designs in both realist and abstract styles. A red leather bench ran along the wall adjacent to the main counter and a sliding door which presumably led to a bathroom beside it. A water dispenser and small plastic wastebasket stood in a corner.
“Can I help you?”
Ashton whipped his head around, too fast, and in his intoxicated state felt a little bit dizzy.
“I’m good, bro. Thanks. Just having a browse for now.”
Snapback nodded almost absently, watching Ashton curiously. “That’s cool mate; just wanted to let you know that we close in about an hour. Cal’s just in the back finishing up a piece and if you wanted something done tonight…”
“Oh yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.” Ashton answered, suddenly wondering why he was even in this shop to begin with. He had no idea he had even wanted a tattoo or piercing, let alone what of. However, he quickly made a response to Firehead. “I won’t be long. Like, half an hour tops? Would that be okay?”
“Should be fine. We’ll see how long Cal takes tonight, otherwise we can always reschedule you for some other day, yeah?”
Perhaps it was the alcohol (Okay, it was absolutely the alcohol. And maybe some stange concoction of hurt and anger and loneliness) but Ashton suddenly felt a wave of assuredness with himself. “I want a tattoo tonight” he voiced, much more confident than before.
Receptionist raised his eyebrows at the change in tone. Ashton noticed for the first time the multiple steely piercings framing the arch of his eyebrow. He didn’t have a chance to respond, however, before laughter was heard from down a short hallway and a lanky young man walked around the corner, long sleeve of his white shirt rolled up to accommodate the plastic wrapping over his right foreman. Behind him trailed a tall, tanned guy wearing a Green Day shirt. Pierced-Eyebrow turned his attention to the new arrivals on the scene.
“Let’s see!” he gestured with grabby hands.
White-shirt strolled over, smiling as he extended his arm over the counter for him. The other, who Ashton assumed to be Cal, made his way to behind the counter to slide what appeared to be a polaroid photo into a drawer on the desk. When he turned back around, he noticed Ashton in the back corner of the shop where he hadn’t moved since first arriving.
“Oh, hello.” He greeted, pleasantly. “I’m Calum. Can I help you tonight?”
“Y-“ Ashton cleared his throat. “Yes. A tattoo, please.”
“Sure. It’s just uh, we close at eleven so it can’t be anything too elaborate. What have you got in mind? We can always reschedule-“
That strange feeling of annoyance he experience just moments before began to claw at Ashton’s chest again. He wanted this. He wanted to be spontaneous; like he once was before his now ex-fiancée had come into his life and completely screwed it over. He wanted a tattoo tonight. Why did these people keep telling him he had to reschedule?
“It won’t take long.” He interrupted, a tight smile on his face.
Cal, seemingly unfazed, nodded. Glancing over to see that receptionist was still preoccupied with admiring the other guy’s new ink, Calum gestured for Ashton to head towards the hallway before reaching under the counter for some paper and pens.
He filled a paper cup of water for each of them from the dispenser before walking over.
They headed into a small but cosy room with two plush armchairs at either end of a dark mahogany coffee table and a potted plant in a corner. Ashton sunk into the comfortable embrace of one of the armchairs, gulping down the icy water and groaning. He was so tired. And tipsy. But he could do this – he could hold it together for an hour.
When he finally found it in him to open his eyes, he was met with an amused stare from the man seated across from him.
“Rough night?” he quipped, smirking as if he knew something Ashton didn’t. It was annoying.
“Rough week.” He replied, placing the empty cup on the table and clutching his head in his hands.
“Bro, I know you’ve been drinking and we kinda have a policy here about not tattooing anyone under the influence.” Ashton opened his mouth to protest, but Calum raised his hand to indicate that he wasn’t done talking. “Trust me; I have been you on too many occasions to count. This policy is to protect our clients. I mean fuck – and you can’t tell Mikey out front that I told you this or I swear to god he will never fucking let me live this down – but I once had a bit too much to drink after a nasty break up and to this day my ex’s initials are inked on my butt.” He chuckled “I mean, I was lucky enough that Josh managed to cover it up with some other stuff but still. It’s there and it sucks. We don’t tattoo if you’ve been drinking. Full stop.”
Ashton’s alcohol-numbed mind processed what the tattoo artist had just told him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Calum. Ashton could see himself being friends with Calum.
“My fiancée called off our engagement and moved out last night.” He almost whispered. It was the first time he had said that out loud and somehow that made the whole situation feel so unexpectedly real. “She left me for her physical trainer, after she had promised me forever.”
The silence was heavy, but not entirely uncomfortable. Ashton felt numb. Calum listened.
