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Will is sixteen when the idea strikes him.
He's out in London with some friends — actual, real friends, something he didn't think he could ever have in this world. He's laughing, having fun, and living in a way that almost allows him to forget the hollow ache in his chest that never goes away. It's been nearly two years, and in that time he's learned that days like this make the pain slightly more bearable. So when his mates suggest getting some pizza, he's the first to agree.
On their search for a good pizza joint, they come across a tattoo parlor. Even though it's tucked in between a pharmacy and a grocery store, the bright red neon sign can't be missed.
Will's attention, however, is more drawn to what's happening inside.
His friends don't seem to notice when he pauses in front of the window display to stare at the pretty girl occupying the customer chair. The tattoo artist has her arm firmly in his grip as he works on a small detail in the bend of her elbow, but she still manages to maintain a pleasant smile and conversational tone.
And she looks like Lyra.
Well, not quite. She is older, her hair is a few shades darker, and her nose is different, more pointed. Of course, she's not Lyra; no girl in this world could ever be Lyra, but the way she laughs or tilts her head curiously to assess the progress of her new tattoo is so familiar that Will's heart howls in his chest like a wounded wolf.
Someone steps out of the shadows and walks over to her; her boyfriend, Will assumes when the tall stranger with soft brown hair puts his strong arms around her shoulders and kisses the crown of her head. Moreover, just below his left wrist, he sports a brand new tattoo, the black lettering of which stands out starkly against his ethereal skin.
Kate , it says, in beautiful calligraphic lettering. Must be his girlfriend's name.
Which means what she is getting on her arm must be his name.
When the tattoo artist, a beefy guy with a mustache and thick-framed glasses, is finished, Kate offers her boyfriend her arm so he can see the finished product for himself. Will has to strain his eyes to make out the letters, but he thinks they spell out Rick or maybe Dick from a distance. Rick or Dick appears satisfied with his assessment, as he smiles widely and leans in to press his lips against the girl's lips this time.
To have each other's names permanently inked onto their skin at such a young age — they can't be older than twenty — speaks volumes about the depth of their devotion to one another.
Will puts his fists in his pants pockets and walks away from the window, his head bowed, unable to bear the sight of the couple, which brings back memories that are equally painful and comforting. Once again, the girl made him think of Lyra. The way she laughed before her boyfriend kissed her, the way she looked at him... Each time Will kissed Lyra, she responded with the same giddy laughter. The same light shone from her eyes whenever she looked at him, whether they were running through the winding, empty streets of Cittàgazze or swimming in Mulefa's world's blue, sun-shining lagoons.
His heart whines even louder, and the pain and longing almost deafen him; he has to lean against the wall because suddenly he has difficulty breathing. His severed fingers, long healed, are on fire, and Will clutches them to his chest to bear it somehow.
Suddenly, he is touched by a wave of compassion and shared suffering from Kirjava, who is currently staying with his mother at home. Despite their distance, his daemon senses his pain and helps her human survive it. Will closes his eyes and concentrates on their bond, picturing Kirjava's thick, soft fur against his hand and the low rumble of her purr vibrating through his chest whenever she curled up on him. The pain fades, but the image of Lyra with gold Dust pouring over her lingers in his mind like the flecks that appear in his vision when he stares at the sun for too long.
Will shakes his head and tells himself to breathe deeply. He wipes away a tear that has rolled down his cheek and walks away from the tattoo parlor with determination. When his friends ask him where he's gone, he tells them he saw something nice for his mum and stopped to wonder if he should buy it. The lie slips off his tongue with surprising ease; Lyra would be proud of him.
The pizza tastes great, and Will eats until his stomach hurts, although that also may have something to do with how much he's laughing. He spends the rest of the day fooling around with his mates like any other teenager, and when he gets home, he brings his mother a beautiful, elegant blouse in a deep forest green color that he spotted at a sale somewhere.
But even when he's already in bed, his hand stroking Kirjava's back as she purrs in her sleep, curled against his chest, his thoughts return to the tattoo parlor, where he saw letters carved into the skin, but now they form a name more important and beautiful than any other.
Lyra.
