Chapter Text
The alarm was going off. Hob's eyes slowly opened, misty and full of sleep. Rather begrudgingly he rolled over, bones and joints popping, to turn off his alarm. Took him a few goes to find the damn thing and eventually, after hitting it multiple times, the room was silent again.
Melting back into the mattress, cradled with warmth and cotton; he sniffed and groaned, voice still hoarse from a rather restless night of nightmare filled sleep and rubbed his hands across his face. Pulling the skin tight around his cheeks and jaw, Hob stared up at the ceiling, looking at the small cracks that had appeared - or had they always been there?
No matter.
Twisting slightly, he picked up his phone off the wireless charger on the nightstand and continued his daily ritual of looking through news apps, emails from students and University faculty. He chuckled watching a video of a bunch of tiny round dogs plodding along then falling over. - He kept thinking he should get one of those someday. It would make his flat seem a bit less lonely. Sitting up in bed he feels his phone vibrate and sees the notification pop up on his screen which makes his heart begin to race, beating however many miles a minute.
Today’s the day.
It wasn’t so much as an impulsive decision; but more one he’d spent a good few weeks thinking about, especially because it related to something that would be so much bigger than some of the other tattoos he had. Some of which were in places he’d never admit to, unless completely inebriated, or for a dare maybe. But things like the ships anchor on his calf, the geometric bird on his chest he was rather fond of. He wasn’t quite sure what had made him decide on a sleeve of all things though, might have been a passing conversation with a student, an image online, or within his own dreams.
All he knew is that he wanted one.
Hob had researched a few local places, and came across a tattoo parlour called “Dreaming of Ink”, which didn't look too bad of a place. A fairly small self-starter with a few employees, good reviews, photo’s and of course a licence. He’d made the call last Tuesday and got through to presumably the receptionist, a nice sounding woman who had booked in his consultation for Saturday afternoon, sometime after lunch.
He wasn't getting the inking part done just yet though. The purpose of today's session was going to be discussing the design with the lead artist, sketching and planning to make sure the design both fit the area and ultimately looked good. He had an idea, of sorts, as to what he wanted and he was hoping that the artist could make it become reality. The motif was specifically clocks, compasses and time related.
That was the one thing he always seemed to have too much of. Time.
He considered himself to be pretty lucky and blessed with rather good looks, and despite being in his early - to mid thirties he didn’t look a day over 27. Whilst his colleagues around him envyed him as they gained wrinkles, grey hairs and aching bones, Hob seemed to be ageing backwards, or not at all. If that was even a possibility.
Pouring himself a pot of coffee, Hob busied himself for most of the morning, losing the day over his students assignments, reading, inhaling the words on paper. Taking his favourite marker pen, he highlighted phrases, terms, references and footnotes, making small comments or puns. Hob enjoys his work at the University, he considers it the ideal career, teaching the next generation about time gone past. The only slight trouble with this, was that he could get so engrossed in the work, that he could go a day without moving from his kitchen table. A few hours had passed and before he knew it his phone was going mad on the table beside him - ah shit!
He was going to be late.
Thanking past Hob for setting a phone reminder, and scolding present Hob for sitting down too long, he rose from the table. He had to shake his legs a little to get the feeling back, pins and needles are the worst bugbear. Fumbling with keys, coat and shoes Hob somehow managed to fall out of his door, and even more miraculously he was successful in locking it behind him as he flew downstairs. Then rushing outside into the complex car park where he wrenched open his car door and landed in the driver's seat.
The tattoo parlour wasn’t too far away, thankfully, and traffic was quiet for a Saturday. He parked his old, battered but incredibly trustworthy Acura Integra in the car park and made his way down the cobbled street towards the parlour. Hob pushed his hands into the warmth of his coat pockets and took in his surroundings, humming a tune to himself. The town was nice, quaint and full of history - makes sense after all, as a History professor he loved the subject. History was his lifeblood, he’d dedicated his adult years to teaching it after all.
Saturday shoppers walk, talk and congregate in shops, on tables outside cafes. Hob takes note of the bakery; as he passes by, the smell of freshly baked pastries fill his airwaves and stomach. God I could go for a steak and ale pasty right now - he mingled with the thought before choosing to stop by later. He didn’t want to be late for his consultation and he was already cutting it fine. Just a few minutes later he turned a corner and there it was.
Dreaming of Ink.
A bell rang as Hob entered the front entrance and his first thought was “night sky”. The ceiling of the store was dark navy, almost black. But it was covered in small bright white spotlights that decorated it like stars, constellations even - Christ that must have cost a fortune!
