“And now,” he continues, “you’re five seconds away from begging me to disappear so you can climb him like a kraken attacking a yacht. So, you’re welcome.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Lean back against the mirrored wall.
Damn.
He’s not wrong.
All we’ve done this last week is talk. Late-night conversations,shared meals, jokes that no longer feel forced. Gentle touches that stop short of going further because Eric wasright there, watching like a hawk. No pressure. No spirals. Just… connection.
“You’re an evil genius,” I marvel.
Eric flips his imaginary hair and curtsies. “At your service, babes.”
By the time we reach the convention area, he’s already launched a lengthy soliloquy about different tattooingtechniques. Wefindourseatseasilywith Akselin the back row, and slide into the chair beside him. Our thighs brush.
Just barely. It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
“I’m just saying,” Eric continues, oblivious to our obvious sexual tension, “stick-and-poke is not worth the pain for the aesthetic.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve clearly never had one. It hurts less, heals faster, and it’s calming. I felt like I was meditating when I had mine done.”
“Okay, but how long did it take?” I hesitate to answer.
Eric grins. “Forever. I knew it.”
“It took a while,” I admit, “But that wasn’t the point.
I wanted it for the tradition. Not convenience.”
We continue back and forth for a while, with Aksel sitting unusually quiet next to me. We’re cut short when Nadine presses play on the first episode with zero fanfare. We all chuckle at the stoic hellhound who literally couldn’t give less of a fuck if she tried.
Eric squeals excitedly and pulls a bag of candy from… somewhere. I shake my head no when he offers me some. Aksel accepts a piece, not even noticing my stare as he pops a handful into his mouth.
The heavy bass of the intro music reverberates through the mostly empty convention space. The sound vibrates up through the floor and into my bones. Twenty-five of us remain. Twenty-five. By Wednesday, there will be fewer. The realization sits heavily. It’s all happening too fast. I barely have time to process one moment before the next one slams into me.
Most of the episode focuses on the eliminated artists. Their faces flash across the screen alongside their work, each clip a small eulogy to what could’ve been. Everyone was talented, but some people were clearly not cut out for the next round. Seeing how my work faired makes a warm, fragile pride bloom in my chest. I earned my spot.
Whenever someone’s tattoo appears on the big projection screen, they stand and take a bow while the rest of us hoot and holler praise. Eric’s cheers are, as expected, wildly inappropriate and borderline obscene, but no one seems to mind. The energy is high and positive.
Then the music abruptly shifts. A wedding march fills the room.
The catcalls start immediately as Aksel and I appear onscreen for the interview. My soul tries to leave my body. Aksel, traitor that he is, stands and waves like a queen greeting her citizens in a parade, grinning widely while I hide my face behind my hands.
Only about thirty seconds make the final cut. Thirty seconds too many if you ask me. Ten of those seconds are of me staring at Aksel like he personally hung the moon in the night sky forme.
Do I really look at him like that?
From the outside, it seems like we are stupidly in love. The kind of love that is soft but obvious. The kind that two mentally healthy people choose. Which is absurd, considering, considering that barely two weeks ago I was ranting to Eric about how much I despised Aksel.
Eric, the menace, produces a white veil from the same mysterious pocket dimension that supplied the candy earlier and plops it onto my head. I shove him away, laughing despite myself, and my shoulder bumps Aksel’s.
Before I can pull back, his arm comes up around me, drawing me in until my side is flush against his.
Butterflies absolutely explode in my stomach.
I melt into him without thinking, my body recognizing his like it’s always belonged there. It’s the most contact we’ve had in days, and the intensity of how much I missed it catches me off guard.
