Archive of Our Own ^beta

Luke leans back in the chair at the front desk, eyes fixed on the spinning blades of the ceiling fan before closing them to sigh dramatically. It’s not the first time they’ve had this argument, but he’s hell-bent on making it the last.

“I still don’t think we should take walk-ins.”

Calum and Michael stand before him, mirroring each other with arms folded and twin disapproving expressions on their faces. Luke hates it when they do that.

“And yet,” Calum says, “we have a sign on the door that says ‘Walk-Ins Welcome’. It appears we’re at an impasse.” Luke doesn’t bother looking at him. He knows exactly what Calum looks like when he’s feeling smug. “And by impasse I mean that we’re definitely doing walk-ins.”

Luke groans and tips the chair forward again, running a hand through his curls in frustration. “We’re a private studio! We have totally earned the right to not do walk-ins,” Luke argues, counting the list off on his fingers. “It raises our profile if we’re appointment only. We get to be more discerning with our clientele. You guys have huge portfolios and a combined three-hundred-and-fifty thousand followers on Instagram. We don’t need to do walk-ins.”

“I respect your opinion,” Michael says diplomatically, folding his hands together so the oversized sleeves of his shirt slip down to pool near his elbows, “but we’re definitely going to do walk-ins.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “You definitely don’t respect my opinion.”

“How dare you,” Michael gasps in faux-offense as he clasps a hand over his chest. “Of course I respect your opinion.” He pauses. “It’s Cal who doesn’t respect your opinion.”

“He’s right, I don’t,” Calum agrees, shrugging. “We’d literally be letting money just walk by. When it could walk in. Plus, we specifically picked this location for the walking traffic.”

Calum gestures to the crowded boardwalk of Venice Beach through the large front window of the shop. He’s not wrong. Getting a spot on the beachfront was an insane stroke of luck, and it’s a way more expensive building for Calum and Michael to have leased than what they could have done elsewhere, even a mile east. It’s a small shop, and there’s a shit-ton of competition within spitting distance. It’s not that Luke doesn’t understand their point, it’s just that he doesn’t want to.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, Lukey,” Michael says. He’s clearly playing the good cop in this situation. Luke wonders idly if they planned it out beforehand; they do that sometimes. “You just have to do a few script tattoos on some 18-year-olds and you’re a couple hundred dollars richer.”

“See, that’s the thing, though.” Luke narrows his eyes in distrust. “I’ll just have to do the script tattoos on the 18-year-olds. We all know that you guys will be fully booked and it’s me who’s gonna have to–”

The familiar rant is cut off by the obnoxious chiming of the bell above the shop door. Luke’s eyes snap to the entrance as Michael and Calum turn their heads in unison. Understandably, the man walking in freezes, eyes wide with his aviators pushed halfway into his loose curls.

“Uh,” the man says.

Luke snorts a little, but cuts it off when Michael shoots him a stern look. Luke presses his lips into a thin line and gives the man a subtle onceover, instead. He’s a pretty typical character for Venice: vintage tee, distressed black jeans, chunky Doc Martens, and... well, attractive. At first glance, Luke catches two tattoos – one on each wrist – but from this distance, they’re nothing but splotches hiding behind ropey beaded bracelets.

“Welcome to Youngblood Ink.” Calum’s customer service smile is plastered onto his face all of a sudden. “Can we help you, man?”

“Right,” the guy continues, stepping further into the store and letting the door close behind him. Luke picks up a hint of a familiar accent. “Do you guys have time for a walk-in?”

“Yes,” Michael says at the same time Luke says “No.”

“Yes, we do,” Calum repeats, glaring over at Luke. “Luke here will be happy to take you. Because he loves his job, and wants to keep it. Right Luke?”

“Right,” Luke grumbles. “What are you looking to get?”

Ashton Irwin, 07/07/94, no known medical conditions and not under the influence of drugs or alcohol – and originally from Sydney, as it turns out – is looking to get a bird on his neck.

“A California condor,” he says for about the twelfth time, “on my nape.”

It’s an easy enough tattoo, solid black and about three inches wide. Perfect walk-in material, if Luke is being honest. It’d be a waste of time to make an appointment and take a deposit for something that will probably take him less than an hour.

Not that he’ll ever admit that to Mike and Cal.

“You sure you want to get your neck tattooed?” Luke asks, tapping his pencil on the sheet where he’s sketched out the idea. He gestures to Ashton’s wrists. “It’s kind of a commitment. Are those the only ones you have?”

Ashton instinctively grabs at one of them and thumbs over the red heart inked there. It looks like it’s a couple of years old, not great work, but the way he touches it implies its meaning.

“Just these two, yea,” he answers, only a hint defensively, before his lips shift into a lopsided smile. “Are those the only ones you have?”

Luke looks down at his own wrists, some faint ink single-lined over the tendons.

“No,” he answers simply. He lifts his arm to show the hummingbird on his inner bicep, a gift from Michael a few months ago. It’s the easiest way to answer the question, even if it’s not the most honest.

It’s not uncommon for Luke to be criticized for his lack of tattoos, and he takes it in stride these days. The guy probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s still a little annoying. The fact that he chooses not to get more tattoos doesn’t reflect his artistry and technique, nor does he owe anyone an explanation. His work speaks for itself.

“Okay, you’re covered, I get it,” Ashton says. He’s smiling, still, which Luke finds a bit suspicious. Most people aren’t so happy when an artist is trying to argue against their idea. “But you can’t really talk, right?”

“I can, actually,” Luke says, pointing at the drawing again as he leans on the counter, “because I’m not the one trying to get a neck tattoo.”

“Okay, fair.” Ashton giggles a little before continuing. “Well, I wanted the bird–”

“The California condor,” Luke provides.

“The California condor,” Ashton agrees, his grin widening to a near-blinding level. “I wanted the condor because it represents moving to America and following my dreams, and starting a new life in California.” He scratches at the back of his neck bashfully, right where the tattoo would go. “I also got a one-way ticket. So, really, the move was a way bigger commitment than the tattoo is.”

Luke can’t help but smile back at Ashton’s dimpled cheeks.

“Relatable,” he laughs. There’s no going back to Australia now. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“There’s always removal, right?” Ashton suggests.