He's eighteen when he steps through the threshold of that same parlor with all his birthday money in his pocket, a crumpled piece of paper with a wobbly concept design on it in his hand, and his heart hammering in his chest.
His eighteenth birthday finds him hitching a ride to London with Mary, who needs to take care of some academic business there. In the car, he explains his plan to her, and the beaming smile that spreads across her face provides him with all the reassurance he needs. She can't contain her enthusiasm for him as she gushes about how she's always wanted to get a tattoo herself (just a little one, nothing major) but has never worked up the courage to actually do it.
"But if yours comes out right, who knows, maybe I'll be next." She says, steering her car into the parking lot of the British Library. It's not a long walk from here to the part of the city where the tattoo parlor is located, and it's actually easier to get there on foot than by car, so Will decides to take a walk.
He convinces himself that it will give him enough time to shake off the nerves. It doesn't.
When he gives the piece of paper to the tattoo artist, his hand is shaking. If the guy notices it, he doesn't comment, and Will is grateful. After a minute of silent consideration — during which his brow raised in a way that reminded Will of an old-school cartoon character — the man tucks the paper away and motions for Will to follow him further into the studio, where they can prepare the design properly.
"Lyra," he quotes in a deep baritone. "That's a name, right?"
He's American, Will realizes with a jolt of surprise. He even sounds a little like Lee Scoresby.
"Um, yes, it is."
"Huh, pretty. Must be a pretty girl, too, am I right?"
Will doesn't respond, but the way the tips of his ears heat up is enough for the guy to grin.
"Gotcha," he says with a wink as he sits down in front of his computer to finish the design. "She must be special if you're getting her name tatted."
No words can accurately describe just how special Lyra Silvertongue is, so Will only nods, a proud smile blooming on his face.
"She is."
The design is done in a matter of minutes. It's subtle and neat; the font is thin and elegant, as if the name were written with a quill. It fits the elegance of Lyra's world. Will loves it.
"Now, where do you want it, man?"
To be honest, the question surprises him a little because, up until this point, Will hadn't really thought about this. He had imagined it being on his arm, like the tattoos of the couple he saw that day, but something has stopped him from saying that. It doesn't feel quite right. He turns to look at himself in the mirror and looks himself in the eyes, studies the curtain of tight dark curls falling over his forehead, focuses on the wild beating in his chest…
"Can you do it over my heart? Like right here?" He asks, thumping a fist over his racing heartbeat. His own voice sounds strange to him.
He's not sure what the tattoo guy reads from his gaze or if he noticed the pain and loneliness lingering there, but the man's grin turns from teasing to soft, almost empathetic, as he nods and tells Will to take off his shirt and get in the chair.
The pain of the needle piercing his skin pales in comparison to the heartache that lies beneath. By contrast, it only lasts a few short minutes, instead of being constant and eternal. But when Will gets out of the chair and looks in the mirror, he feels a little better. He has the name of his one true love tattooed across his heart, and while it won't heal his heartbreak, it will make it easier to carry it through life. Will finds himself unable to look away from it, tears blur his vision the longer he does.
What would Lyra say? What would her reaction be? Will likes to imagine that she'd give him one of those huge, toothy grins that hurts her cheeks. A soft gasp would escape her lips as she traces the tattoo with her fingers. She would love it; deep in his heart, he knows she would.
The tattoo guy charges him half the usual price as a birthday gift, but something in his eyes tells Will there's more to it than the man is willing to tell.
He sees it right before leaving — a similar kind of heartache and loneliness flashing in the man's eyes. A shadow of understanding and sympathy.
Maybe he has a special name tattooed on a broken heart as well.
He's twenty-one when Lyra's delicate fingers trace the letters of her name embedded into his skin, leaving a trail of shivers in her wake. Her head is pillowed against his chest, her beautiful, warm body tangled with his beneath the sheets, and his hand slowly follows the path of her curves, attempting to learn every hill and valley. There's not an inch of free space between them, skin touching skin in a way like never before. If there is a Heaven, Will believes this is it.
