#efflorescencefic

“Hi,” he greeted, uncrossing his legs and standing up. He greeted her with a hug, pulling her close to him and giving her a light squeeze. “Are you ready to go?” He asked as he pulled back.

 She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear as Michael led the way. It wasn’t a far walk until they reached their destination, which just happened to be one of the smallest diners in town, but she didn’t mind.

 “I didn’t want to do anything too fancy,” Michael chuckled as they slid into the booth.

 “It’s okay,” she said, laughing lightly. “I don’t mind. I like it, actually.” The hostess took their drink orders and then slid menu’s in front of them and then left to get their beverages.

 Their lunch was going quite well. Michael had gotten some kind of sandwich and she just stayed safe with fettuccine alfredo. They had talked for a while, asking how each other’s business’ were going. Michael talked about what tattoos he did recently and she talked about the most recent bouquets she had put together.

 “So,” Michael started, setting down his sandwich, yet he wasn’t done eating. “I have to be honest, I did ask you here for a reason.”

 She wiped at her lips with a napkin, raising an eyebrow at Michael. “What do you mean?” She asked. She thought they were into each other; they even kissed the night before. Unless Michael kissed everyone he was a friend with, but she highly doubted that.

 “I want to ask a favor of sorts,” Michael replied. “But only if you’re okay with it.” His tattooed fingers were skimming the edge of his water glass, only to move to fiddle with the straw poking out of the cup.

 “Okay,” she said slowly, dragging out the end of the word. She adjusted herself, sitting up higher to hear his favor. She couldn’t ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach, even though she was sure it wasn’t going to be anything bad. “What is it?”

 Michael abandoned the straw in favor of leaning forward on his elbows. “I’ve been working on this painting, but I just can’t seem to visualize it right for some reason and I need a model,” Michael started. “I was wondering if you’d volunteer to do it.”

 She felt herself breath a sigh of relief. “I’ll do it,” she told him. She had never modeled for anyone before and she thought it would be fun.

 “But,” Michael almost stopped her. He licked his lips, pausing for dramatic effect. “It’s going to be nude.”

 “Oh,” she muttered. There was the catch and the reason for all the mysteriousness.

 “It’s going to be completely professional,” Michael said, catching her attention again. “If you feel uncomfortable at any time we can stop. And it’d only be Vader in the apartment, I can lock him up if you want.” He was rambling, his red lips moving with trepidation.

 “Michael,” she stopped him, while trying to stop herself from laughing. “I said I’d do it. I trust you, as you sitting here, and you as an artist. I mean, you are the only one who tattooed me,” she continued.

 Michael cracked a smile, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you,” Michael grinned. “Do you want to do it after work today? Or whenever is good for you.”

 She nodded, “today is good.”

 -

 After work, she grabbed her stuff and clicked the lights off. Her last employee had gone home an hour or so ago, leaving her to clean up and close the store alone. She wasn’t sure if Michael was ready for her, but she strode into the tattoo parlor, the bench vacant outside. She was met with heavy rock music and the annoying buzz of tattoo machines running from somewhere else in the building.

 Michael wasn’t anywhere in sight, but the secretary of sorts was sitting behind the counter. “Welcome to Hidden Tattoo, what can I do for you?” He asked. She didn’t know if she remembered her from when she got her tattoo or not.

 She opened her mouth to speak just as Michael strode into the lobby. “Its okay, Jeremy. I got it,” he said to his employee, waving him off. Jeremy nodded to his boss, going back to whatever he was working on. “Hi,” Michael smiled, opening his arms wide for a hug.

 “Hi,” she replied, squeezing him tight to her in a hug. She half gasped when she felt Michael’s lips graze her cheek, and then her neck in a series of feather light kisses.

 “Are you ready to go? I set up everything earlier so that’s all out of the way,” he told her, pulling back from the hug with a sly smile on his lips. He knew what he was doing to her. She nodded, telling him she was ready.

 Michael led the way out the door and to his apartment above the shop. They climbed the two small flights of stairs to the first floor and Michael led them into his apartment.

