I just take off towards the curtain. Jabari is in the chair behind the partition, forearm resting out, artist wiping something down.
I step closer, still holding my phone like it’s proof that good things still happen.
“Big man, I just—” I start.
Then I see it. I stop mid-sentence.
On his forearm are two green eyes.
Detailed, sharp and very familiar.
The shape of them. The tilt. The lashes. The look I give him when I’m unimpressed. Mine. He did my eyes.
My throat closes.
I stare, unable to process it fast enough.
“You’re joking,” I whisper.
He shakes his head once.
The artist steps back, gives us space, and pretends he doesn’t exist.
I look at Jabari. Then at the tattoo. Then back at him.
“Are you mad?” I ask.
He watches me carefully. “Yeah.”
“Why would you do that?” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does.
He leans back slightly, like he’s trying not to crowd me. “Because I’m tired of you thinking I’m playing with you.”
My chest aches.
He continues, quiet but firm. “I hope this shows you how permanent I want this to be.”
I swallow hard.
“You’re insane,” I say again, but it comes out soft this time. “Proper mental, is what you are.”
He smirks faintly. “Probably.”
I blink fast. “You put my eyes on your body. For life.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re calm.”
“Should I be shaking?” he asks, amused.
“You should be scared.”
He raises his brows. “Of you?”
“Yes,” I hold my hands up to my temple and wiggle my fingers around. “I got witchy eyes, remember?”
He looks at me with that stubborn calm. “I’m not scared of you, Jelly. I’m scared of you leaving.”
