Abbi ⛧

John Wick was the best partner you've ever had or ever will. You can vividly recall how you met that drizzly autumn morning at your favorite local coffee shop. After you placed your order you realized, with embarrassingly bad timing, you left your wallet at your apartment. Right as you stepped out of the line and chastised yourself for your own stupidity, an arrestingly calm baritone came from behind you.

"I can pay for you."

His voice was like a warm hug, banishing all your anxieties with a simple phrase. When you turned to look up at him, you fought to keep from melting into the floor at the handsome man whose appearance matched the voice impeccably. Everything about him screamed sophistication: his widow's peak gave way to a crown of jet black hair falling neatly in layers right at his shoulders, his well-maintained facial hair was shaped to emphasize his high cheekbones and angular face. While he calmly watched you, you took in his beautiful eyes, a shade that reminded you of sunlight shining through a glass of expensive cognac. To top off his already good looks, he was dressed in an all-black suit with a black turtleneck. He could be a model, a professor, a spy, anything when he was so debonair even while performing commonplace activities like ordering coffee—or in this case, offering to pay for your coffee.

A flustered string of words leave your lips as a response. Thankfully, he spares you from any further awkwardness by paying and taking both his and your coffee to a table in a cozy corner away from nosy onlookers. That is when the conversations started, naturally you wanted to meet a second time, and a third, and a fourth.

Before long, the casual conversations transformed into long walks in the park with his dog accompanying you like a guard. Time dissolved in his presence like sugar cubes in a coffee cup. You laughed to yourself one evening when you noticed the muted gold sun had set beyond the imposing trees after you and John strolled the entire premises at least six times. He insisted he drive you home in his very nice car. His authoritative expression and tone brooked no argument. That alone made you weak-kneed, and his gentlemanly acts like opening the car door and helping you inside almost made you keel over, if not for him grounding you with a soothing squeeze of his hand to yours.

He walked you to your door, pausing to peer deeply into your eyes. The silent exchange spoke volumes; the two of you having a whole conversation with just a look:

"I want to see you again…"

"Could this be more?"

"What if…"

"Too soon?"

"Can I do this again?"

"Can we try?"

"I want to…"

That is one of the many things you loved about John Wick since the beginning. He was a man of few words but plenty of actions to speak even more for him.

Throwing your hesitancy to the wind, you stood on your toes, and he met you in the middle with the sweetest kiss anyone has ever shared with you. It was short but in that moment, you felt the future and all the possibilities it could entail. When you parted, you had to fight the urge to grab his lapels and crash your lips against his over and over again.

"I'll see you tomorrow." His lips brush against your temple before pressing another kiss there and walking down the gravel drive back to his car.

After that night, you agreed to make your relationship with John official, however you both decided to take things slow, due to his past marriage with Helen. Now, several months later, you've happily enjoyed this slow-living lifestyle with your new partner. John was so routine, even with the easiest of activities. After work, he'd pick you up and help with all your errands; every other day, you would take walks around the park, the town square, or your respective neighborhoods. On Fridays, he'd take you out to eat, from the fanciest restaurant to the little diner in the middle of nowhere with the best comfort food you could stomach. And from Friday night to Sunday, you would stay at his house. When you discovered his shared love of reading, you were over the moon; spending so many nights with him reading from his library, sitting on the couch together holding hands—only stopping when either of you had to turn a page in your book. He even let you borrow his hand-bound leather hardbacks for the week and return to him to discuss where you were in the story. He was your personal (older and hot) librarian. It was more than you ever thought you deserved.

One Friday evening, John's dog managed to escape his leash, sending you both on a wild chase around the park to capture him. Thankfully, with John's long limber legs, he was able to catch up to the pit bull and hold him long enough for you to put the leash back on him. The amusing detour left you and John sweaty and out of breath.

Arriving at his house again, you threw out the idea of showering with him. You hadn't crossed any major physical boundaries and you worried it might be too far too soon. To your delight, he liked your suggestion and followed you to the bathroom.

He undressed and stepped in first, adjusting the water's temperature to your liking while you were turned and getting to the same state of undress. He called for you once the shower was ready and you joined him. After closing the glass door, the sight before you took your breath and heart away.

