#thenerd10

He couldn’t believe his friends were making him do this.

It was a couple of drinks at a party, three bad decisions and four days later that Robbe was standing in front of a tattoo parlour with his friends after having lost a bet. He didn’t mean for this to happen. In all honestly, he didn’t think he’d lose the bet at all. But here was paying for it either way.

Jens, Moyo and Aaron stood close by laughing and hollering at him.

“Come on, Ijzermans, you said you’d do it,” Moyo called out.

“Ahhh, let the guy live. He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to,” said Jens. “You don’t have to do this,” he then directed to Robbe’s back.

Oh, but Robbe did. Because if he didn’t have shitty friends that would tease about this, he could walk away right now.

His legs felt like they were about to give way and he blinked a few times hoping he would be able to read the bright sign on top more clearly. Taking a deep breath he walked into the shop.

The receptionist greeted him warmly and asked if he had an appointment with them today. Robbe shook his head and told her it was kind of a spontaneous decision (It wasn’t his decision). She smiled at him and shook out her blue hair as she helped set him up for his walk-in. There weren’t many people here today.

She told him he was welcome to check out some of the art of the artists on the wall to get a sense of what he wanted or who he wanted to work on him. Robbe smiled tautly and nodded at her as he sat in the waiting chair looking around.

When he was called to sit for his tattoo, he felt a deep sense of nausea pool in his stomach. He would be worked on by someone named Sander Driesen and as he tried to take slow steps to his chair in the back room, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. It’s okay Robbe, just get in, get out. Don’t trip.

“Hey, I’m Sander, how’s it going?” a deep and serene voice emerged at the door. Robbe saw a guy in all black, pretty young, maybe even close to his age, a small eyebrow piercing in the arch of his brow, tattoos inked up his arms and most stunning of all, his bleached blond hair. It was tousled perfectly, falling into his eyes every now and then, and Robbe had to swallow when the green irises stared into his brown ones.

“Uh, Robbe. I’m good,” he found his voice to be raspy all of a sudden.

“That’s good,” he smiled at him and Robbe was sure he’d pass out right here right now. Sander clapped his hands once and rubbed them together as he walked around him and sat in his chair. “So, do you have an idea of what you wanna do? I know it’s a walk-in and you probably didn’t really plan much but it’s good to at least have a sense of what you’re getting into,” he said.

Robbe was finding it difficult to speak, even more difficult to see. He blinked thrice quickly before responding.

“Uh, not really, just...I really like your art and designs,” he ended up blurting and wanting to punch himself. “Maybe one of those.”

Sander’s eyes held him for more than a second, suspicious and enigmatic, electric sparks shooting up Robbe’s spine. Then, he licked his lips and quickly tore his gaze as he went to get a book with his designs and laid it out for him.

They sat there for about ten minutes trying to decide on a design, Robbe’s dark curls falling into Sander’s blonde strands. It was hard to focus on the pictures for Robbe, but he had seen one of a dragon with fire coming out of its mouth and for some reason that one resonated with him.

“So, before we begin,” Sander slowly closed the book. “I’m gonna need to ask you, for legal reasons but also health reasons...”

He paused for a bit, looking down and scrunching his eyebrows, and Robbe’s heart beat in his throat. This is it.

“Have you had any alcohol in the last 24-48 hours?”

He found the the courage to look into his eyes, the corners of his lips curving up bitterly.

“I might’ve had a few shots, yeah,” admitted Robbe. “How’d you know?”

He didn’t really care how he knew. He was just glad that he did.

“I could smell it off of you and...somehow you don’t seem the type to want a dragon on your arm,” Sander’s lips curved.

“No?” Robbe smiled now.

“Eh, I’d give it some thought since your judgement is impaired a little right now, but,” he stared at him. “You also look like you don’t want be here.”

That’s when Robbe looked down and nervously traced the lines on his palm with his thumb.

“I don’t want to be here. My friends are assholes and I lost a bet and I thought if I drank and came here, I wouldn’t have to go through with it,” he shrugged.

Sander was quiet for a moment, surveying him in silence. He shook his leg as he rested his elbows on his thighs and brought his hands clasped together to his mouth. The shaking abruptly stopped.

“Well, you’re right, I can’t give you a tattoo,” he finally said. “However,” he reached over to the desk nearby searching for a pen and something to scribble on. He found a business card and wrote something down. He held the card out to Robbe and looked at him with pure-hearted sincerity.

“If you ever want to come back and decide what you really want to get, or...or you just want to talk, here’s my number,” he said.

Robbe stared at the small piece of card-stock held between his fingers, a shining ring adorned on his forefinger.