Luke makes a face.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna do that.” He hums thoughtfully. “I guess you could always grow your hair out if you want to hide it. Or get really into turtlenecks.”

“I do look hot with long hair,” Ashton replies, his grin turning cheeky. Luke rolls his eyes, but keeps the smile on his face.

“I bet you do,” he agrees, but avoids the flirtation. “Let’s get this thing lined up, then.”

Ten minutes later, Luke has his gloves on and his hair tied up, and Ashton is face down on the massage table, the stencil of a California condor meticulously placed on the back of his neck.

Ashton hasn’t stopped talking. Luke should find it annoying, but it’s nice to hear a familiar accent that isn’t Calum or Michael trying to parent him, and Ashton is… sweet. And excitable. And maybe, Luke guesses, a little bit lonely.

“I landed like three weeks ago, and I came alone without knowing a single person out here,” Ashton explains, gesticulating wildly with his hands even though he’s lying prone with his face obscured from view. “It was a really big step, but I felt like I had to do it, you know?”

“Hold still,” Luke says, thumbing a streak of vaseline across the stencil so his hand can slide easier. “I do know, for sure, but at least I came with Mike and Cal. You really don’t know anybody?”

“Nope!” Ashton’s voice is muffled slightly by the leather encircling his face. Luke can still hear his smile. “But I’m pretty outgoing.”

No kidding, Luke thinks.

“So, I got to talking to a few people in a café a little ways down and mentioned that I was looking to get a new tattoo, and they told me that there was a shop full of Aussies that might interest me.”

Luke grins to himself, glad that their name has gotten out so quickly – though that’s probably because of Michael and Calum’s reputation rather than anything else.

“Can’t say they were wrong,” Ashton adds. “I’d say I’m pretty interested so far.”

Luke blushes, glad that Ashton can’t see him right now. Ashton is cute, is the thing, and kind and funny and Australian, but – no. He’s not not interested, but. Definitely, no.

“I’m going to start now, okay?” Luke says, ignoring Ashton’s last statement as he triple-checks his machines. “Take a few deep breaths and tell me when you’re ready. If you want me to stop at all, even just to stretch your legs or use the toilet, just let me know.”

He waits as Ashton follows his instructions, taking a couple of deep, calming breaths. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I’m good.”

“Alright then.” Luke gives the pedal of his power supply a few cursory tests. “Here we go.”

He spreads the skin of Ashton’s neck between two fingers before lowering the needle until it makes contact. He starts with the long line on the top of the right wing before pulling up and wiping away the excess ink.

“Alright?”

Ashton huffs out a laugh. “I think I can take more than that, yea.”

Luke grins. “Just checking.”

Luke gets fully into it then, reveling in the experience of tattooing. He focuses on the depth of his needle and the way it tracks across Ashton’s skin; the consistent buzz of his power box; the smell of the ink; the steadiness in his hands against the vibration of his machine.

Luke loves tattooing. He never wants to forget that.

“Still doing okay?” he asks after another ten minutes, when he’s about halfway done with the bird’s outline. Ashton’s been almost silent since the needle hit his skin, and even in the hour or so since their first meeting, it’s reason enough for him to check for signs of life.

“I’m great,” Ashton replies as he shimmies a little bit on the table to get comfortable. “You’re very gentle.”

“Thanks,” Luke answers, taking the compliment for what it is and resisting the temptation to flirt back. “I’ve heard that.” He puts his foot down again to power his machine, resuming where he left off.

“How’d you end up in California? Following your dreams like me?” Ashton asks after a couple of minutes, apparently having been quiet for as long as he could manage. “Oh, is it gonna bother you if I talk?”

“Nah, you’re good,” Luke laughs, dipping into his ink again. “Michael and Calum wanted to open the shop here and invited me to come with them. It’s as simple as that, really.”

It isn’t, but Luke likes to pretend that it was.

“Was it easy for you to leave everything behind?”

That makes Luke pause for a second, his needle hovering just above Ashton’s skin. “I wouldn’t say easy,” he settles on. He examines his work, making sure every line is clean and even. “But it was a really good opportunity. And I like it here, so far.”

“Living the dream, ay?”

“Yea,” Luke says, putting his machine down, “living the dream.”

He cleans the ink off of Ashton’s neck with his squeeze bottle and gives the tattooed area a solid wipe before sitting back in his chair.

“That’s the line work done. Do you need a break or are we good to fill this guy in?”

“Already? You work fast.” Ashton picks his head up out of the face hole in the table to look over at Luke. “I’m good if you’re good.” He sends Luke another dimple-filled smile before putting his head back down, shifting his arms to get comfortable again.

Ashton sits well, keeping his neck steady even with his constant chatter – which Luke finds he doesn’t mind. Some of his clients treat him like a therapist; others ignore him altogether. Ashton, though, has an uncanny ability to make Luke feel like he’s part of the discussion even when he isn’t really offering up any information. He just fills the space with loose conversation, sharing things without Luke having to ask.

He learns that Ashton rents a room in a shared house up in Culver City, does yoga every day, likes to go for runs on the beach as many mornings as he can, and is addicted to iced coffee. He also learns that Ashton is a musician, came out here to play music full-time, and has already scored a gig as a session drummer at a studio in LA.

“It doesn’t pay great and it’s not every day, and sometimes they’ll call me with like two hours notice when it takes almost that long for me to commute,” Ashton explains. “But it’s what I want to do, you know? It’s why I came out here with a one-way ticket and nothing but a three-wheeled suitcase and some drumsticks.”

“I get it,” Luke says, honestly. “Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to do the things we love.”

“But it’s worth it,” Ashton finishes.

Luke smiles softly. “I hope so.”

It only takes a half hour or so for Luke to finish filling in the outline, and he’s almost disappointed when he gives it one last wipe, studying the shape, a stark silhouette against the skin of Ashton’s neck.

“You’re all done, man,” he says when he deems it sufficiently saturated and free of any gaps in the ink. Satisfied with his work, he stretches out, leaning back on his stool to crack his back. “If you’re feeling fine, you can sit up and we’ll have you check it out in the mirror.”

Ashton pushes himself up with his arms before swinging his legs over the side of the table, the ever-present smile still plastered to his face. “Awesome, dude, thank you so much,” he says as he gets to his feet.