 Vader greeted them both with a succession of sloppy, wet kisses. The ugly, yet somehow cute dog was beginning to really grow on her. When she stood back up, she realized that his drawing desk had been moved to the other side of the room and an easel with a blank canvas had taken its place. And a small love seat was situated beneath the window, a blanket draped across one of the arms.

 “Okay,” She said, setting her bag down on the small table beside the door. “So how are we going to do this?” She asked. For some reason, now that she was here and ready to do this, the nerves were setting in. She was going to be naked in front of Michael.

 His eyes were going to be roaming all over her body, taking in all of the fine details while he was fully clothed. She was suddenly self-conscious. How many women has Michael seen naked? Would he like what he would see?

 Michael walked forward to the love seat. “You’re going to be lying here, your head on the far side. And once you’re okay, I’ll pose you and position the props,” he explained, even lying down to show her. She nodded, understanding everything he was telling her.

 But she had one question. “Props?” She asked.

 Michael grinned then, standing up from the love seat. “You’ll see. I’ll let you get undressed. I’m just going to feed Vader and then let me know when you’re ready,” he said, glancing back to her as he disappeared into the kitchen, Vader right behind him.

 She moved closer to the love seat, looking down to her own body. She knew Michael had seen most of it when he tattooed her, but she was still a little nervous. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, letting it drop to the floor by her feet. She stepped out of her shorts and kicked her shoes off.

 She hesitated with her bra and panties. But she had committed to this and Michael said if she ever felt uncomfortable, they could stop with no questions asked. She reached around, unclasping her bra and letting it slid down her arms until it reached the floor. And then her panties were added to the pile on the floor.

 She kicked it to the side before sitting down on the love seat. “I’m ready,” she called to Michael. She heard his footsteps coming, and then he was back with two bags of flower petals in his arms. She arched a brow at him, “what are those?”

 “The props,” Michael smiled, setting them down on the floor. “Okay, now lie back across the love seat.”

 She followed his directions, lying back so her head was now cushioned by one of the pillows. Like he said, Michael then positioned her to his liking. One of her arms was draped across her stomach, the other dangling off the couch towards the floor. Her head was to the side, and her legs were closed.

 He paused, his hand around her ankle. “Don’t be so tense,” he told her, his voice soft as silk, not demeaning. “Its only me. Just relax.” He waited a second before she let her muscles relax and she felt more comfortable on the love seat. He finished positioning her before his fingers brushed over her tattoo, feeling the scabs and the peeling skin.

 “It’s looking really good,” he told her. His fingers glided over the vibrant color, “There’s nothing more magical than making art come alive under the tips of my fingers.”

 He smiled at her and then grabbed one of the bags of flower petals. She instantly recognized which flowers they came from. She watched as he opened it and grabbed a handful of the pale pink petals. He sprinkled them over her body, across her legs, around her crotch, along her torso and breasts, even some decorating her neck.

 He peppered them across the love seat and then he grabbed the other bag, which held larger petals and even some full flowers – orchids. “I’m gonna place these around your body. I’ll try my best not to touch anything,” he said and she nodded, trying not to move the petals that were already on her neck and scattered through her hair.

 He grabbed some of the orchids, placing them in her hair that was flowing behind her, and then one by her ear. He grabbed another one, placing it over one of her nipples, leaving the other one free of any flowers. Michael took a few others, placing them over her space between her legs.

 He set another one on her ankle and one on her hand. He then distributed the rest of the bag to the love seat as if it had rained flowers around her. “Okay,” Michael said, stepping back to look at her. She looked at him, but he didn’t meet her eyes. He was observing the piece he had created, a look of intense concentration etched onto his features.

 He then stepped forward and adjusted a few of the flowers and then he was ready to go. He stepped behind his easel, squeezing out the colors he needed onto a palette.

 “So how was work today?” He asked as he painted the first stroke onto the canvas.

 “It was okay,” she answered, looking towards his voice. He was sitting parallel to her, only angled so she couldn’t really see what he was painting on the canvas. But at least she could see his face. “I had one customer complain that there wasn’t enough flowers in their pieces for this wedding. But I mean, I stuffed the vases full. But you can never satisfy everyone.”