John was standing under the shower head, the steady stream already soaking his hair and making it stick against his head and neck. But the feature that caught your attention, was the ink across his broad shoulders and down his mid-back. On one shoulder was a lifelike wolf head howling at the moon, on the other was a fearsome image that could have been both a snarling dog or skull decorated with flames. Between these two tattoos was a beautifully detailed cross with praying hands. And the crown over all of them was the Latin phrase "Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat" spanning the breadth of his back. In the time spent staring at the artwork, he raised his hands and ran them over his head and down his neck, revealing yet another tattoo of a simple cross on his deltoid. The body art coupled with his rippling muscles had you burning, and it was not from the spraying hot water.

The tattoos were all neat and black, no doubt placed by a master at their craft. They told a story you were not yet privy to but hoping to learn soon. Your fingers delicately trace the Latin across his body, feeling him briefly stiffen before relaxing against your light touch.

"Like what you see?" He asks, moving to face you.

"I do," you whisper. "This is beautiful."

He gives you space to use the shower head next. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, as if a tattoo in the shape of his eyes was currently being formed on your own back.

After washing your body, you break the tension by jokingly asking. "Did you get them from being in a mafia of some kind?"

He laughs dryly. "If I was, I wouldn't tell you for your safety."

You leave it at that, finishing your shower and toweling off. You passed the rest of the night cuddled with him on the couch reading your next borrowed book.

The plan was brewing in your mind for the next week. Having John be your human coloring page was too good to let slip away. By the time Friday came around, you had your bag filled with all the coloring markers you had in your art stash. Once you got back to his home, you pulled them out and took a deep breath.

"John…" you didn't expect yourself to be so anxious over something as uncomplicated as asking to color on him.

"What's this for?" He asks, looking down at the multi-colored cylinders clutched tightly in your fingers.

"I know it sounds childish, but I loved looking at your tattoos and I couldn't help but think how fun it would be if I colored them in with my markers," the more you explained, the more your confidence was waning. This idea was stupid. Of course he wouldn't allow it—

"Do you want me lying down or remain standing?" His expression is unreadable but his eyes flicker with fondness.

Your mouth opens and closes in surprise. "Wait—you don't mind?"

"It's sweet," he places a reassuring hand on your arm. "And it would make you happy."

You shrieked with unfiltered joy as you threw your arms around him. He held you close to him like a treasure he never wished to part with.

Now he was lying on the couch on his stomach, shirt removed and tattoos exposed for you. You start on the flames of his growling beast tattoo, using an orange marker to bring out the fiery design. Then you took a gray marker around the beast, making it look more like his dog that was currently observing you work on John. Then you used the same gray color on the wolf art, being mindful where the tattoo artist already did so much shading on the lines. Brilliant yellow covered the moon behind the wolf.

Next, you picked out a red marker to accompany the orange and yellow in creating a sunset illusion among the rays surrounding the cross and praying hands. Looking at the hands, you chose to be cheeky and color each of the hand's fingernails a different color, giving them a rainbow manicure. But, on a sweeter note, you quickly doodled a wedding band on the hand with the yellow.

Following those tattoos, you bubbled in the Os, Rs, As, and D of the Latin phrase with alternating colors. It reminded you of doing the same thing on homework and tests in school when you got bored. Finishing the last A in adiuvat, you guided John on his side to outline his shoulder cross with yet another rainbow pattern.

As you continued, you thought about John and his life. You still didn't know much about his past at this point, but it seemed he was surrounded by this lingering darkness. You were determined to bring more color into his life. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted the same. Perhaps that was why he permitted you to use him as your canvas.

Completing his tattoos, you were compelled to add something—artwork drawn by your hand. Taking the pink and dark red markers, you drew a heart, right next to the lone wolf howling for its mate. Then you gracefully drew a daisy next to the flaming animal you now associate with his dog—a symbol of his two lost loves he will never forget. The flower and heart were nestled by his faded scars, tenderness coexisting with violence.

"All done." You say, pulling him off the couch and towards the bedroom mirror. Thankfully, you also packed a hand mirror for this activity.

"I like it. I should go get these filled in with your colors." He teased, holding the hand mirror and admiring the results.

"Don't do that!" You gasp in exaggerated offense. "I want to go back and color them again."

"Of course," he says with a soft smile before kissing your forehead. "Anything for you, darling."