Luke follows Ashton over to the full-length mirror on the wall of his studio room and holds up a handheld one behind him so he can see the completed piece.

“Wow,” Ashton breathes out, his hands making an aborted journey to touch the ink before he thinks better of it. “It’s just how I wanted it. It’s perfect, Luke, really.”

“Glad you like it.” Luke smiles at Ashton’s reflection. “Sit back down for me and we’ll get you wrapped up.”

Luke cashes him out a few minutes later, fresh bandage secured tightly to the back of Ashton’s neck.

“With that dense of a fill, you’re probably gonna bleed a little more than you’re used to over that surface area.” Luke hands over a slightly redundant aftercare sheet, considering he’s already explained everything twice.

Still, it never hurts to be thorough, and if he gets one more call from someone asking if it’s normal for a tattoo to be itchy, or claiming that their tattoo “isn’t healing right” after they went into the fucking ocean with it, he’s going to jump off the Santa Monica pier.

“Just keep that bandage on for me at least until you go to bed tonight.”

“For you?” Ashton gives him a flirtatious smile. “Of course.”

Luke blushes and shakes his head, unable to hold back the smile creeping onto his face. “Just take care of it, and give us a call or swing back in if you have any questions.”

“Got it,” Ashton says, tucking the sheet into the pocket of his jeans. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” Luke says with a smile. “Thanks for coming by, I know there’s a lot of options on the boardwalk so we do appreciate it.”

He’s not exactly sure what compels him to tack on “I hope we see you again” at the end. Not sure at all.

“Yea,” Ashton says, backing out of the shop, his hazel eyes locked on Luke’s. “I think you will.”

Luke watches him as he passes by the shop window, ducking his head self-consciously when Ashton gives him a small wave before he continues on his way.

“So,” comes Calum’s voice from immediately behind him. Luke nearly jumps out of his shoes.

“What the fuck,” Luke hisses, clutching a hand over his chest.

Even if it would be less convenient, he wishes the threshold to the studio area was a door instead of a curtain so he could at least hear Calum coming.

“I thought you were still tattooing.”

“I was, I am,” Calum says with a sly smile. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine,” Luke whines. “I was fine, anyway, until you decided to give me a heart attack.”

Calum just laughs at him, folding his arms across his chest so his biceps nearly burst out of the tight black shirt he’s wearing. “So?”

“So what?”

“So,” Calum’s smile grows wider. He taps at the receipt on the counter, not breaking eye contact with Luke. “He left a nice tip.”

“So?”

“So?”

They’re still locked in a dead stare, Calum’s smirk against Luke’s frown, when Michael comes out to join them.

“Hey, Luke, you’re done!” he exclaims happily. “So?”

“Fuck you both.” Luke throws his hands up in surrender. “We can do walk-ins.”

Luke’s drawing by the light of his desk lamp, the sun having set more than a couple of hours ago. It’s nothing serious: a large piece with swirling filigrees and a face in profile, maybe for a back or a sleeve that he’ll never get to do. He doesn’t have the reputation or portfolio for someone to trust him with a piece like this, but he’ll never get there if he stops being ambitious with his drawings.

He does his best to shove away the gruff voice in his head that tells him he’ll never get there, period.

It’s been a long week. After they’d “decided” on the walk-in policy, Luke had taken on the brunt of the traffic that came through the doors – including, yes, a handful of script tattoos on some teenagers.

He loves tattooing. It’s just that he’d love to be tattooing his own drawings with a lot more frequency than he currently is. But with artists like Michael and Calum in-house, it’ll take him a while before he gets the consultations and appointments and trust with any regularity.

But, he reminds himself, with artists like Michael and Calum in-house, he’ll get better just by being around them. They’re the best teachers he could ask for, and he owes them everything. Everything.

“Hey.”

The voice from behind him makes him launch his pencil across the room as he springs from his chair. He’s met with Calum’s shit-eating grin when he turns around, laughing to himself at the plastic ruler brandished in Luke’s hand. He may owe him everything, but he hates Calum so much.

“Jesus Christ, Cal,” Luke says, falling back against his desk. “Are you trying to kill me? Did I piss you off?”

“Nah,” Calum replies, pushing himself off of the door frame in the entryway to Luke’s office. “Just came to say goodnight. What are you working on?”

“Nothing really,” Luke shrugs, looking down at the trace paper in front of him. All of a sudden, it really does look like nothing. He tries to pull it off the desk to hide it from Calum’s eyes. “It’s shit, sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Calum says kindly, placing a grounding hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I want to see.”

Luke stops fussing with the paper and sighs, trying to even his breathing back out. He didn’t even notice how his anxiety had spiked until Calum touched him.

Calum studies it for a long moment, and Luke feels his panic rising again. It’s shit, it’s shit, he knows it’s shit–

“This is beautiful, Luke,” Calum says, punching the air out of Luke’s chest.

“No, it’s–”

“The depth you’ve achieved here is really fantastic,” Calum continues, ignoring him as he bends over the desk and points at the nose of his figure. “Those kinds of values and contrast are what push a tattoo from good to timeless. This is the kind of tattoo that looks brand new after twenty years because of those big areas of solid black.” He stops, looking up at Luke over his shoulder. “But you knew that, right?”

“Yea,” Luke breathes out. “That’s why I did it. Like you taught me.”

“Atta boy.” Calum stands back up to pat Luke on the shoulder. “You’ve gotta believe in yourself a little bit more, Luke. How can you expect clients to trust you when you don’t trust yourself?”

Luke sighs. Trust himself, right. Easier said than done. He’s about to say as much when their conversation is interrupted by a voice from the stairs, just through the open door of Luke’s office.

“Babe? You up here?”

“This is my apartment!” Luke squawks, turning around to face where Michael has popped his head up over the railing. “You know, I don’t love how you guys just barge in here like–”

“Like what?” Calum laughs, heading towards the stairs to meet Michael. “Like we own the place?”

“Shut up,” Luke mutters. “I hate you both. Have I told you that today?”

“It never hurts to hear it again, sweetheart,” Michael sighs, leaning against the bannister and batting his eyelashes.

“Ready to head out?” Calum asks Michael, who gives him a thumbs up.

