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The bell above the door rings as Simon pushes it open and steps inside. He lets it fall shut behind him, and stops at the silence that greets him inside the tiny tattoo studio. He takes a deep breath, can't help but appreciate the change from the freezing air outside that had his lungs burning and fingers going numb, and lets his gaze sweep across the small waiting area and desk.
He is about to call into the empty space when he hears steps from further in the shop approaching. He watches as a young man comes striding in, making his way down a couple of steps from where they lead into a small hallway and stopping at the bottom.
"Knew I heard the door! Sorry, I was just in the back for a second."
He's pretty, Simon notes. Tall, though not quite as tall as Simon himself, with sharp features and bright gray-blue eyes, and a smile that lights up his entire face. The haircut is questionable, but somehow the man in front of him makes the overgrown mohawk work for him, even when some strands fall into his pretty eyes. There are two black piercings wrapping around his lower lip on either side, at least a few ear piercings Simon can see from where he stands, and a tattoo he can't quite identify on his arm.
"So, what can I help you with?" He offers an accent that takes Simon a second to recognize as Scottish lacing his words, one eyebrow raised. Still somewhat mesmerized by the other man's pretty face, Simon notices a small smudge of blue beneath his eye— maybe ink. He shakes himself out of it when he realizes he's staring.
"I uh. A tattoo."
Simon cringes. Sure, it’s no secret his social skills were pretty much nonexistent- Roach likes to remind him of that often enough, after all- but this might just be a new low. Way to state the obvious, what else would he be doing in a tattoo shop? He can't help but hope his medical mask hides how his face must have gone red with embarrassment, if the heat creeping up his neck and over his cheeks is anything to go by.
The man's smile sharpens, changes into something between grin and smirk, and amusement seeps into his voice when he replies:
"Aye, this is a tattoo studio, so I kinda guessed that much already."
He finally seems to take some pity on his poor, socially inept customer, though, as he moves behind the desk and sits down in front of the computer. He looks up at Simon again, eyes twinkling with something he can't quite place.
"Alright, then. What did you have in mind, pretty boy?"
Simon swallows, eyes fixed on the other man. He didn't know what he had expected when Gaz had recommended this tattoo studio to him, telling him a friend of his worked there, but it hadn't been this. He can't seem to decide if that's a good thing or not just yet.
He makes it out of that first meeting without making any more of a fool of himself than he already had, if only barely. The other man's name, he learns, is John, but everyone calls him Soap. Simon finds the name a bit odd if he's honest, but then again, his best friend is called Roach, so who is he to judge?
He has his first tattoo appointment two weeks later. He and Soap had discussed his ideas for the tattoo beforehand- a full sleeve that the artist had warned him would take several sessions to finish. Simon will readily admit that he's somewhat nervous to see the other man's design. What if it isn't what he wanted? If he doesn't like the style?
When he enters the shop this time, Soap is sitting by the front desk. He's scribbling away in a big sketchbook that looks to be well-worn from use, pen quiet against the paper. He looks up when he hears the door open, the little bell chiming once again, and his eyes find Simon's immediately. He smiles, and Simon can't help but stare at the way it makes him appear softer, somehow.
He had spent the weeks since their first meeting trying to convince himself he had overreacted- after all, there was no way the man was actually as beautiful as he’d made himself believe, right? Surely he must've overreacted.
Well, he had been wrong.
After a quick greeting that Simon once again stumbles his way through, Soap leads him to the back, past a few rooms with tattoo chairs in them and names spelled in bold letters on the doors. He does his best not to stare too much at his ass, which does prove to be a challenge when the man is walking up the stairs in front of him.
So what if his tattoo artist was stunningly attractive? It was fine. He'd get his tattoo and then he'd never have to think about it again. Or at least he hoped so.
The shorter man leads him into the room with his name printed on the door, next to a little bar of soap. It's nice- the walls are a dark sage green and most of the furniture is black. The walls are covered with tattoo designs, pinned in place on the wall opposite the door. There's some art, some smaller decorations sprinkled about, and plants- the place is filled up nicely without being too crowded, which is a welcome surprise to Simon.
Soap sits him down on the chair in the middle of the room and hands him the design he'd prepared. Simon stares at it for a minute- it's perfect, better than he had imagined if he's honest. He admires the details, the art style, everything, and wonders how the hell Soap had managed to do it so well, just from his description.
"Is it alright?", Soap's voice suddenly breaks the silence, and Simon realizes he has been staring silently at the design for far too long. "We can change it if there's something you don't like."
Simon meets the other man's gaze, and is surprised to find his blue-gray eyes filled with- what, concern? Doubt? He can't quite tell.
Simon quickly shakes his head.
"No, it's perfect. Thank you."
His chest feels strangely warm when he sees the tension easing out of the tattoo artist, watches as his gaze softens and the furrow of his brows smooths itself out.
"Alright, great! Then let's get you prepared and then we can start."
Twenty minutes, a shaving session and two stencil reapplications later, Soap has him in the chair. The lines where his tattoo would go are stark and blue against his pale skin, placed exactly like Simon wants them. He's wearing black latex gloves, and Simon tries not to think about how good he looks in them as he finishes the last of his preparations.
"Tell me if you need a break or something to drink, alright? It's no trouble and I want you to be comfortable."
Simon nods, and the Scot leans closer, tattoo machine in hand. His stomach flutters a little when Soap's free hand settles on his arm, but he doesn't get much time to overthink the sensation before it's replaced by the needle piercing his skin.
It's not that bad, all things considered. It takes a moment until he gets used to it, but once he does, it's easy to ignore in favour of the man on the other end of the needle.
He takes his time studying him, allowing his gaze to roam. He memorizes the curve of his nose, the little bump where it must've been broken in the past, the little scar on top of it. He notes how he clenches his teeth in concentration, and the way his lips are pursed. It makes a little scar on his lower lip visible, looking like it'd been split open once upon a time, and pulls on the scar on his chin. There are two more scars he can see, a faint one on his forehead and one that parts his left eyebrow, this one less faded than the others.
In the cool lighting of the studio, he finds the man's face is dotted with freckles- they're faint, almost invisible from a distance, but this close Simon can see them, has to resist the urge to count them.
He does wonder about the man's scars, though- he has seen his fair share of them, hell, he has enough of his own, but something about them makes him curious- perhaps it’s the man wearing them. Still, it isn't his place to ask, so he stays silent.
Soap fills the space between them for him regardless. Not even 10 minutes into the tattoo, he had started talking, his voice joining the soft hum of the tattoo needle to ease the silence that had settled the room. Simon has to admit that he likes his voice, deep and slightly raspy, perhaps even soothing. Somehow, he even finds himself appreciating the Scottish accent he would've found insufferable on anyone else. Somehow, he finds it pleasant instead, when it's on Soap.
He walks out of the studio, 3 hours later, a freshly inked tattoo safely hidden under the sleeve of his jacket. The next session to finish the design is already scheduled in a few week's time. Simon would be lying if he said he wasn't excited to see Soap again- so what if he liked looking at the man? Who could blame him, the tattoo artist was not only charming, but also exactly his damn type. And maybe, just maybe, Simon would have to find a way to ask for his number, next time.