“I guess… I guess I came here ‘cos after all that I just wanted to believe again that something that would really, truly last forever, y’know? A tattoo can give me that.”
He felt cheated and ashamed and pathetic. Telling someone, albeit a total stranger, about his failed relationship had opened up some wounds. He was hurting and the dull ache which had previously been suppressed by alcohol was slowly fading away. He’d have to call his mother and tell her; inform his friends that a wedding was no longer in the works. He’d have to somehow fill the void that she left behind when she removed all traces of their cohabitation in existence when she had left in a flurry of blonde hair and champagne flutes.
“Tell you what,” Calum announced, pulling Ashton out of his own rather unsavoury thoughts, placing a fresh sheet of paper on the table. “Tonight we can brainstorm ideas. And then we’ll have a chat with Mikey to get you sorted for a good day to get it done, okay?”
Ashton agreed.
Together they filled the blank white sheet with swirls and whorls, harsh lines and jagged edges; undecipherable words and barely-discernable phrases. Michael joined them somewhere around sheet four. By the end of the night, not one of the patterns on any of the eight filled sheets of paper were viable candidates for a tattoo, but Calum laughed and Michael laughed and Ashton laughed for what felt like the first time in a very long time.
When Ashton finally left the tattoo parlour with Mikey and Calum’s contact details stored in his phone, the time on his analogue watch read 12.04.
He woke up the next day with a sore head and a mouth that felt like sandpaper. The bed was cold and empty and Ashton swallowed back the lump in his throat, refusing to let himself get caught in this rut again. Rain pounded down the skylight above him. The overcast, grey skies gave no indication of the time. He groaned and rolled out of bed, wincing as his head pounded with every step it took to get him to the kitchen and set a kettle boiling for a cup of coffee.
The events from the night before caught up to him whilst he sat at the small dining table with his head in his hands. Had he really gone to a tattoo parlour? Oh god. That must have been so embarrassing. He had to go back and apologise.
It was a rainy Saturday. Ashton decided, as he sipped at a scalding cup of fresh brewed coffee to clear his head, that he would be heading to pay Calum and Michael a visit once he got dressed.
* * * * *
The tattoo parlour looked different in the daylight.
Ashton’s boots splashed against the puddles that had accumulated in the cobblestone pathway. The same buzzer signalled as he opened the heavy metal-framed glass door to the welcoming warmth of the shop.
It was Calum who sat behind the counter this time. When he saw Ashton, his face broke out into a huge grin and he climbed over the counter to greet him with an extended arm which pulled the shorter man into a bro-hug. It was as if they had known each other for years; not a couple of hours (barely sober on Ashton’s part, mind).
“Ash! Good to see you man. Here so soon?”
Calum’s sincere greeting had made his day. It felt nice having a friend.
“Yeah! Same here, man. Look, I just wanted to apologise for last night. I promise that’s not what I’m normally like. Was just a little down in the dumps and oh god I didn’t say anything exceedingly, unredeemably embarrassing, did I? I hope not, because you and Mikey were really cool to me and I am so, so sorry for coming in here buzzed and demanding a tattoo that late at night that was not cool at all and I am so embarrassed-”
“Woah woah, calm down, mate! It’s fine! We’ve dealt with much worse, believe me.” Calum interrupted his rambling, resting a hand on Ashton’s shoulder and chuckling light-heartedly to himself. “Now, are you in here for a tattoo again? I’m more than happy to help out now that you’re sober. At least I hope you are – it’s two in the afternoon.”
Ashton laughed and shook his head, grateful that his new friend wasn’t making a big fuss of the situation. He had thought over the idea of seriously getting inked. It had always been something he had wanted until he’d met her, with her judgemental glances and disapproving looks at the heavily tattooed punk rocker that lived at the end of his street. Actually, when Ashton thought it over, there were a lot of things he had given up when he had entered that relationship. Obliviously with his fondness, he hadn’t realised that she was slowly but surely changing him. Throughout the course of the past three years, his wardrobe comprising of band tees and ripped jeans had been replaced with (frankly horrible) itchy, stiff sweaters and crisp shirts that she bought for him; with his own money, mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore a beanie.
He glanced down at what he was currently wearing – a worn Foo Fighters shirt which he had adamantly refused to put away and a pair of dark sweatpants – as he stood in a tattoo parlour on a dodgy street, friends with a tattoo artist who had a facial piercings and wore backward snapbacks; patterns of ink along his torso proudly displayed on the tanned skin not covered by a drop-sleeved muscle tank.