“Ready for two fucking days off,” Michael corrects. “Shop’s all good for next week though, except we’ll probably need to do another order for gloves and paper towels before the end of the month.”

“Ah, the joys of business ownership.” Calum runs a comforting hand across Michael’s back, guiding him back down the stairs. He turns back to Luke after a few steps to point at him menacingly. “The drawing is beautiful. You’re a special talent, kid.”

“I’m barely younger than you!” Luke whines to Calum’s back as he leaves without a second glance.

“Goodnight sweetie! Sleep tight!” Michael calls back up the stairs.

“Fuck you!” Luke yells back, but he smiles as soon as he hears the door shut behind them.

A couple of weeks later, a familiar head of sandy brown curls comes through the doors.

Not that Luke’s thought of those sandy brown curls at all since he last saw them.

“Luke!” Ashton exclaims, waving happily as the bell chimes behind him. “Remember me?”

“Hmm,” Luke hums, squinting. “Turn around for me?”

Ashton laughs, eyes bright, turning around to show the back of his head, tugging the collar of his shirt down a bit at the back.

“Oh, Ashton!” Luke claps his hands together enthusiastically. “Good to see you again!”

Ashton’s giggling as he pivots back, walking forward to meet Luke at the counter, adjusting the neck of his thin, oversized white shirt that puts his clavicles on full display. He’s wearing numerous long necklaces that accentuate his throat and chest – not that Luke notices beyond professional interest. It’s a good place to put a tattoo, is all.

“You too,” Ashton says with a toothy smile. “My neck is healing great, by the way.”

“Oh, let me see!” Luke makes a spinning gesture with one hand.

“Jeez,” Ashton complains jokingly, doing as he’s told. “Keep asking a guy to turn around and he’ll get a complex.”

“Shut up,” Luke mumbles, leaning forward to get a closer look at his work. “You’re right, it’s healing perfectly. You’ve taken good care of it.”

“Told you I’d do it for you, didn’t I?” Ashton says as he turns to face him again. “Think I’ve taken good enough care of it to get you to do another one for me?”

Luke smiles at that. The walk-in thing isn’t any less of a sore subject as it was the last time Ashton was in, but at least he knows he’ll enjoy this one – even if for the company rather than the subject matter.

“What are you thinking?”

It’s another quick one for Luke – some hollow numbers outlined above Ashton’s right elbow. The stencil is a little harder to line up, and they debate some over the size and position relative to the elbow, but soon enough, Ashton is back on Luke’s table. Luke’s got it folded in half this time, with Ashton sitting up. He sets up his stool just off to the back and side, positioning Ashton’s elbow on a separate arm rest so it’s right in front of him.

“Alright,” Luke asks, giving his machines a final check, having set up with a small diameter liner. “How’s that position for you? Are you comfortable?”

“I’m great,” Ashton says. “Ready when you are.”

“Cool,” Luke says, dipping into the ink cap. “Remember, just let me know if you need to stop for any reason.”

Luke only gets halfway through the first number before Ashton’s chatting again.

“So, how’d you get into tattooing?”

Luke finishes the short line he’s working on before he responds. It’s an easy enough question to answer, a half-truth he’s given a hundred times.

“I’ve just always loved art,” he tells Ashton, “and I love the permanence that comes with tattooing. Makes me feel like my art will live forever.”

“People always talk about tattooing being permanent for the person getting it, but I never thought about it like that for the artist too. I like that,” Ashton says thoughtfully. “It’ll live as long as I do, at least.”

“You just have to promise not to get cremated,” Luke jokes. “We should put that in the waivers, actually. Wonder if Mike and Cal would be down with that.”

Ashton giggles in response, careful not to jostle his arms. “How did you end up with these guys, anyway?”

“Who, Mike and Cal?”

“Yea. Aren’t they like, pretty famous?” Ashton asks. “I think I’ve seen them on TV.”

“Probably.” Michael and Calum are, in fact, pretty famous in tattoo circles, with plenty of network appearances under their belts – including the competition show they met on. “I was just lucky, I guess.”

Bit of an understatement, Luke scolds himself internally. But he’s not quite ready to talk about how he met Calum and Michael, and definitely not with a person he’s only met twice. Definitely not with a client.

“That’s really cool,” Ashton replies, oblivious to Luke’s avoidance. “Did you learn from them or something?”

Luke huffs out a breathy laugh. “Yea, something like that.”

It was something like that, in fairness.

“And when they moved from Australia to California, you came with them,” Ashton supplies.

“Yep.” It’s a lot easier to tell this story when other people write it for him – it makes the missing details feel less like lying. “They asked me to come, and for a junior artist like me, it was really easy to say yes. Like you said, they are pretty famous.”

The truth of it is, their fame did help with Luke’s decision. Michael and Calum had the resources to bring him along, and have the resources to keep him in the apartment above the studio for just a small shop cut of what he makes tattooing. They had the resources to help him.

“They seem really cool, even though they were pretty intimidating on that first day,” Ashton admits. “Did they do any of your tattoos?”

“Yea,” Luke says, happy to tell this story, at least. “Calum did my wrists, and Michael did my hummingbird. They’re the only people I trust to tattoo me.”

“What are the numbers on your wrists for?” Ashton asks innocently. “They’re years, right?”

“My birth year,” Luke replies smoothly, despite the fact that the tattoos are of different years and would make him about 65. “Like this one, right? 1994?”

“Right, yea,” Ashton says, allowing the evasion. Luke lets out a small sigh of relief. “The condor was for new beginnings, so I figured maybe I should get one for the old beginnings, too.”

“One for the future, one for the past.” Luke finishes the last line, putting his machine down. “Makes sense.”

“Exactly,” Ashton agrees. “I think it’s good to reflect on the past, you know? To remember the beginning so you can see how far you’ve come in the end.”

What if you’d rather forget the past? Luke thinks as he wipes the tattoo off.

“For sure,” he says instead. “Okay, we’re all done here.”

Luke’s doing a couple of matching butterflies for a walk-in mom-and-daughter duo when he hears the chime of their shopkeeper’s bell. He’s about to turn his machine off and go greet the client – as is his role as junior artist – when he hears Michael’s voice from the front room.

“Hey man, welcome back!”