Their reunion was unexpected and surprising, but what wasn't surprising to Will was that Lyra — his amazing, wonderful, genius Lyra — had used every scrap of data she could find from her parents' research, collected every scrap of paper and blueprint they had left behind, and hadn't stopped until she found a way to get back to him safely. The moment she sat down on their bench next to him on midday of this year's Midsummer Day will be the one he will never forget.
He'd always known she'd grow into a beautiful woman, but what he imagined was nothing compared to what he sees now. He was rendered speechless by her beauty. Her hair is now reaching her pronounced waist, her hips sway when she walks in a way that she knows will make anyone look twice, and her legs appear to stretch for miles. She's still smaller than him, though and Will couldn't pass up the chance to tease her about it. Seeing her pout and stick her tongue out made him laugh, but he knew she wasn't mad at him when he tucked her under his chin and she instantly melted into his embrace, sighing in relief.
"I want one, too," she says now, pressing her lips against his tattoo, and Will can feel her smile against his chest. "I want your name on my skin." She specifies before giving it another kiss.
There's not a spot on his body now where her lips haven't left their mark, but somehow, when she kisses that particular spot, it gives him the biggest shivers. The gasp she let out when she first saw it, the way her hand trembled when she reached out and brushed her fingertips over it had Will standing so still he could be a statue, unable to breathe. Now as she kisses it, humming against his skin, a content sigh escapes his mouth, and his head falls back onto the pillow, his eyelids fluttering. They're in his bed, the warm, yellow light of his nightstand lamp illuminating their bodies, but it feels like they're back in their paradise, lying on the grass with their arms wrapped around each other, their clothes still wet from swimming in the lake all morning. It feels like they have returned home.
"I can make that happen," Will tells her before planting a kiss on her forehead. There's no place on her body where his lips haven't left their mark either. "Where would you want it?"
The cute little pout that forms on Lyra's face as her brows furrow in thought is adorable to watch. She pushes away from Will's chest for ten seconds to look at Pan, who is curled up with Kirjava at the foot of the bed, and the two have a silent conversation before Lyra returns to her original position and smiles at Will.
"Over my heart. Just like yours."
Will finds himself grinning in victory, somehow knowing this would be her choice.
"We'll go tomorrow."
"Perfect."
A shadow of doubt passes through her face then, a tiny hint of uncertainty that flickers in her eyes every time she's about to make an important decision.
"Will it hurt?" She asks quietly, innocently.
Will lets out a soft chuckle and pulls her closer to him.
"Only a little," he promises, comforting but truthful at the same time. "It's like a scratch or a sting. It's more annoying than painful, really but that depends on what part of your body is getting tattooed, how sensitive your skin is, and how big the tattoo will be."
He knows he's using his doctor voice now, a matter-of-fact tone that is quick but precise. It's something he's been teased about mercilessly by his friends ever since he started college, but it makes Lyra's eyes darken in a way that has his skin heating up. She curls herself closer to him, making sure he can feel everything, from her chest pressed against his to her leg wrapped around his leg, and he has to swallow and breathe to get himself back on track.
"And a little thing like this?" He taps a finger over his tattoo, trying to act like his voice isn't thick from desire. "It will be over in a matter of minutes."
"Good," she says, nodding in the most Lyra way possible, and then, quick as she ever was, she's on top of him, her lips ghosting over his earlobe.
"And you know what I don't want to end in a matter of minutes?" He hears her husky voice whisper in his ear.
"What?" He asks, even though he already knows the answer. His hands move over her waist to her hips, soaking in the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers.
Lyra lifts her face to look at him, and Will finds nothing but love and happiness in her gaze. Even though it has been seven years since they last saw each other, he still finds himself gazing deeply into her sparkling eyes, getting lost in them. She looks at him the same way too, like he’s the only thing she thinks life is worth living for.
They've both come a long way and changed a lot since then, but deep down, they're still Lyra and Will, and their love is as strong as ever, if not stronger.
Strong enough to cross worlds.
She brushes her nose against his, and her smile darkens.
"This."
And she kisses him as if the night were never going to end.
Tomorrow, they will go to London and get his name tattooed over her heart. But tonight, Will is more than happy to draw it out of her lips in a sigh of pleasure.
Again, and again, and again.