Ashton was hit by a sudden sense of liberation. For the first time since she packed her bags and left with what he thought was the shattered fragments of his heart, he began feeling that maybe her leaving was for the best. Their relationship had always been shaky – he was only now realising that what he had been mistaking for love was him slipping into a false sense of co-dependent routine. He hated the person he had become. Ashton made a decision that the moment he got home, he would be retrieving all his old clothes and shoes from the back of his wardrobe and chucking the ones she had got him out. He’d donate them, he decided, to the thrift shop down the road which raised money for the SPCA. Might as well give them some use.
He only realised he’s been staring at Calum’s face during his little epiphany when the guy began to squirm a little. “Is there something on my face? Ashton?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head to clear his mind a little. “Zoned out a bit there. Just thinking about… y’know.” He smiled softly in reply to Calum’s pitying glance and his eyes were drawn to a gleam of the light that caught on the latter’s face. He made his decision.
“Maybe not a tattoo today, Calum, but how about an eyebrow piercing?”
Calum grinned.
Ashton became a regular fixture at the shop after that, if only to hang out with the lads. If he wasn’t at work or in his newly-redecorated loft, he was at the shop goofing around with Calum and Michael. They had become really good friends – Ashton might even say the closest he’s ever had despite only having known them for weeks.
He found out one Autumn night that the shop was owned by this guy named Harry, who was really cool and currently operating from another parlour he owned in London. He popped by every now and again, Michael had told him, to do some guest work on clients and his sessions were always fully booked within hours of announcing his return. Calum had removed his shirt to reveal a back piece that “the Bossman Hazza” had done – a wide expanse of dense leaves that covered the taut skin across his shoulders. A tree canopy, Ashton realised, with two crows perched on narrow branches on each shoulder blade, facing each other but forever separated by shadows and space. The tree’s trunk ran down Calum’s spine, bark gnarly and twisted but strong and tall all the same.
It was beautiful. Ashton stared, mesmerised, absolutely captivated by the story the art had somehow managed to tell. How could drawings depict such emotion? He could see the strength of the trunk portrayed by the strong lines and delicate shading, picture the delicacy and realism of every individual leaf despite the entire piece being in shades of black, white and grey.
He felt the melancholy that was permanently etched into his friend’s very being.
His back may have been to him, but Ashton hadn’t missed the look that flashed across Calum’s face in his reflection on the full-length mirror that was the East wall of the shop as he tugged his shirt back on. By the time he had turned back around to face Michael and him, the pain in his dark brown eyes had vanished and the familiar grin had found its way back to his face.
Michael had continued talking excitedly about anything and everything, long arms flailing with increasing vigour until he accidentally knocked an unopened can of red bull off the counter and clattering to the floor. He swore loudly, before sharing a mischievous smirk with Calum as they picked up the can and ran giggling to the kitchenette sink. There was a pop, followed by the sound of a fizz oozing over the top of the can and splattering as it hit the sink and floor. Calum and Michael were swearing and laughing and Ashton smiled at their antics, absentmindedly fiddling with the two barbells through his right eyebrow.
Tattoos told stories. He wanted to wear his, too.
Several days after that, Ashton walked into the shop with a paper bag of warm pastries from the bakery down the road. He did this sometimes, brought in some food which he picked up on the way over from work, and share it with whoever happened to be free at the time. Occasionally a client who was awaiting their new work to bleed out extra ink before leaving would join in, and Ashton soon found he had made more friends in a matter of weeks than he had in months.
Today, the tattoo parlour was empty – Calum sat on the counter whilst Mikey lay sprawled across the cushioned bench. They both looked up, perfectly synchronised, as Ashton walked in. It was almost comical.
“Hey,” he greeted.
Two unintelligible sounds replied.
“Oh my god, you brought food.” The Michael-shaped lump spoke “Calum, Cal, Calpal; we need to keep him.”
“Thanks mate!” Calum chirped, hopping off the counter to greet Ashton properly with a one-armed hug. “How are ya?”
“The usual. You?”
“Pretty quiet day. Michael did some inner helix piercings for these girls and continued work on Mark’s sleeve; I had two touch up appointments in the morning and a bellybutton piercing, so nothing too hectic. It’s good to see you.”
“Oh, oh oh” Michael exclaimed, muffled due to his mouth being stuffed with what looked like a blueberry muffin. Calum cringed in disgust. “Hazza’s stopping by tomorrow! You should pop by.”
He agreed, plain and simple.
It was a hectic day, and by the time Ashton reached the tattoo parlour in the same black jeans and Ramones raglan tee he’d worn to work, four faces looked up to meet his when he walked in.
