“Hm,” he responded.
“Why did you leave the car?” I swallowed. “Did something happen?”
He was looking around the room, displeasure in thosesharp eyes. “No. It was too quiet,” he said before his gaze shifted to me, then Daiyu, then me. “When will you be finished?”
“Just a couple of minutes,” I answered, my gaze lingering on him cautiously, trying to see if he still carried the anger he had left with, but his eyes gave nothing away, and his vibe was completely neutral.
And me, I was utterly overwhelmed, but comfortable, and weirdly happy that he was sitting there waiting for me, so dedicated.
The kid beside him had stopped playing on his phone; his head was raised toward Elio, jaw dropped, eyes wide in awe, like he was looking at something extraordinary.
Elio noticed, too, because he looked away from me to the kid by his side. He raised a brow as if to ask why the kid was looking at him.
“You are so… huge. Are you a wrestler?” the little boy asked.
Elio’s frown grew very slowly, morphing into a glare.
I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress a laugh.
“Do you just make comments like that—”
“Elio!” I yelled, grabbing his attention and making him look at me. “He’s just a kid, Jesus.”
“A kid who needs to learn how to control his tongue.”
“I know how to control my tongue,” the kid fired back, sticking his tongue out to Elio, who inched back, looking seconds away from flicking the kid on the forehead.
“When will you be finished here?” Elio asked again, irritation lacing his voice.
“Just chill, okay?”
“I amchill. I would not be here if I were notchill.”
“Okay, got it; I won’t ask you tochillagain.”
Now the irritation in his eyes was directed at me.
He whipped out his phone and looked at the screen, which marked the end of the conversation; his eyes didn’t leavethe device until I was done and checking out the work in a mirror.
It was red, a little swollen, shiny but very neat, and simple, nothing extra. I covered it with my palm and gave a subtle nod to Daiyu before approaching Elio with a silly grin on my face. He was already on his feet, looking relieved.
“Now,” I started, “I want you to tilt your head to this angle.” I showed him, using myself as an example. “While you look at it.”
He blinked at me, unamused. “Okay. I have no idea why you would…”
I removed my hand, and he trailed off.
A frown dragged his brows down, but then he tilted his head to the angle I’d asked him to, his gaze taking in the tattoo, and the frown slowly—ever so slowly—eased out of his brows, his lips parting, eyes softening sadly before they rose slowly to mine, locking, staying and searching, making my grin falter.
He looked… sad, appalled, terrified.
“Why would you do this?” His voice was soft, almost breathless like it took everything in him to ask that one question.
I blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Those are—why would you tattoo my—my—my initials on yourself?On your body?Why would you do such a thing? You know this won’t—you know this is permanent, right?”
I watched him warily, my excitement dying. “Yeah? I mean, I could just draw a skull over it if I get tired of it?” My gaze searched his as concern and confusion fucked with my head. “What’s—what’s happening right now? Why are you freaking out over this? It’s not like it’s a confession of my undying love or something; I have a reason for getting this one.”