 “That’s why tattooing is so fickle,” Michael spoke as he painted. “Its so different from other forms of art. With painting or drawing, if you don’t like what you have you can just start over with a fresh canvas. But with tattooing, it’s permanent. You’ve got one try to get it right, and that’s why I think I love doing it so much.”

 “But what if the person doesn’t like what you’ve done to their body?” She asked, watching, as he made wide, arching strokes on the canvas.

 Michael shrugged. “Thankfully I’ve never had that happen to me. But you could offer to cover it up for free, or try and change the existing design.” His green eyes met hers and then moved to take in the rest of her body.

 She felt the self-consciousness return as his gaze lingered. But she knew he was in artist mode, and not just enjoying the view.

 “When did you realize you could draw?” She asked. She was genuinely interested in his background. She wanted to know everything about him, from when he learned he could draw, to the first tattoo he ever did on someone.

 Michael was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke. “I was pretty young,” he answered. “My father was an artist, not a tattoo artist but an abstract painter. I found such beauty in his works, even if they were the simplest lines or shapes,” he continued. “I tried to do what he could, but it just never seemed right to me. So he suggested I tried a different kind of art.

 “And so I started doing portraits of people on the streets outside of his studio. And then when I realized I actually had a talent for doing realistic illustrations, I started to branch out from there. And that’s how I got into tattooing. Mainly because of my best friend, Calum,” Michael continued.

 She listened intently, watching him talk and work simultaneously. He dipped into a new color with a different brush before going on.

 “He was always getting tattoos and always dragging me along with because he knew I was an artist. He’d help me okay a design and what not, and then one day he suggested that I try it. So I went to the nearest tattoo place with my portfolio and I apprenticed,” Michael said, nodding to himself. “And that’s how I got into tattooing. Now, what about you with flowers?”

 She swallowed. She knew Michael was probably going to ask, she just didn’t know if she was ready to tell. But she trusted him, more so than probably a lot of people.

 “I’ve been in love with flowers ever since I was a child,” she answered, looking to the ceiling. “My mom was always putting them in my hair, tucking them behind my ears or putting them in the pockets of my overalls. She always had flowers in the house, sometimes in every room.”

 She paused for a moment, the memories flooding her brain. Her mother’s face as she cradled a bloom in her hand, telling her to always stop and smell the flowers.  

 “She told me that every flower had a different meaning, and the colors of roses meant different things. Red roses meant passionate love, and pink meant admiration. Sunflowers meant adoration, Daisies meant innocence and my favorite, Orchids meant delicate beauty,” she said, a small smile pulling onto her lips.

 She could recite the meanings of flowers for hours. It was one of her favorite things.

 “What are some other ones?” Michael asked, his eyes trained on the canvas.

 Her smile grew. “Peony is for healing, Casablanca is for celebrations, Calla Lily means regal, Lilac is first love, red Tulips are a declaration of love,” she trailed off. “There’s so many,” she trailed off.

 “So it was your mom that made you want to be a florist?” Michael asked, curiosity dripping in his voice.

 “Well,” she said, her teeth capturing her bottom lip. She hesitated. “It was more her funeral that made me want to become a florist, as morbid as it sounds.”

 “I’m so sorry,” Michael quickly said, his hand dropping to his lap. His green eyes looked like glass that had shattered. The pity was always familiar to her. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

 “Its okay,” she said, swallowing thickly. “I always remember the flowers that were in her funeral pieces. “White carnations for remembrance, Forget-Me-Nots for remember me forever, Larkspur for beautiful spirit, and Lisianthus for calming.

 “It was ever since then that I wanted to be able to bring that sort of contentment and safety to someone else in the form of flowers. I wanted to bring excitement on people’s wedding days, or just joy into their homes. Flowers make you feeling things, and I love that,” she explained, even though she didn’t know if Michael was listening or not anymore. “It’s my own form of art.”

 “I really like that,” Michael spoke, his voice warm and low. “What was your mother’s favorite flower?” He questioned.

 She smiled again. “An orchid.”

 “Like mother, like daughter,” Michael said, the smile in his voice apparent. She wanted to nod, but she didn’t want to disturb the flowers that were decorating her body.

