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So, she’s your neighbor then. And she’s nice?

Casper

She’ll spin in a circle for an overripe banana.

Casper is so fucking odd. Yet I’m grinning at my phone like an idiot.

Casper

What kind of trouble are you getting into today?

Who, me?

Casper

Yes, you.

Probably less than you and Debra.

Casper

Weak sauce, Duchess.

I haven’t heard “weak sauce” in a decade.

Casper

I’m bringing it back.

Wishing you great success in your arduous endeavor.

Casper

Was that A SARCASM?

Nooooo.

Casper

Hey, I’ve got you on my books this week, right?

Yup. First Saturday of the month.

Casper

Can’t wait. It’s going to look so dope. Should I pick up some granola bars since the ghosts keep taking them?

Just for that comment, yes.

The way the seat is positioned in his station by the mirror, I’m able to turn my head to the side and watch him work. He remains focused, rounding the cluster of needles into my flesh in a rhythmic U-shape motion. It’s a steady rhythm of shade and wipe, shade and wipe. The smell of antiseptic permeates the air, but beneath it there’s a masculine scent, and I remember it from when I was tethered to him in the drop zone. Only when he’s really close can I pick up on the crisp, citrusy aroma. It’s not overpowering. I like it.

“I feel your stare on me,” he mutters. Casper glances briefly to the mirror to catch my reflection, as if he’s proving it to me.

“Of course I am. You’re tattooing me, I like to watch.”

He smiles.

“What?”