“Great, actually. I thought that since it was so big, it would take longer for it to heal, but it’s already peeling.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure.” Noah dropped the pen on the kitchen bar table and turned around on the stool, pulling up the hem of his T-shirt until his chest was on full display.
She was the artist, so of course she wanted to see how her piece looked after a week. It was quite big, covering his entire pec and reaching his shoulder. The piece was meaningful and, in his opinion, stunning. But it wasn’t anything wild, just some black lettering depicting how he wanted to live his life:Be there. Be down. Be you.
“Amazing. Your skin is one of the most perfect canvases I’ve ever worked on. So smooth and flawless. And it really heals fast,” she mumbled, grazing her fingertips over Noah’s pec. “I hope you let me put some more ink on you someday.”
Noah smiled, letting his tee fall back down. “Sure will.”
“Hey.” Trine yawned as she walked over to them. “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking at her son.
“Are you kicking me out already?” he quipped.
“Not at all. But I thought you’d have something better to do than stay home when the weather is so nice.” She shrugged.
“Nah, have to complete these papers. Then I plan to laze around for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Sounds good.” Trine chuckled. “We’re going out tonight. Just dinner,” she added when Noah raised an eyebrow. “You wanna tag along?”
“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow?” He stood up and walked past her toward his bedroom. “Or any other day of the week?”
“Whenever you want.”
“Deal.” He grinned.
Between walks around town with Rocket, gossip dinners with Trine—sometimes with Sigrid too—and binging the lastGame of Thronesseason, the week passed in the blink of an eye.
Tonight, he was changing the scenery a little.
Theo wanted to come to this club called The Blind Spot because his most recent hookup worked here, and since Noah had no better suggestions, that was what they were doing. It was yet another place that served as both a venue and a pub, but it was a bit more special than the other two they hung out in. They had learned just a few days ago that it was Artificial Suicide’s birthplace—apparently, they had signed their first contract inone of the backstage rooms here. It was a band that only a few years back was performing in crappy bars and was now world-famous, touring with ones like Make Them Suffer, Whitechapel, and even Gojira.
With an obvious alternative style—exposed installations that gave the space an industrial air, black walls with photos of bands who had visited, and an illumination that changed colors and synchronized with the songs blasting through the speakers—this club was a hidden gem in the northwest of Copenhagen.
“This place is sick, dude,” Noah said, looking around as he sipped his drink. “Why haven’t we heard about it before?”
“Gatekeeping. People are shit.”
“That they are.” He chuckled. “Anyway, who’s the lucky girl you’re so obsessed with this month?”
Theo punched him in the ribs jokingly. “The redheaded one, at three.” He tipped his chin toward the right side of the bar.
Noah turned around and checked her out. “She’s cute.”
“And filthy as fuck.” Theo laughed.
“Why you gotta be like that?”
Theo grinned. “You mean free-spirited?”
“No, I mean such an animal.”
“Because I’m an animal and not a self-righteous idiot.”
“You wanna get to her bed alive tonight?” Noah quipped, pointing in her direction with his thumb.
“Actually…” Theo gulped down the last quarter of his drink, banging the counter with the empty beer bottle. “She just made me a sign.”