Michael’s lilac hair pointed wildly in all directions. Calum’s blonde streaks peeked out from the front of his beanie. Across from them stood two unfamiliar faces.
“Ashton!” Michael called, exuberant and excitable as always. “This is Hazza and Lukey. Guys, this is Ashton.”
Harry was lanky and almost feline in his movements as he sauntered over to shake Ashton’s hand with a toothy grin on his boyish face. He hadn’t known what to expect when the others had told him about their boss, but this wasn’t it. The dark-haired man waving at him couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than them, dressed in a navy V-neck, charcoal blazer and black skinny jeans. Ashton could see the edges of tattoos where they peeked above the neck of his T-shirt and around the cuffs of his rolled sleeves.
Next to him was a tall – very tall – guy who Ashton could only assume was Lukey (Luke? Loki? Damnit, Michael). Like Harry, he wore tight black jeans although his were ripped at both knees. His blonde hair was styled up into a quiff which only emphasised his height and he had on a blue flannel shirt. A single, thin black hoop adorned the corner of his lower lip. The way he was fiddling at it constantly with his teeth seemed like a nervous habit that gave the impression he was not entirely comfortable with the whole situation, though he did throw a smile and a small wave Ashton’s way.
“Luke is Harry’s new protégé,” Calum pitched in. “We were just discussing different styles. Apparently Lukey here is a specialist in watercolour and realism! Hazza says he hasn’t found someone that talented since he picked up the gun himself.”
Luke blushed, though he tried to brush it off by coughing and covering his face with his hands.
“Guys,” he began. But was immediately cut off by Harry.
“Now now, love. I wouldn’t have said that if I didn’t mean it. Especially not to these idiots.” His voice was low and heavily accented, leisurely-paced and Ashton was surprised at how out-of-place it sounded coming from him.
Michael and Calum immediately began to protest at being called idiots while Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes, smiling fondly as he gave Ashton a look of exasperation. Luke laughed and finally began to look more relaxed.
Conversation flowed easily with this lot and Ashton found himself having a really good time, just gathered around the shop floor sipping from beer bottles and laughing at each other’s stories. When Jon, a semi-retired piercer who worked some shifts at the shop, came around the corner with the final client for the day, he announced that he would close up for the night so the lads could have a proper catch up. They thanked him and headed towards the local club at Harry and Michael’s insistence.
The bass was loud, the interior dark and hot, but the music was decent and the bar excellent. The five men found a round booth and made themselves comfortable. A young brunette dressed in a little black dress came around to take their drink orders – the lads decided to kick start the night with several rounds of shots. She nodded and sashayed away, casting Calum a glance and smirk over her shoulder.
He winked back. Michael punched him in the arm.
* * * * *
It wasn’t long before Harry and Michael had disappeared into the packed dance floor. Calum joined them shortly after, having not-so-subtly meeting up with their server from before as she stepped out from behind the bar at the end of her shift.
That left Ashton and Luke in the booth, nursing cold beers and light-hearted conversation. In the few hours he had spent in the blonde’s presence, Ashton decided that he liked the guy. He could see them being good friends. Luke was soft spoken and generally reserved, though there were times when he emerged from his shell enough to chuck in a witty remark that thus far never failed to make Ashton laugh. The alcohol and good company had really helped him open up a bit and by this point he was laughing freely with contributing to conversations. He had a habit of fiddling at his lip ring with his teeth and tongue and scratched at his nose in the most peculiar, adorable way. The way he blushed so easily was also really, really cute and Ashton just wanted to cuddle him and-
Ashton stopped his train of thoughts there, before it got too weird. He’d only just met the guy!
“Ashton?”
He was drawn out of his thoughts by Luke’s voice, and he realised he had zoned out whilst the guy had been waiting for an answer to a question he hadn’t even registered.
“Yes,” he replied instinctively. “Wait. No. What was your question again?” he asked, sheepishly.
Luke only laughed it off, running his thin, agile fingers through his blonde quiff. “I asked if you wanted to dance.”
He smiled. “I’d love to.”
* * * * *
Luke was the most awkward dancer Ashton had ever encountered. “Okay, second worst,” he decided, after spotting Michael several paces away attempting an honestly appalling version of the Macarena.