Luke returns to his task, where he’s just about done the line work on the mom’s butterfly. He’s glad he doesn’t have to stop. He spent an extra half hour arguing with them about the size, so he’s not in a particularly cheerful mood; he just wants to get through this. The daughter’s is finished and wrapped up, at least, and it turned out to be a nice little tattoo. She won’t stop fidgeting on the stool next to him, now, but. It’s fine.

“Hey Michael,” comes Ashton’s voice, making Luke’s ears perk up again. “Is Luke around?”

“He’s got other clients right now,” Mike says apologetically, “but I actually just had a cancellation so I’m free if you want something done today?”

Luke frowns a little. He knows it’s not a big deal, but Ashton is his client. Sure, he’s only tattooed the guy twice, but they have rapport, Michael.

Luke sighs. Unjustified possessiveness aside, Ashton would have to be certifiably insane to turn down a day-of appointment with Michael Clifford; his books have a six-month waitlist at any given time. It’d be like turning down having your portrait painted by Rembrandt in favour of sitting for a primary schooler.

“Is it, like, supposed to be burning?” the girl next to him says, interrupting his pity party.

“Depends.” Luke shrugs as he switches to his shader. He hasn’t had to talk much during this appointment – they’ve just been talking to each other. “How bad is it?”

He finishes the shading and colour on the mom – a pretty pale-to-royal blue gradient with white highlights – and sends the two women happily on their way with aftercare sheets, a business card, and a promise to answer any questions they might have about the healing process for their first tattoos. He smiles tightly as they walk out, heading for Michael’s room as soon as they’re out of sight.

Michael’s space is always a bit of a shock to the system. It’s wall-to-wall with vivid drawings and bright neon lights, bursting with colour. There’s a TV set up in the corner that’s always playing one anime or another, and a giant glass cabinet that looks more like a claw machine in Akihabara than something you might find in a tattoo shop in Venice Beach. It’s definitely a contrast to the sparsely decorated white walls of Luke’s room, and even the jungle that is Cal’s – the walls painted a deep green, filled floor-to-ceiling on one side with plant life that Luke can’t even pronounce, and a gallery of mounted insects and animal skeletons on the other. Stepping into one of their rooms always feels a bit like stepping into a different world.

When his eyes finally focus on Michael, he’s surprised to see him at his drawing table, alone, adding some colour references to a large drawing Luke recognizes as a sleeve project he’s been working on for a regular client.

“Is Ashton gone already?” Luke asks, trying not to sound too disappointed. “That was quick.”

Michael spins around in his desk chair – a huge-ass gaming chair that he insists is better for his back when he’s drawing – and leans back with a smirk on his face.

“Nah.” He cracks his neck a bit, stretching out his back. “He didn’t get anything today.”

“What?” Luke furrows his brow. “Even though you were free? Is he fucking crazy?”

“Must be.” The smile on Mike’s face is too wide to be anything but unsettling. It makes Luke squirm. “He booked an appointment with you on Friday, instead.”

Luke feels his face heat up, flushing instantly.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “That’s… nice.”

It is nice. People don’t usually book appointments with him, so. It’s nice. That’s all.

“Little Lukey’s got a regular,” Michael teases before spinning his chair back to his work. “An admirer, one could say.”

“One could also shut the fuck up,” Luke mutters, heading back to his side of the studio.

“My baby boy!” he hears from behind him as he retreats. “Growing up so fast!”

Luke makes a mental note to add purple ink to the hand soap in Michael’s room.

Ashton comes in exactly on time for his appointment that Friday, aviators tangled in his chaotic curls, with a bright smile on his face and the straw of an iced coffee between his teeth.

“Hey Luke!” he says, bouncing up to the counter. “I would have got you a coffee but I didn’t know what you’d like.”

“You mean you didn’t magically deduce my coffee order from our two prior meetings?” Luke laughs, suppressing the urge to swoon. “Might as well cancel this appointment.”

“No, baby,” Ashton pleads, dimples still cratering his cheeks. “Give me another chance.”

“Well, if you’re going to beg,” Luke replies, blushing despite his best efforts – his cue to change the subject. “Want to see the drawing?”

“Oh, yes please!” Ashton puts his coffee down and leaning forward over where Luke flips open his iPad, showing him the rose that he’d requested.

“Black and grey, partially bloomed, and a few leaves, right?” Luke confirms, letting Ashton look over the screen. “And we’re doing it upside down on the opposite tricep from last time.”

“Yes to everything,” Ashton says, his eyes not leaving the drawing. “It’s perfect Luke, again. Everything you do is perfect.”

“Well I wouldn’t say that,” Luke mumbles, taking the tablet back. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll get you your consent forms and then go get the stencil ready while you fill them out, okay?”

“Awesome.” Luke watches as Ashton wraps his lips around the straw and takes a long pull of his coffee. “Can’t wait.”

“I’ll just, um,” Luke stutters, forcibly dragging his eyes away from Ashton’s mouth. “I’ll just go. Do that. Come through when you’re done, you know the routine by now.”

“I’m a quick learner!” Ashton calls as Luke flees through the curtain towards the supply room.

He runs the drawing through the printer a couple of times in slightly different sizes, and takes a few deep breaths.

“You can’t, Luke,” he whispers to himself, closing his eyes to the mechanical noises of the copy machine. “You just can’t.”

By the time he finishes, Ashton is waiting in his work space, swinging his legs back and forth as he sits on the table. Luke can’t help but think he brightens up the plain room, its bare white walls looking more like a doctor’s office than a tattoo studio. He makes it feel warmer, more like–

“Alright,” Luke asserts firmly, cutting off his own train of thought, “let’s get started.”

Once Luke has gloved up, the stencil is on, and Ashton is in position, Luke pours out his black ink and lines up a few caps of water for his greywash later on. He’s only recently started freehanding his grey mixes, but he thinks this is a simple enough tattoo for him to get practice with. Hopefully. Also, Ashton probably won’t get too pissed with him if he fucks it up.

“Okay, we’re good to go,” Luke says, spreading vaseline over Ashton’s arm. “Are you ready to start?

“Born ready,” Ashton giggles. “But I like that you still ask.”

“Your answer could always change.” Luke smiles, starting his machine. “Let me know if you need to stop.”

