Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Ichigo wondered through the busy streets of downtown, not focusing in the slightest. As often as his took this path (which was pretty much everyday During his lunch break) he'd never once found his feet straying from a particular route
He came to the conclusion that his feet had their own conciousness that functioned perfectly well, even if the one unfortunate enough to be stuck in his head didn't.
He wasn't exscactly sure why he always ended up outside a particular tattoo parlour, yet he never bothered to think about it, or more like never though too hard about it. Despite being super smart, like super smart. Like Einstein. Ichigo wondered if he always came back because the bench was comfy, however, his feet took the same route, oblivious to the pouring rain and his head had to step in and direct his body to a café adjacent to the parlour before he was run over by a car or he caught a cold
As often as the visits the parlour (or th outside at least) he'd never found the strength to drag his feet through the tinted door, so he let his feet use their independent mind to plonk himself down on a weatherworn bench and watch people do what he doesn't have the courage to do on a daily basis. Like brain toruture.
For a while Ichigo had been contemplating wether or not to get a tattoo. He was old enough, had a vague idea of what he wanted and money was no issue as his boss took care of his basic needs so he had a lot saved up.
And still he never went into the shop. He wasn't sure why. He has piercings, a lot of them, so a tattoo wouldn't clash with his image (not that he gave a shit about it). He also had a shitty stick and poke tattoo on the bottom of his foot, so the pain had nothing to do with it.p (he didn't count that tattoo because it was done when he was a teenager). He wasn't afraid of the people in the shop, in fact one of the people in there was the childhood friend who'd done the shitty stick and poke tattoo. He was winning awards and all that jazz; yet, Ichigo had never gone in.
He frowned a little, wondering what was holding him back. He'd heard amazing things about the artists in the store, despite their less-than-favourable nicknames in the tattooing world. (I.e. Lazy Barstard, Lanky Bastard, Pineapple Bastard,Emotionless Bastard, and Blue Haired Bastard). The tattoo industry was something Ichigo had was rather interested in, but he'd never attempted to join.
Of all the artists Ichigo liked his favourite by far was the Blue Haired Bastard, or Grimmjow, and he worked in the shop opposite his daily lunch time adventure. Strangely enough the man's designs often found themselves on the walls of his crappy apartment as he fantasised what tattoo he wanted and how it would look against his tan skin.
Thinking more deeply Ichigo relised that the tattoo industry would probably suit him more than working behind the scenes of the small unlicensed Shōten that his Surrogate father owned.
He he had bright orange hair for a start, something that made people cautious and not stick around long enough to hear him explain that his hair colour is perfectly natural. The permanent scowl on his face probably didn't give of a better impression than his hair did, and that was perfectly under his control.
He knocked his tounge bar violently against one of his lip rings, producing a harsh clanking sound over and over and over again, not wanting to think on his unfair orcastrisation; the reason beyond his control.
This was making his head hurt.
Ichigo go made his decision before uttering a harsh sigh: he was going to come back after work and book and appointment. For a long time he had been debating whether to get one or not. So torn over an unknown reason so screw it!
Smling slightly Ichigo allowed himself to ignore the strange looks from children and the disaprovig glares of their mothers as he began to plod back to work, completely unaware of the piercing cyan eyes that latched onto his retreating form.