 They stayed silent for some time, only the sound of Michael’s brush sweeping across the surface of the canvas. She wasn’t feeling awkward anymore, thankfully. Michael just had something about him that made her relax. She was watching Michael paint when she felt the tingles.

 “Michael,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “I have to sneeze,” she said, trying to make the itch in her nose go away. But before Michael could reply, she was already sneezing, trying not to move but she felt some of the petals and flowers shift and slip from her body. “I’m sorry.”

Michael stood up, setting his palette and paintbrush down. “Its alright,” he said, “I’ll just fix it.”

 He closed the gap between them, returning some of the flowers in her hair to their original position. But when he moved to her torso, his fingers grazed her skin again. Only this time, they streaked color onto her flesh as he tried to reposition the flowers.

 Pale purple and pinks were marked across the curve of her hip. “I’m sorry,” Michael chuckled, glancing up to her through his eyelashes. She swallowed, just the way he was looking at her, his hand still resting on her hip, she couldn’t resist kissing him.

 But she didn’t want to ruin the masterpiece he created on her body either. But she couldn’t waste the night either. She leaned forward, the petals cascading off her body as she brought her arms up and around Michael’s neck, pulling him to her.

 She meshed their lips together in a flurry of kisses, their tongues clashing together like they had never kissed before. Michael gripped her hips, neither of them caring about the flowers spotting the space around them. He kneeled between her legs with one of his own, breaking away from her for a second.

 “I thought you wanted to move slow,” Michael said, his lips finding her neck. His breath washed over her skin warmly, his lips brushing against the hollow beneath her ear.

Michael deflated, watching as the rankings popped up on the screen, her name listed just above his. “That’s impossible,” he said, letting his controller fall into his lap. “I always beat my friends, and you just come in here and completely slaughter me.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it.

 She laughed, watching as Vader jumped up onto the sofa, making himself comfortable between the two of them. “Now you know how your friends feel,” she said. “Maybe I’ll let you win the next time,” she teased, but rested her controller against her bare leg.

 She scratched behind Vader’s ears again; quickly learning that was his favorite place to be scratched. Michael quickly joined in, petting his dog across the back and forgetting about the game that was on the screen. She let her eyes drift from the dog’s blissful eyes to Michael’s tattooed fingers.

 He had so many of them – they made her curious. “So,” she started, catching Michael’s attention. “Tell me what some of your tattoos mean.”

 She watched as Michael sighed, a small smile pulling up onto his lips. “Tell me which arm to start on,” he offered, holding out both arms for her to pick from. One had only a few tattoos; the other was completely covered in colorful ink and black ink alike.

 She pointed to the arm that had the lesser amount of tattoos. “Start with this one,” she said pointing to the tribal looking tattoo that was situated between his armbands.

 Michael’s smile grew, twisting his arm so she could see it better. “This,” he started. “It’s a symbol from one of my favorite video games. It means ‘home.’ And I got it just to remind myself of where I came from and home is where the heart is. Just a little more badass looking,” he laughed, tracing the outline of it.

 That was definitely not what she was expecting. But somehow, it made her understand Michael a little more. She smoothed her finger over his the band across his forearm. “What do these mean?”

 Michael watched her finger trace the edge of the band before answering. “I just thought they looked cool. No real rhyme or reason behind them,” he shrugged. She wasn’t too surprised that they didn’t mean anything. He worked in a tattoo shop for heaven’s sake, there had to be a time where he got a tattoo just to get a tattoo.

 They continued on, her asking about the rest of his tattoos, like what the anchor and the ‘X’ on his finger meant. What the quote inside his arm meant and what the rest of his random tattoos on his other arm meant to him. Some of them held real meaning, but others like the bands on his arms were just out of impulse because he thought they looked cool.

 “Have you ever tattooed yourself?” She asked quietly, tracing the black lines of the jellyfish that curved around his forearm (it had been one of those he thought just looked cool.)

 Michael nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up in a wry smile. “Those are all on my legs. I don’t really like to show them to people,” Michael said, his own fingers tracing unseen patterns into the denim covering his thighs. She wanted to see them, but only if and when Michael was okay with it.

 “Why not?” She asked, genuinely curious.