“Yea, yea, I won’t need to stop,” Ashton dismisses, settling into the chair. “I can take it, I promise.”

“But if you do–” Luke lifts his foot, hesitating.

“I’ll let you know,” Ashton concedes. “If I need to stop.”

“That’s all I ask,” Luke accepts victoriously, starting up again before lowering his needle to Ashton’s skin.

He’s through lining the petals when Michael steps in. His shoulders tense immediately.

“Oh, you guys are working on the rose, right?” Mike says with interest, popping around behind Luke to take a look. Luke pulls back from the tattoo instinctively. “No, don’t let me stop you.”

Tentatively, Luke begins to work again, hyper aware of Michael’s presence over his shoulder.

“That’s super clean, Lukey,” he commends after a few seconds. “Smooth as butter.” He nods towards the drawing reference Luke has posted on his cart. “This is how you’re shading it?”

“Yea,” Luke says, leaning back on his stool to look at the reference. “Any suggestions?”

“You know how to shade a rose, buddy.” Still, he circles his finger in the centre of the flower. “It looks great, but you could darken a few of the areas in here to make it really pop on our boy’s skin.”

Luke takes a deep breath. “Okay. Thanks, Mikey.”

“Just relax, Luke.” Michael rubs his hand over Luke’s shoulder blades before excusing himself. “Good to see you, Ashton!”

“Man, he’s so nice,” Ashton says once he’s gone.

“Yea,” Luke agrees, resuming with the line work. “He really is.”

“What a cool guy to learn from.” Ashton’s quiet for a second. “Uh, why were his hands purple?”

Luke doesn’t explain, unleashing a squeaky burst of laughter instead.

There’s some precision required in the delicate lines of the thorns and the leaves, but for the most part, the line work goes quickly. Ashton chatters away about his sessions; the new drumkit he was finally able to buy – his first one in California; and finally, when Luke is about to start in with the shading, about his family.

“The tattoo is actually for my sister,” Ashton explains. “She just turned 18. I felt like it was important for her to know that I still think of them – her and my little brother – even though I’m not around anymore. All they’ve known is me being around, you know?”

Luke hums. “You guys are close, then?”

“Yea,” Ashton says a little wistfully. “I was kind of a parental figure for the two of them growing up.”

“But…” Luke frowns. “You can’t be more than, what, six, seven years older than her?”

Ashton laughs. “It’s kind of complicated, but yea. I took care of them from around the time I was ten, or so. My mom would work and I’d look after the kids, and then when I got old enough to work – like 14 – we’d trade off.”

Luke bites his tongue at the idea of fourteen years old being considered a working age in Ashton’s life, his heart sitting uncomfortably in his chest.

“So I don’t want them to think that me leaving is anything like– I don’t want them to think I’m abandoning them,” Ashton continues.

“Sounds like you’re a really great big brother,” is all Luke can say to summarize his feelings.

“I try to be,” Ashton says, simply. “What about you, got any siblings?”

Luke swallows hard before clearing his throat. “I had two older brothers, growing up.”

“Yea? They handsome like you?”

“People say we look alike, I guess,” Luke mumbles, focusing intently on the shading of one particular leaf until the moment of heat in his cheeks passes.

“Were you guys close?”

“Sort of,” Luke says. “Yes,” he corrects, eventually, thinking better of it. “I looked up to them a lot. We had our battles, but I had a pretty normal life and a pretty normal family, I think.”

“You talked to them much since you moved out here?”

Luke considers lying again, but figures it can’t hurt to tell someone. It can’t hurt to talk about them; not more than it does not to.

“I, um,” he starts, “I actually hadn’t talked to my family for a few years even before I left Sydney.”

“No?” Ashton says, encouraging Luke to continue the story – but allowing him to leave it, if he wanted to. He’s not sure why, but he doesn’t want to.

“No. I talked to them the night before I left, called them and told them I was moving to America, but. Aside from that, um. It’s been a while.” Luke blinks harshly before focusing in on the next leaf.

“Do you miss them?” Ashton prompts softly.

“Yea,” Luke admits. “I do. I miss them a lot. I made some choices that– yea. I miss them. My wrist tattoos are, um.” He pauses, considering before he continues. “The dates are my parents’ birth years. Calum did them for me during the last week we were in Australia.”

“You don’t think you could try to talk to them again?” Ashton asks gently. “If you wanted to make things right?”

Luke sighs. “You know when you’ve fucked up so bad you don’t think there’s any coming back from it?”

“Of course,” Ashton says without hesitation. “But you love them, and I know they must love you, too. And the thing about love is that it can be pretty forgiving.”

“Maybe.” Luke can already feel himself closing back up. He sits back and clears his throat again. “We’re um – we’re done. If you feel okay to stand, you can go take a look?”

“Oh! Really?” Ashton hops down from his seat and walks over to the mirror. “Luke, wow. She’s going to love it. I love it.”

Luke forces a smile. “You’ll have to let me know what she thinks.”

They’re both quiet while Luke bandages Ashton’s arm, and Luke’s still feeling off-kilter by the time he’s cashing him out, a lump sitting in his throat inexplicably as he hands Ashton his receipt. It might be why he’s so blindsided when Ashton speaks again.

“Hey,” Ashton says, folding the paper into his wallet before looking back up at Luke, his hazel eyes soft and inviting. “I was thinking you might let me treat you to that coffee I owe you?”

Luke blinks at him. “You mean like… you wanna bring me one?”

“No,” Ashton laughs, “I mean I was wondering if you wanted to go get one. With me.”

“Oh,” Luke says dumbly. “Right now?”

“Yea, right now.” Ashton shakes his head in playful disbelief, but he’s still smiling. “If you want to. My favourite shop isn’t far from here.”

Luke feels his chest constrict almost immediately.

“Oh,” Luke repeats. “I actually have another appointment in like, twenty minutes? So, I– I can’t. Right now.”

Ever, his brain supplies.

“That’s cool,” Ashton replies easily, his dimples popping as he slides his aviators over his eyes as he backs out of the shop. “Another time, then. I’ll see you?”

“Yea,” Luke chokes out, waving a little as the bell chimes. “See you.”

He watches Ashton leave before, predictably, he’s startled by a voice behind him.

