If he wants to frown at me like that, fine. Let him stew. Fine by me. Be jealous.
Adrik didn’t say a word, just lifted his eyebrows in a silent “yeah, you heard her” before following Amelia out of the cafeteria.
Students streamed past them, bundled in scarves and heavy coats, the campus buzzing with chatter and the clatter of bikes on pavement.
Amelia looped her arm through his. “Hans looked like he wanted to throw you through a wall.”
Adrik huffed a laugh. “He’ll live.”
A strange mix of satisfaction and a dull ache settled in his chest. He wished Hans cared, even if he was acting like a jerk. At least it meant he wasn’t invisible.
They strolled down a side street lined with old brick buildings and bare trees. The sky hung low and gray, the winter light making everything look washed out. Amelia kept talking about her cousin’s disastrous tattoo, but Adrik’s mind drifted.
He’d wanted this piercing for years. Back home, he never would’ve dared. His father would’ve shut it down instantly, probably with a lecture about “respectability” and “family image.” But here? In Germany? Far away from all that?
Between the bakery and the thrift store, the Tempel Rostock Tattoo & Piercing Shop displayed jewelry, rings, studs, and barbells, each catching the soft light. Inside, the faint scent of disinfectant mingled with the sweet smell of incense. Posters of tattoo art covered the walls, and a soft hum of music played from a speaker behind the counter.
A tall guy with a shaved head and a calm, professional vibe greeted them. “Are you here for a piercing or tattoo?”
“Piercing.”
“Do you know what you want?”
“Those two silver barbells on my nipples.” Adrik pointed to them in the glass case.
“Cool. Fill this out, and we’ll get started.”
Amelia bounced on her heels as if she were the one getting pierced.
“Do you have a form in English?” Adrik asked.
“Sure we do.” He exchanged the forms for him and spoke in English.
“By the way, I’m Mickel,” the piercer said.
“Adrik.”
Once the paperwork was done, Mickel led Adrik and Amelia into a small room with bright lights and spotless counters. The metal instruments were neatly laid out on a tray, gleaming under the lamp.
“Sit down.” He pointed to the chair.
Adrik took a seat, and Amelia rested against the wall.
“You nervous?” Mickel asked, pulling on gloves.
“No.” Adrik was excited more than anything.
“Perfect! It’s quick. Breathe and stay still,” Mickel said.
The process was fast—a sharp sting, pressure, then relief. Mickel worked with steady hands, explaining each step before he did it. When he finished, he stepped back and nodded approvingly. He buttoned his shirt, leaving two top ones undone.
“Great choice. Now, care instructions.” He handed Adrik a small sheet of paper. “Clean twice a day with sterile saline. No touching unless you’re cleaning. Avoid tight clothing for a bit. And don’t mess with the jewelry—let it heal.”
Adrik nodded, listening carefully. “Got it.”
“Any questions?”
“No.”
