#5sis

Every day you and tattoo artist!Michael would compete to see who could design the best tattoo on a customer. For the most part, the score was even, Michael sometimes outdoing himself with details, other times, you receiving praise for paying such close attention to outlines and shading.

“Nice job, Clifford,” you said begrudgingly as Michael grinned proudly, clearly today’s winner. He shot you a flirtatious smile, his dark hair matching the tattoos scattered along his arms, perfectly accentuated thanks to the Def Leppard top adorning his torso.

“Thanks, kitten,” he smirked, and you rolled your eyes, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”

“I’ll stop calling you that once you stop calling me Clifford,” he compromised, the devious smile still adorning his face–and for good reason, since he knew that you would always call him by his last name.

“Never going to happen,” you scoffed, only confirming his thoughts. You were in a bitter mood today, especially since you’d worked your ass off to tattoo the most beautiful mermaid onto a customer, the scales and texture of the hair done to perfection. It had taken you hours–now wasted, clearly.

“Then sorry, kitten,” Michael shrugged as though there was nothing he could do, “I’m sticking to that.”

You rolled your eyes and turned on your heel, grabbing your bag of the counter and stalking out the door, your shift over. You cut through an alley to get home, muttering under your breath about how stupid some people could be, utterly fuming.

Suddenly a voice echoed down the alley, “Hey, wait!”

You paused, recognizing the voice as Michael’s. Turning slowly, you saw him jogging to catch up with you, his frosty green eyes regarding you with a look you weren’t familiar with. He seemed almost apologetic for what he’d done.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, running his fingers through his hair and tousling it. You watched him skeptically, waiting for him to snap out of it and laugh at you, but he never did. He stepped closer to you and you hefted the strap of your bag securely onto your shoulder, standing up straight and trying to seem stern and intimidating.

Once you didn’t say anything, Michael continued, “Let me make it up to you, okay?”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” You said, a bit sharper than necessary. He shot you a small, genuine smile, shrugging.

“Dinner at my place tonight?” He suggested. You regarded him warily, still waiting for him to yell a quick “SIKE!” and smirk teasingly at you. Going against your better judgement, your shoulders drooped as you sighed, giving up the bitter attitude for the day and nodding.

“Great,” Michael smiled, and he quickly pulled out a pen from his pocket, looking at you for permission. In response, you gave him your hand and he jotted down his address on the back of your palm. Gripping your fingers lightly, he stuffed his pen back into his jeans.

“See you then, Clifford,” you said, not knowing how to feel. He was still holding your hand, his green eyes staring at you in amusement. Looking at him now, you couldn’t deny the sudden tension that had built up between you two–in fact, it had always been there.

“See you…” he said lowly, chuckling. He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin, where his address had been sloppily scribbled, “…kitten.”