The room itself is modern, but classy and feels loved. Shadow coloured wood floors and panelling on the walls meld together before giving way to a dark Oxford Blue paint job. There’s two sets of black chesterfield sofas covered in soft velvet fabric, which sit opposite each other separated by a marble coffee table; upon which there are a few binders; presumably full of sketches and designs. Hob takes note of three small stained glass windows set into the side wall behind the reception area, the one on the left is full of pink and purple hues, the middle; reds and orange and the one on the right is shades of green and blue.
They let in a rainbow of light.
It’s gorgeous - Hob thought to himself, completely lost in the beauty of the place. Before a sudden cough brought him back to earth with a startling thump.
He looked over to where the noise came from and in front of a door named “Staff Only” stood a young woman, mid to late twenties, if he had to guess. She was dressed smartly with a dark purple blazer covering a white blouse that was tucked into black trousers. She had a pair of circular gold glasses, that were perched so far forward on her nose, that they were near enough disobeying the laws of physics. She looked at him with warm brown eyes, and smiled, welcoming him. Heels clipped the floor as she walked over towards him, before stopping about a foot in front of him and held out her hand. Hob found himself smiling back as he took her hand in his and shook it gently. She spoke, and her voice was just as warm, friendly and inviting.
“You must be Robert Gadling; here for your 1:30 consultation session? Finally.” - A tiny hint of sarcasm.
Before he could even answer, she’d quickly walked back round behind the reception desk and had opened a rather large book and started making notes. She looked at him with a head tilt, waiting for an answer.
“Ah…uh..yes apologies! Robert Gadling, thatsa’ me. Sorry if I’m a little late” - Hob glanced at the small clock, watching the minute hand tick over to 37 minutes past the hour.
The woman smiled and chuckled slightly. “No trouble, you'd be surprised that Saturday is usually a quieter day anway.” she replied, turning back to the large leather bound book making more notes.
Hob stood, fidgeting on his feet, now feeling rather uncertain of himself. He wasn't sure what to do now, should he just stand. No it made more sense to sit down, it would be a lot less awkward. Almost as if the woman had read his mind, she said, not looking up from her book “You can sit down you know? Our lead artist will be with you in a moment” - Yep, it's awkward now.
He made himself comfortable on one of the sofas, settling into the velvet fabric and taking in more of the surroundings. It’s silent for now, only Hob now realised that there was ambient music playing, very faintly from one of the back rooms. He took a moment to reflect, remembering the design he was after in his mind's eye; soaking in the quiet. Until a phone rings.
The woman answers it, expertly holding it with one hand, and still writing with the other. “Hello, this is Lucienne from Dreaming of Ink, how can I help you?”
Lucienne.
A very pleasant name. Not a very common one either.
Through the other end of the phone comes a muffled voice at which Lucienne laughs, and straightens herself to pay more attention to the conversation, of which Hob can only hear her side.
“Oh Merv, you do crack me up, even when I don’t ask for it.”
“Where were you and Matthew going for drinks later?”
“No…No there’s just a couple of appointments today. I should be able to join you both after…say around half 5?”
“Alright, tell Matthew I’ll see you both later. No Merv I don’t know if he’ll join, you know he usually doesn't anyway.” - There's a hint of disappointment.
“Yes. Fine I’ll ask him, but you know what he’ll say.”
“Right, I’ll see you later. We’ve got a customer waiting here. Bye.” - She was looking at him now.
Hob only just now realises that for the past 5 minutes, for the entirety of her conversation; he’d been staring at her. Oops. Well if it wasn’t awkward before, now it certainly was; he didn’t intend to eavesdrop. It just happened. He quickly glances away trying desperately to focus on a spot on the table in front of him.
“Sorry” - he said with a mumble.
Lucienne sighed and rolled her eyes before picking up the book and vanishing to the back room, heels clicking as she went. Hob could hear muffled voices coming from behind the slightly ajar door. Well he could hear Lucienne's muffled voice; whoever she was talking to spoke in such a low tone the decibels barely registered.
She came back through the door a few seconds later, standing with her hands folded over the book, and proclaimed "He's ready to see you now"
She gestured behind her to the back room and walked back behind the reception desk.
Hob swallowed, and pushed himself up from the chair, gathering himself and his thoughts. This is just a consultation session, not the actual tattooing session itself; he reminded himself walking through the threshold. But why does he feel so nervous? Hob is certain it's nothing to worry about. But what if this artist couldn't get the design right, or if they were just a plain asshole?
"Hello."
Hob stopped at the sudden voice speaking at him. The room was lit in a warm amber honey hue and the wall was covered in a variety of charcoal and pencil sketches. But what caught his eye sat in the corner, slightly surrounded by shadows, almost like a vignette filter was the shape of a person. Hob could have very well mistaken them for a shadow, if it wasn't for entrancing, wide ocean blue eyes that stared right through him.