“You don’t have any more appointments today,” Calum says pointedly. Luke grips onto the counter in shock and curses under his breath.

“No, I don’t,” Luke mutters, filing Ashton’s paperwork away in the desk and refusing to meet Calum’s eyes.

Calum steps closer to him as he tries to get into Luke’s field of vision. “You could have gone for a coffee with him.”

Luke grimaces. “No, I couldn’t.” He slams the drawer shut before trying to make his escape to the stairs.

“Luke,” Calum says sternly, blocking his exit.

“Calum.” Luke’s eyes move rapidly around the broad man in front of him as he looks for a way out.

“Michael!” Michael cheers, his head popping out through the divider curtain. He frowns at the scene in front of him. “What’s happening?”

“Luke just–”

“Nothing,” Luke squeaks, finally darting past Calum and pushing past Michael. “Nothing is happening.”

Luke’s not at all surprised when Michael knocks on his bedroom door a few hours later. He didn’t really expect Calum to keep that interaction a secret – not from Mike. Luke checks the time and sees that the shop has only just closed; clearly this conversation couldn’t wait.

Luke doesn’t want to have it at all.

“Can I come in?” Michael asks as he cracks open the door, poking his head in with a hopeful smile on his face.

“Since when do you guys ever ask?” Luke sighs and closes the book on Japanese tattooing he was studying, putting it down next to him on the mattress.

Michael pads into the room, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “Since Calum actually went too far today,” he says seriously. “And he knows it, by the way. He’ll be on his knees begging for forgiveness tomorrow, probably. It’s kind of his move.”

“You’d know.” Luke tries for a smile, but it comes out weak and sad. He keeps his eyes down, picking at a loose thread on his blanket instead of meeting Michael’s eyes. “It’s okay. I know he means well. It’s just…”

“It’s just that he went too far,” Michael finishes for him. “He shouldn’t have pushed and he shouldn’t have blocked you in. He knows better.”

“It’s okay, it is.” Luke tucks his knees up to his chest. “I know he’s not… I know he’s not him.”

“Okay,” Michael says carefully. “Do you know that you’re not, either?”

Luke draws further into himself, hiding his face behind his bony knees the best he can. “It isn’t that.”

“No?” Michael wraps his fingers loosely around Luke’s ankle, a small gesture of comfort. “Then why did you say no when Ashton asked you out today?”

“He didn’t ask me out,” Luke says quickly. “It was just– he wanted to buy me coffee.”

“Sure,” Michael allows. “So he just wanted to hang out, but you lied to him instead of saying yes?”

“I didn’t– I just–” Luke’s breaths start to come faster and Michael rubs his thumb over the skin of his ankle reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Lukey,” Michael murmurs. “Why did you think you had to say no?”

Luke hiccups and takes deep breath, burying his face in the space between his knees and chest, hugging his legs tightly. “You know why,” he croaks out.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” Michael scoots closer so he can pet Luke’s hair a little. “You like him, don’t you?”

“He’s a client, Michael,” Luke pleads, raising his head to look at Michael with wet eyes. “I can’t.”

“It’s not the same, Luke,” Michael soothes. “It’s really not the same.”

“How do I know that?” Luke whimpers as the tears start to slip down his cheeks. “How could I possibly know that?”

“Trust,” Michael says. “Trust him, trust yourself.” He smiles warmly. “Trust me. Trust Cal. We love you, you know that? I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Luke whispers, lowering his head, letting Michael’s fingers find his scalp again.

Michael pets his hair for a few more minutes, combing gently through the ringlet curls long enough for Luke’s breathing to even out. He gives Luke one last ruffle before he stands up off the bed.

“I have to go speak to your father,” Michael says with a lopsided grin when Luke looks up at him. “You gonna be okay here? Do you want to come over? Do you want me to stay? He’s probably sleeping on the couch tonight anyway, so–”

“It’s okay.” Luke gives a slightly wet laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do that. I’m okay,” he promises. “But– can I call you, if…”

“You can call us anytime, Lukey, you know that.” Michael pulls Luke forward so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, then wraps his arms around Luke’s shoulders. It’s a weird angle for a hug, with Luke’s face pressed into Michael’s soft stomach, but he feels the comfort in it anyway. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yea,” Luke says, moving to lie down. “Can you get the light?”

“No,” Michael scoffs. “You’re still in your work clothes and you need to eat something. Cal ordered Chinese earlier and we left some for you in the downstairs fridge, but you have to go get it yourself.”

“Ugh,” Luke groans as Michael leaves. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t!”

Ashton clearly didn’t take Luke’s refusal as rejection, as he’s back in the store the next week with a coffee for Luke – a cappuccino.

“I’m just going to guess until I get it right,” he explains. “I figured I’d start with a classic.”

“Thank you,” Luke says from behind the lid of the cup as he takes his first sip, blaming the heat of the drink for any redness in his face. It’s a nice cappuccino, frothy and creamy and the perfect temperature. He licks the foam off of his upper lip, not missing the way Ashton’s eyes track down to his mouth, his own lips parting slightly.

“How did I do?” Ashton asks, leaning onto the counter and taking a drink from his signature iced coffee. “Did I nail it first try?”

“Nope,” Luke giggles before he takes another sip. He meets Ashton’s eyes, challenging. “You’ll just have to keep trying.”

“I guess so,” Ashton says, not looking away.

Ashton must take the challenge seriously, because he’s back a few times a week with a new menu item for Luke’s approval. It starts simple: a latte; a mocha; a macchiato; and once, two weeks in, a steaming black coffee.

“I was just trying to cover all my bases!” he defends when Luke’s face scrunches up at the bitterness.

He doesn’t get tattooed, but he stays longer each time, hanging out at the desk with Luke when he doesn’t have clients. Sometimes he brings lunch, or a pastry, or, on one notable occasion, a small plant.

“I noticed you don’t have a lot of personal touches in your studio,” he says when he puts the succulent on the counter in front of Luke. “I thought it might be nice for you to have a friend in there.”

Luke can’t even hide how incredibly touched he is.

They talk about everything – from the songs Ashton is working on, to the weather, to philosophical debates about life after death. Ashton disarms Luke with a speed and finesse that no one ever has – even Mike and Cal took longer to take down the defensive walls of Luke’s fortress, and they had a lot more information to go off than Ashton has even now.

