“What time is your appointment?” he asks, and all of a sudden, the reminder of what I’m in Burlington to do takes the air out of my lungs.
“Ten,” I manage.
“Hey, baby. It’s okay. I asked only to see if we have time for a shower together.”
I nod, and he kisses me gently. “Come on, let me wash you. If you’re lucky, I’ll blow you too.”
One long shower and a rushed breakfast later, we’re walking toward Church Street. Remy looks exactly like he has every year since I started this tradition. Heavily tattooed arms visible beneath rolled sleeves, gray beard neatly trimmed, eyes carrying warmth that makes everyone feel welcome. His smile widens when he spots me, and then his mouth falls open when he sees Bastian.
“Fuck me. Jack will die when I tell him.”
I laugh. “Don’t. Bastian already has a big head as it is. Just treat him like you would the guys who play at your local bar.”
“What? With disdain? They really aren’t that good. It’s like a car crash every Friday night, but you can’t help watching it happen.”
I laugh. “Anyway, this is Bastian,” I say. “He’s…” I trail off, suddenly unsure how to categorize what we are, at least in public.
“I’m his,” Bastian supplies simply, reaching his hand out to shake Remy’s. The declaration makes something warm bloom in my chest. Remy’s smile grows.
“About time someone took you off the market,” he says. “Shall we get started? What do you have in mind?”
I look at Bastian, knowing that the moment I get it out, I can’t undo it. “Actually,” I manage, “thought we’d do something different this time.” I take the paper from my bag and unfold it. “This is traced from the initials that were carved in a tree between our farms.”
I was going to take a photo, but I liked the pattern of the bark and wanted the initials to look exactly like how we carved them. Remy looks at the paper. “I can certainly do this for you if you give me a moment to trace it onto the transfer paper. Can I get you a drink while you wait?”
“I’m good. Thanks,” I say, and Bastian shakes his head.
I turn to him. “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind you tattooing my initials onto your skin? Baby, short of us getting married, this is the most significant thing you could do.”
Could I blush any harder? Fuck my life.
“I want to get it too,” Bastian says suddenly. “If that’s okay,” he adds quickly, reading the shock in my expression. “I know it’s your tradition, but…”
“You want…?” I trail off. Bastian is offering to share something I’ve kept private for years. He wants to carry the same marks on his skin that I use to remember what we’ve lost. “You’d do that?”
His hand cups my face, thumb brushing away a stray tear from my eye. “Of course I would,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I want to share everything with you, even the hard stuff. Especially the hard stuff.”
Remy clears his throat gently, reminding us we’re not alone in the room. “I can do both if you want,” he offers. “I don’t have any bookings until this afternoon.”
The familiar buzz of the tattoo gun fills the air as Remy prepares the equipment.
“You first,” I tell him, needing to watch him go through this before I can handle my own turn.
Watching the initials take shape on his bicep feels so perfectly right, like something I never knew I needed until this exact moment. His hand maintains a grip on mine throughout the process.
When it’s my turn, his presence beside my chair feels like an anchor against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. The familiar sting of the needle carries a different weight this time. Less lonely somehow.
“You okay?” he asks quietly as Remy does his amazing work.
“Better than okay,” I tell him, squeezing his hand gently.
Remy works with efficiency, completing both pieces fairly quickly.
When we leave the shop, everything feels lighter, brighter, even as the air bites at my skin.
Church Street spreads before us like a picture from a holiday card, every storefront dressed in its holiday finest. Bastian’s hand remains steady in mine as we walk.
