Fragile Little Things ?

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I unhook the key and unlock the car, tilting my head to the passenger seat. Indie’s stays rooted to the spot, though, clearly shocked about my retouching.

Concern floods her gaze. “So it’s going to hurt?”

I shrug, opening her door for her and guiding her in. “A little.”

“What?” She frowns, impassively following my lead. “Don’t you have a numbing cream or something?”

I shake my head, shutting her door before round the car and slip into the driver’s seat, switching the car into drive as we roll out of the garage. The windscreen wipers shift the snow away from the window as we glide out into the street. Indigo’s still suspiciously quiet. I think she has a skewed perception of how much it hurts to get a tattoo. That, or she’s just really concerned about me. Maybe both. And fuck if it doesn’t make my chest swell.

Deciding to play it up, I grin her way. “You just have to hold my hand real tight.”

To make my point, I let go of the stick shift, reaching for her hand. It’s a joke, but Indie’s jaw is tight, and she doesn’t even face me, nodding tightly and squeezing on my hand with steely determination. She’s so fucking cute.

Finally, we reach the place, and I make sure to park properly so I don’t get a stupid fine. The parking fines in this city are fucking atrocious.

Stef, the artist I’ve frequented for years and one of the best in the city, lets us in. He’s a few years older than me, average height, with jet black hair. Surprisingly, his skin is free of ink despite being a tattoo artist. He smiles when he notices me. “Valentine. Who’s the girl?”

He eyes her exposed shoulders keenly, and I supress a growl, shouldering off my jacket and, circling Indie’s wrist as I pull her closer to me. “You’re cold,” I huff, “Put this on.”

“What?” Indie frowns at me but holds up her arms for me to push the jacket on her anyway. She makes a slight noise of protest as I zip the jacket all the way up. My chest hums, satisfied that she’s covered up and looks warmer, too. “There.”

This isn’t even me­­ — I’m not the territorial, jealous type. But with Indigo, I can’t seem to hold back, and it frustrates me. That she could so quickly change what I was so certain about.

I turn to Stef, who gets the message and averts his gaze from her, keeping it on me instead. “This is Indigo. She’s here if the pain gets too bad.”

He shoots me a confused look. Because it’s never bad. I have an annoyingly high pain tolerance. I used to wish it would sting just a little—that I’d feel the bite of the needle and feel something. But I’m not that masochistic now. I’m just here for some maintenance.

“I can’t tell if he’s being serious,” Indie murmurs next to me, more to herself. Stef just grins, not giving me away as he tips his head to the back. “Let’s go, big man.”

I nod, following him. I look back at Indie, who stares at me, unsure if she should follow or wait out here. I reach for her hand, making the decision for her. “You can’t numb the pain from all the way over here.”

She swallows. “Right. Yeah.”

I drag her to the back, and surprisingly, she doesn’t let go of my hand as I sit on the slightly reclined tattoo chair, taking a seat to my side. Stef is at the back of the room, silently sanitizing the tools.

I tilt my head as I pose the question. “Do you like tattoos?”

Indie pauses for a moment, mulling over it before shrugging. “I don’t know.” And I hate the way something in me shrinks at that. “But I like them on you.” Blood rushes to her cheeks. “I can’t really picture you without them.”