 Michael shrugged. “They’re not very good,” he said as if he hated saying it.

 “Well,” she started. “I like to think of it as an improvement. You can show people how much you’ve improved over time. I like to think the same way about my flowers. Sometimes they die, but that doesn’t stop me from making more bouquets. Maybe it’s not the same thing, but I don’t think you should be ashamed of them, Michael.”

 Michael had listened to her intently, his green eyes focused on hers the whole time. “I had never thought about it that way before,” Michael said when she was finished. “But I like the way you think,” he smiled, leaning forward, his eyes seeming to darken as he closed the gap between them. Vader jumped down, leaving him with ample room.

 She felt her breath escape her as Michael’s lips neared hers. His hand found her bare thigh, his fingers barely pressing into her skin. And then his lips were against hers, soft and gentle.

 “Michael,” she whispered against his lips, trying to keep her eyes from fluttering shut. He hummed, pulling back slightly, his features turning into a look of concern. “Don’t you think we’re moving too fast?” She asked, biting down on her lip.

 She wanted to kiss him again – for real. No holding back and no second-guessing. But she had a fear of moving too fast, of getting into a situation where she couldn’t handle herself. It had happened before, and she’d rather not go through it again.

 Michael scooted back a little farther, but his hand remained on her thigh, his thumb caressing her flesh. “I don’t think so,” Michael said. “But we can move slower if you’d like. If that makes you more comfortable.” He was watching her again, his artistic eye taking in every little detail of her.

 From the way she was slightly flushed, her pulse at the base of her throat, or how her lips were slightly parted. He found her beautiful – he had since the day she moved her shop in next door to his.

 She nodded slowly. She wanted to kiss Michael again, but she could wait a little longer.

 “Okay,” Michael agreed. “Why don’t we play another game?” He asked, glancing towards the television where the Mario Kart start up screen was replaying over and over again on the screen.

 “You’re on,” she challenged, picking up her controller again.

 “There’s a catch,” Michael said, stopping her before she could start the next game. She caught his eyes, arching a brow in question. “If I win, I get to kiss you. For real this time.”

 “And if I win?” She questioned, liking the sound of the stakes.

 “Then you get to tattoo me,” he said, lips quirking up into a smile. Her mouth parted slightly in surprise. She had never tattooed anybody before, but she’d give it a try. She grinned, starting the game.

 It was an intense race, Michael and her neck and neck for most of it. But nearing the end of the last lap, Michael pulled ahead, securing his lead when he tripped her up with a banana peel.

 The winner popped up on the screen, Michael’s name reading in bold letters. She felt her heart sink – she had lost. Then she felt the controller slip from her hands, Michael placing it on the coffee table. His hand then found her hip, his other keeping him propped up above her.

 Then she was tasting him again, his mouth moving against hers slowly. His tongue prodded her lips apart to slip inside. She had kissed many guys in her lifetime, but none of them had compared to Michael. She could taste his confidence, how he was so sure of his actions.

 He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling it slightly before releasing it. Then his mouth hovered over hers, “So when do I get to tattoo you again?” He hummed against her mouth.

 Her eyes peeled open slightly. “That wasn’t part of the deal, Michael. You got your prize,” she murmured back, her own hands coming around to fiddle with the hairs at the base of his neck. She wanted to pull him closer, to taste him again but he had only won one kiss.

 “I did,” he grinned, sitting back slightly so she could see his eyes more clearly. His pupils were blown wide, eating up most of the green tint. “But I guess I forgot to mention that part,” he smirked, his fingers dancing across her knee in a teasing manner.

 She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but bite her lip to hide her smile. “I don’t know what else I’d want. And this one isn’t even healed yet,” she replied, motioning to her stomach.

 Michael nodded, “I know. But I have a few ideas. We don’t have to do it right now, but this isn’t going to be your only tattoo. Not when you’re going to be around me all the time.”

 She smiled again, glad that she had finally stepped into the tattoo shop last week and faced her fears. But she glanced at the time, seeing how late it was. She startled, almost hitting her head against Michael’s.

 “I need to go,” she said, grabbing her purse. “It’s late and I have to open the shop tomorrow,” she said, standing and waiting for Michael to follow. His smile seemed to falter, but nodded in agreement. They were both business owners, he knew how it went.