He had a sneaking suspicion that Luke was deliberately making a fool of himself for Ashton’s amusement, or perhaps it was just the fact that his limbs were so ridiculously long and impossible to coordinate. There they stood, amidst a crowd of twerking and grinding young people, improvising their own renditions of the Sprinkler, Chicken Dance and good ol’ Fist Pump. It was hot and crowded and sweaty but Ashton couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this hard since –
He refused to let himself think about his ex – those wonderful, early days of their courtship where he was convinced she was the only one for him. He wasn’t going to let those thoughts ruin this amazing night with his new, amazing friends. He continued moving along to the music, close enough to Luke that he could read every movement on the younger man’s face but not close enough to be touching.
As the heat got unbearable, Luke removed his flannel shirt, tying it loosely around his waist before smiling brightly at Ashton and resuming his dancing. Ashton beamed back, not skipping a beat but his eyes were preoccupied with scanning the pale, unmarked skin of Luke’s arms and sides that were uncovered by his black tank top. He was surprised – as far as he could tell, Luke had no tattoos.
* * * * *
Something had changed. Maybe it was the beat of the new song – slower, heavier, deeper. Maybe the renewed surge of freshly-consumed alcohol gushing through his veins was affecting his brain like the black lights and body paint surrounding them. Maybe Luke’s presence was intoxicating him in ways he had never felt before. He didn’t know how it happened, but they had somehow ended up in the dark, back edges of the dance floor, pressed up against one another and moving mindlessly along to the music.
Luke’s hand were on Ashton’s hips and Ashton’s hands hand found their way up Luke’s broad, broad shoulders, tugging softly a the damp, curling strands of soft hair at the nape of his neck. Neither of them spoke, panting from exertion of dancing and chests occasional brushing against each other with the rise and fall from their heavy breaths. When Ashton looked up to meet Luke’s face his eyes were closed, lavender veins visible on his delicate eyelids. His lip ring was between his teeth, where the boy was biting on his lip subconsciously; lost in the moment. A bead of sweat rolled down the straight, narrow bridge of his nose and Ashton nuzzled it off the very tip with his own. An unintentional Eskimo kiss.
Luke opened his eyes and for a moment, Ashton was consumed by blue. The pulsing, neon reflections and slick of sweaty bodies became nothingness for a moment.
Their breaths mingled. Their lips brushed-
“Lukey! Ashhh” a slurred, distant call had them pulling apart. “Where are you morons?”
Michael’s mess of light hair almost glowed in the black light. Harry trailed not far behind, wide grin and glow-in-the-dark body paint almost eerie patterns on his skin.
“There you are!” Michael shouted, too drunk to have any regard for volume control. “We’re leaving, boys!”
Harry chuckled, slinging one of Michael’s arms around his shoulder as Ashton did the same with his other. Luke dutifully held on to their belongings and led them through the crowd. They waved goodbye at Calum – dancing (grinding) with the same girl from before – on their way out. Michael began to shout something along the lines of “GET SOME, YOU DAWG” before Luke kicked him in the shin.
The chilly bite of fresh air sobered the men up a little. They sat Mikey down on a nearby bench, where he immediately curled up into a ball and started snoring. Harry phoned for cabs as Luke leaned against a streetlamp, face hidden by shadow. Ashton was suddenly hit with a wave of fatigue; of immense tiredness. He felt like he could sleep for days.
“Ashton, mate.” Harry’s rich, deep voice called “It was great to meet you, man. Hopefully I’ll see you around?”
“Absolutely, Haz.” Was great to finally meet you, too. Tonight was fun. Thanks for the drinks.”
Harry grabbed his hand in a firm handshake, the other waving off Ashton’s thanks. “Was my pleasure.” He smiled, a genuine, kind smile.
A taxi pulled up on the road beside them with a screech of brakes. Michael groaned.
“I think I’ll take him over to mine to crash – looks like Cal would appreciate privacy in their apartment tonight.” Harry winked, and Ashton giggled. “We could have the cab drop you off where you need to be?”
“No, no. It’s fine, Harry. I don’t live too far. I’ll walk home.” Ashton smiled, politely refusing the offer. It was a beautiful night and he could use the walk to sober up a bit.
Harry looked doubtful, but he didn’t insist. He nodded. “Text me when you get home, yeah? Just to make sure everyone got home alright.”
Ashton agreed with a teasing remark about mother hen Harry before helping Harry and Luke to load Mikey into the taxi. When he was sprawled across Harry’s lap in the backseat, Luke stepped back s Harry gave directions to the driver.
He looked at Ashton, expression unreadable. For a moment he lifted his hand, looking like he wanted to say something, only to lower it and reach for the front door handle of the taxi.
“Goodnight, Ashton.” He folded himself into the seat. “Sleep well.”
“Goodnight, Luke.”
The car door slammed shut, the tires screeched; and Ashton stood alone on the sidewalk.