#c4. cleo

It’s not as though A.J. set out to ignore Cleo in particular, especially after the night he nearly bled out on the floor of her flat right above this shop. In fact, he avoided most people over the past month—nearly two months. But it seemed like enough, and A.J. could not bear the mundanity of going from St. Mungo’s back to his flat, over and over again. Besides, with a new job around the corner, it seemed like a decent time to get a new tattoo. One that suited his new, freshly bleached hair. The door creeped open, and A.J. slid into Tattwho, eyes dancing around the shop in search of one particular person.