 She petted Vader’s head as she passed the love seat he was curled up on. She then paused by the door, turning towards Michael. “Thanks for tonight,” she grinned. “I had fun.”

 Michael mirrored her smile. “So did I,” he told her. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Maybe stop by the shop for your lunch break?” He suggested, his pierced brow rose in inquiry.

It was then that she heard the chime above the door. She didn’t get customers too often, but enough to keep her in business. She grabbed another leaf, snipping it off and slipping it into her apron to throw it away later.

 She turned around, ready to greet whoever came into her shop. “Just let me –” she started, stuttering when she came face to face with Michael. He was leaning against one of the many tables sprinkled throughout the room, a smirk pulling on his lips. “Know if you need anything,” she finished, warmth flooding her cheeks.

 “Hi,” Michael smiled, peeling himself away from the table, tucking one of his hands into his front pockets.

 “Hi,” she returned, tucking her shears into her apron and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Can I help you with anything?” She asked, chewing on the inside of her lip. It had been so long since she’d seen Michael last, it almost felt awkward between them – more businesslike rather than old friends.

 “Actually,” Michael started, averting his gaze to a colorful bouquet at his side. His tattooed fingers found one of the flowers, cradling it in his palm. “I’m looking for some flowers. You said if I ever needed flowers for a special someone, you were the person I was to see,” he continued, his eyes finding hers again.

 She felt her smile falter, hoping that Michael didn’t notice. But she was sure he had caught it, with him being an artist he was a very detail oriented, observant person. It had never occurred to her that he might have already had a girlfriend, or boyfriend for that matter – she didn’t know.

 “Do you know what kind you’re looking for?” She asked, taking a deep breath, trying to push the uneasiness out of her mind.

 Michael shook his head, licking at his already red lips. “You’re the expert,” he smirked, a chuckle falling from his tongue. “What do guys usually get their girlfriends around Valentine’s Day?” He asked, arching his pierced brow at her.

 She returned his smile, turning and motioning for him to follow. “Well, seeing as it’s April, I don’t have any bouquets like those prepared,” she started, leading him to the front window of the shop. “Roses usually sell pretty well, but every girl has received roses in her lifetime. You want something more unique.”

 “Like an orchid?” He asked with an innocent gaze.

 She stared at him for a second longer, wondering what he had meant by his statement. If he was buying flowers for another a significant other, why was he standing here flirting with her?

 “Yes,” she confirmed. “Something like an orchid.”

 She pointed out a few other bouquets, teaching him about random flowers per his request. She was surprised with how curious was, especially if he was just here to buy flowers.

 In the end, Michael ended up purchasing a smaller bouquet, filled with orchids and other small filler flowers. Though it was simple, she knew that whomever he was buying it for was going to love it. She wrapped the stems in paper, handing it over to him.

 “Good luck on your date,” she smiled, watching as he tucked the bouquet in his arms. Michael returned her grin, winking and leaving without another word.

 -

 As the eight o’clock hour hit, she clicked off the lights, closing for the night. She locked the door behind her as she shifted her bag higher up on her shoulder. She glanced towards the shop, involuntarily searching for the redhead only to find him perched on the bench outside the storefront.

 “Hey,” Michael greeted, uncrossing his legs, but letting his arms stretch across the length of the bench on either side of him. She smiled, but she didn’t want to linger for long. She was hungry and she was sure that Michael had a date to get to soon. “Where are you going?” He asked, stopping her from getting any farther.

 “Home?” She questioned, arching a brow at him.

 “No, you’re not,” Michael almost retorted. She looked at him curiously, watching as he stood all the way up and nodded for her to follow him. “I’ve been curious about your tattoo all day and I forgot to ask when I got the flowers,” he said, leading her through the door between his shop and hers.

 It was a small set of apartment buildings that sat above his tattoo shop. She never realized that Michael might have lived in one of them. He led them to the first floor, pulling a set of keys from his pocket and inserting one of them into the lock.