In that moment, as time seemed to stand still, Hob had fallen instantaneously.
The stranger rose from the chair with little to no effort or extra movement and made his way over. He stopped in front of Hob and both of their faces were bathed in that warm, golden honey glow from the nearby lamps. Hob made note of high, really well defined cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. He noticed pale skin, and even paler lips, with hints of pink in their corners, that were slightly parted.
God's above if only I could meet them with mine.
Ah nope! Put that thought away, Hob quickly had to readjust his brain.
The man's rather large shock of black spiked hair desperately looked like it needed someone's hands in them. Mine will do - Hob's imagination was taking over. Each small wisp, strand of hair looked soft; almost with a fluffy quality and small sections hung over his forehead. Hob noticed that aside from the almighty dark hair, it seemed black was this man's favourite colour, he was covered in it. Black skinny trousers, black laced combat boots, black oversized sweatshirt, which seemed to swallow the man's thin frame. Apart from his pale skin to break up the noir palette there was also a ruby red brooch on his sweatshirt. He stared at Hob with piercing blue eyes, set into deep sockets, retinas that somehow moved and swayed like the tide of the ocean. The deepest of the darkest oceans that you could drown in if not careful.
"Hello. You must be Robert Gadling."
His voice.
Now he was standing closer he could truly experience and appreciate those insanely dulcet sounds. Christ Hob wasn't really expecting this man to have such a low tone to him. It was smooth and silky, only broken with the smallest of punctuations and pauses. He could gladly fall asleep listening to that voice, like butter over a warm slice of toast. Suddenly his brain kicked into gear as he remembered where, what, why and how he was here.
"Ah…uh yes! Robert, Robbie, Hobsie Gadling. That's-a me!"
Hob was kicking himself, as his brain was still grinding into gear since it clearly hadn't quite yet connected to his mouth, and his once smooth ability to talk, that he prided himself on, came out instead in a slightly high pitched stutter.
"Please take a seat. Let us talk. There is much to discuss about this tattoo you're after." - The man turned heel and again, with no effort but all the grace in the world he sprawled himself into the high backed wooden chair he'd been sitting in previously.
All Hob could think about was grabbing this man by his hips, placing him onto his lap and tracing his rough and weathered hands over smooth pale skin, but - with all the will in the world; Hob made himself comfortable on the opposite stool, so now he'd had a second to calm down and gather himself.
Putting away any and all of those intrusive thoughts for later that night, in the comfort of his own home.
Hob spoke the most over that next hour whilst the tattoo artist sat opposite, listening intently. His head would, at times, turn to slight angles and pose a quizzical look but the eyes were always intense. They say eyes are the window to the soul, and by christ they stared into the very depths of Hob's soul. Hob managed to get round to describing this tattoo he was after and the various types of designs he'd been thinking of.
It was about halfway through the conversation that the figure had risen from his chair to grab a leather bound sketch book, stuffed full of coloured post-its, creases and smudges, and a pack of HB pencils; before sitting back down and opening to a blank page. He looked deep in thought, hunched over the book. Hob couldn't help but look at his hands, as they traced the paper, flowing, gliding even. Eventually he stopped and held out the sketchbook, his eyes looking softly at Hob for approval.
"Is this what you were thinking of?" - He asked, in the gentlest of tones.
Hob looked in awe at the page of the book he was holding. The sketch looked incredible, an array of shapes, curves and shades. It had everything Hob had been dreaming about, and it was here on paper. The main and largest element of the design consisted of ivy that entwined around a number of different sized old fob watches, which in turn were adorned with roman numerals. Then there were the smaller details, small cogs and gears with the most intricate of swirls, curls and patterns. Hob was quite shocked as to how well this design looked on paper, and realised that he'd not yet given a response.
Hob looked over at the artist who was still looking at him, lips pursed in anticipation, clearly waiting for some kind of response, positive or negative in nature. He quickly realised that his mouth was slightly agape, so he quickly swallowed and handed back the sketchbook. This man was already an absolute dream of a human being, and he could make art like this?
"This..uh." He hesitated, if for only a moment, but he saw a slight wetness, a shadow of doubt, in the very corner of the artist's right eye.
Oh shit.
"It's gorgeous. It is exactly what I've been looking for." - Hob is beaming now.
At those words, the man opposite seems to become less tense, and in the subtlest of movements the corners of his mouth turned up. Giving the hints of the smallest of smiles. His tear ducts still looked like they might just give way and open the damn flood gates though. - Might be allergies; Hob thought to himself. The man's eyes darted towards Hob's face, before quickly glancing away and taking back the book, and marking the corner with a post-it note that had Hob's name on there.