 It clicked open, Michael letting her step through first. She smiled at him, adjusting the back on her shoulder. It was a simple apartment, the walls were white, the furniture black and there were a few pieces of art hanging on the walls. But in the corner there was a desk overflowing with papers and art supplies. She figured this is where he did his own drawing that wasn’t related to work.

 But just then, as she stepped further into the apartment, she was almost knocked backwards. She glanced towards the ground, finding an English bulldog braced against her knees, a bad snaggletooth poking out from behind his lips.

 “Vader!” Michael scolded, stepping through the doorway and pushing the bulldog off of her. “Be nice to her! She’s our guest,” he said, kneeling down so he was even with his dog. Vader looked at him curiously before panting and looking back to her. “Sorry about him, he gets a little excited whenever people come over,” he apologized.

 “It’s okay,” she smiled, kneeling down beside him to pet Vader. “Named after Darth Vader, I presume?” She questioned, scratching behind the dog’s ears, giggling as he leaned into her touch. He wasn’t the prettiest of dogs, but that only made him that much cuter.

 “Guilty,” Michael grinned, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “I’m a die-hard Star Wars fan,” he laughed, holding his hands up, palms outwards. She laughed too, turning back to the dog that had already captured her heart. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to find that Michael owned a dog. “Let me just feed him quick and you can show me your tattoo. I was a little busy today and couldn’t make it at his regular time.”

 She nodded, watching as Vader’s ears perked up at the sound of the word ‘feed.’ He scampered after his owner into the kitchen, and that’s where she saw it. The bouquet she had sold him earlier was on the kitchen table – the only thing on the kitchen table.

 They were in a glass vase, situated in the middle of the wooden table. Somehow, she could tell they weren’t exactly for a date but more for decoration. She wanted to ask Michael about it, but she also didn’t want to be rude. She couldn’t help but think that maybe his girlfriend lived here with him and they were for her.

 She heard the sound of dog food tinkling against a bowl and then Michael was returning, wiping his hands off on his jeans. “Nice flowers,” she found herself saying as he stopped just before her.

 Michael looked back to the kitchen, spotting the bouquet on the table. He smiled, his green eyes finding hers. “I know, someone special gave them to me,” she grinned. She felt her cheeks warm, and all of her trepidations had melted away. “Alright, let’s see how your tattoo is healing,” he said, clasping his hands together softly so they didn’t make much of a noise.

 She looked down to her body, having realized that she was wearing a dress. “You want me to just lift up my dress?” She asked, looking back up to Michael. Michael nodded and shrugged. She sighed, but knew this was just business to Michael. He only wanted to see how her tattoo was healing.

 She grasped the ends of her dress, pulling it upwards so it bunched beneath her dress. She was silently thankful that she was wearing somewhat decent underwear – white lace panties. Michael leaned forward, his artist eyes taking in the work he had created.

 He reached his hand out, the pads of his fingers running over the skin, feeling the scabs and flaking skin. “You’ve stopped putting the goo on it, right?” He asked, glancing up to her and then back down to the tattoo.

 “Yes,” she confirmed, watching him with an inquisitive eye. He let his hand drop away as he straightened. She let her dress fall back to its proper position. “How’s it looking?” She asked.

 Michael smiled, “It looks perfect. No touch-ups are needed, but I already knew that.” She blushed, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. “You know what I like so much about this tattoo?” He abruptly asked then, his lip captured between his teeth.

 She arched a brow at him and shook her head, but he had piqued her curiosity.

 “I love that I’ve been the only person to see it,” he continued, his eyes seeming to glimmer as he looked at her. “It’s like our own little secret.”

 “How do you know you’ve been the only one to see it?” She challenged, though he had been right. Michael had been the only person to see the tattoo since she’s gotten it. She wasn’t faithful to anyone right now, so no one had seen her naked in the few days that she’s had it.

 Michael chuckled, casting his gaze towards the floor. “I just had a hunch,” he smirked, his eyes finding hers again. A moment of silence passed between them before Michael was smiling again. “Have you ever played Mario Kart?” He asked.

 “Mario Kart?” She echoed, giggling slightly. Michael nodded, waiting for her answer. Vader trotted back out to the entryway they were still standing in and sat by her feet, looking up at her with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. “No, I don’t think so.”