"You're an incredible tale….""
"I am glad yo…"
Hob had felt the need to punctuate the silence, but so did the artist it seems. At the exact same time.
"Ah sorry!"
"My apologies."
Both were silent again for a moment, Hob's warm brown eyes met cool blue ones and he smiled warmly at the man in black. The artist lifted his arm and took a quick glance at the watch on his wrist, the strap of which was black, of course, and leather. Taking note of the time he looked at Hob and spoke in almost a whisper.
"I am glad you approve of the design."
"No, it's uh..really good. Like insanely, good…you are massively talented….I'm so excited to see it go from on paper to on my skin." - Hob could tell he was rambling again.
"Let us go and see Lucienne. We'll get you booked in for the first stencil session."
He then stood up and towered over Hob, looking down at him; he really was tall. Maybe if he lent down slightly Hob wouldn't feel as tiny, as submissive. But getting the feeling he should stand up, Hob rose from his chair and found himself rather close to the artist's face. A little too close. He felt his heart jump in his chest and lodge itself in his throat. Hob couldn't help but think himself the luckiest man in the world. He'd been given a chance to take in all of the small details, he had better not waste these fleeting moments.
The slightly parted pale lips, with dashes of pink colour.
A silver earring that he'd somehow not noticed until now.
The very faint 5 o'clock shadow around his jawline.
The tiniest hint of dimples in his cheeks
The tufts of fluffy black hair that framed his face.
Those eyes. Piercing blue.
But in this light, his eyes seemed to represent galaxies, stars and constellations. They seemed to glint, blink and sparkle. Hob could stare at them forever, he would gladly float and fall into the deepest reaches of space. Anything to keep these images fresh. Like a newly taken polaroid, Hob retained these details and stored them away in the furthest reaches of his memory banks.
For later.
He backed up and nearly fell over the chair, his eyes torn away for a moment to catch and steady himself. When he looked up again, the artist had walked out and left the room; which he followed suit back into the brighter shop entrance. He saw Lucienne and the man, his thin frame lent against the reception desk, elbows, arms and hands on the wooden countertop. They were deep in conversation, or more from the sounds of it, Lucienne was, talking about various schedules, appointments, contracts and the like. She spoke, he listened.
Hob wandered over and stood rather awkwardly near them, waiting for his moment to speak or be acknowledged. Lucienne looked up and saw him and straightened her back before beckoning him closer. Now stood at the desk with them, he found himself next to the tall figure again and he was glancing at his hands. They were clasped together, the long fingers interwoven with each other, the veins running like tendrils from his knuckles down past his wrists.The silence was broken by Lucienne's voice;
"So, Robert Gadling; it seems that you're more than happy with the design our resident artist has created?"
"No…wait no, sorry yes! Yes! I'm certainly happy with it. Looks incredible!"
He glanced over and caught the bright blue eyes staring back at him; Hob smiled.
"Excellent! So in terms of your first appointment, and based on availability we should be able to fit you in for next Wednesday, around 2:30pm. If that should suffice?"
Drawn back to the conversation, Hob took out his phone and looked at his calendar. Next Wednesday, that was a fairly short day; he had a couple of morning faculty meetings and a lecture, but most of his afternoon was free. Wednesday was a day for marking the weekly assignments he set, and since marking work could get boring, even at the best of times, he would gladly rather spend his time getting the stencilling done instead.
"Certainly! Next Wednesday you say? I'll make a note."
"Oh and I'll try not to be late!" - He would make certain of that.
Lucienne handed a few pamphlets about what to expect, the dos and don'ts and just general things when it comes to getting a large tattoo. She marked down his name and appointment in that large book, before standing up straight and extending her hand out.
"Lovely to meet you! Look forward to seeing you again next week."
Hob shook her hand and smiled before turning to the artist, who was still standing at the reception desk, and Hob extended his hand out. The artist looked quizzically at him, and then very gently took his hand and shook it. Hob winced slightly at how cold his hands actually were, before removing his grip and preparing to leave. The man's face was stoic, unmoving; little to no emotion. Silently after their hands had been released he walked on his heel back into the room they had come from and shut the door.
Slightly confused and a little perturbed at the rather abrupt and silent departure. Hob started walking out of the shop before turning back and saying, just loudly enough to be heard behind closed doors.
"I'll see you again next week!"
The rest of his evening was rather uneventful, a genuine slice of life. After he finished preparing lectures for next week he cooked spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, drank some whisky, and watched some reliable but crap late night TV. However, there was a shift in the air, as that night when he went to bed, in his slightly too large king sized bed, cold but excited for the week ahead, Hob dreamt of a man all dressed in black, with stars for eyes.
It was the best night's sleep he had in ages.