Luke finds himself perking up hopefully every time the bell rings, a smile splitting his face and his heart doing the same to his chest every time he looks up and finds Ashton’s eyes looking back at him. Which, after a few weeks, happens nearly every day.

He starts to bring drinks for Mike and Cal as well – a soy green tea latte and a cold brew with a splash of milk, respectively – but he’s had to get creative with his coffee orders for Luke.

“This one is like... a hazelnut mocha, basically? Sort of,” he tells Luke one day, waving his hands in the air dramatically. “I thought it might be kind of like a nutella latte but now I think it’s probably just really sweet.”

You’re really sweet, Luke thinks as he takes his first sip.

(It is, in fact, extremely sweet.)

Mike and Cal don’t mind Ashton’s presence in the shop either, and not just because of his constant supply of caffeinated beverages or the way he improves Luke’s mood – especially when the shop descends into bedlam on one long-weekend Saturday.

The lobby is packed with people, the phone is ringing off the hook, and all three artists are working on clients in the back. Luke finds himself putting his machine down every couple of minutes to run to the front to deal with another call or customer.

He knew taking walk-ins was a terrible idea.

When the bell and the phone both ring at the same time, Luke finds himself apologizing to his client for about the sixth time as he rushes out to the lobby – cursing Calum for ordering an office phone instead of a cordless handset – only to find Ashton at the counter, a tray of drinks in one hand, and the phone in the other.

“Hm, no, I wouldn’t suggest trying to walk in for that particular project.” He grins and nods his head at Luke when he meets his eye. He looks down at the appointment book in front of him. “Luke does have space for a consultation on Thursday the 26th if you’d like to book in for that?” He puts the tray down and picks up a pen, scribbling something down in the calendar. “Great, we’ll see you then.”

He hands Luke his coffee, and Luke is too stunned to even say anything before the phone rings again.

“You’ve reached Youngblood Ink in Venice Beach,” Ashton answers cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

Ashton doesn’t stop trying to spend time with Luke outside of the shop, either, undeterred by the excuses Luke seems to find out of thin air. It’s almost like he expects them, but he doesn’t give up.

Luke likes that he doesn’t give up.

“Next time, then,” Ashton will accept with a dimpled smile.

“Next time,” Luke agrees, though he doesn’t let himself believe it.

“It’s almost tragic to watch,” Calum tells him one day after Ashton leaves, sipping on his cold brew thoughtfully. “The poor boy doesn’t know when to quit.”

“Please stay out of it Cal,” Luke sighs. “It’s not like that.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get, though!” Calum exclaims. “Why isn’t it like that?”

“It can’t be like that.” Luke’s tired of having this conversation with Mike and Cal every other day. “There’s a line, and I–”

“You won’t cross it, I know, I know,” Calum finishes before Luke can get into his explanation. “But he brings you coffee and lunch like four days a week. I’m pretty sure he’s actually your best friend.” He barrels forward, ignoring Luke’s protests. “I’m just wondering if maybe the artist-client boundary has already been crossed with you two. Or why it might be such a bad thing if you did.”

Luke frowns as Calum tosses his empty cup in the trash. Of course it would be a bad thing. Ashton is lovely, and kind, and sweet, and Luke enjoys his company; he can’t deny that. But he’s still a client, and Luke is still a professional.

“You guys are my best friends,” Luke mumbles, unable to articulate the rest of his argument.

“We’re more than that,” Calum scoffs, waving his hand dismissively before starting to make his way back to his room.

Luke can’t argue with that.

“I know you think this line is all-important, Luke, and I get that,” Calum says, pausing in the doorway. “I’m just wondering where the line is, exactly.”

Thing is, Luke’s not so sure anymore either.

The line is drawn even further into question one evening when Ashton crashes into the studio like a thunderstorm.

“Ash!” Luke perks up instantly upon seeing him. It’s been a couple of days since Ashton was in last, a session in the Hills keeping him busy for most of the past week. “How are–”

He clocks Ashton’s mood, then, a glower twisting his face in an unfamiliar way.

“I need you to tattoo me,” Ashton says brusquely. When Luke looks closer, he sees his hands are shaking.

“I– what?” Luke frowns. “What do– did you have something in mind?”

“I don’t care,” Ashton grits out. “Just tattoo me. Are you working on something?”

Luke looks down at his iPad, where he’s been sketching absent-mindedly. He’s been practicing drawing simple impressions of animals rather than realistic ones, on Michael’s recommendation.

“Um,” Luke says, still taken aback by this bizzaro version of Ashton. He turns his iPad over. “I have this snake that I’ve been–”

“Whatever,” Ashton dismisses, barely glancing at the drawing. “That’ll do.”

“That’ll–” Luke makes a face. “I’m not tattooing something on you that will do.”

“Luke, please,” Ashton says darkly. “I don’t care what it is, I just need you to tattoo me right now.”

Yea, that’s never a good sign, and Luke trusts it even less from Ashton.

“No,” Luke answers firmly. “You’re clearly in no condition to be making a decision like that. What’s going on?”

“I just need to think about something else, anything else,” Ashton begs. “Please Luke, I need you to help me.”

“Well, I won’t,” Luke says, shaking his head. “Not like that. Not unless you tell me what the fuck is wrong with you right now.”

“Why do you even care?” Ashton spits, fire in his eyes where Luke is used to seeing a spark. “You get paid whether I like the tattoo or not.”

Luke recoils physically at that, hurt at the implication that he’d ever tattoo someone knowing that they didn’t actually want it. He knows Ashton isn’t thinking, he knows something’s wrong, he knows it’s not about him. He knows that… But…

Ashton deflates at Luke’s expression, his eyes softening immediately. “Sorry.” He runs a hand over his face, exhaustion suddenly dripping from his every feature. He starts to back away. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Shit, I should go. Sorry.”

Ashton’s out of the shop before Luke can even get a word out, rooted to the spot with his mouth hanging open as he watches Ashton power-walk away through the front window.

The studio is quiet again except for the buzzing of Michael and Cal’s machines. Except that every word that Luke ever used to convince himself that he and Ashton shouldn’t have a relationship outside of the shop is blaring through his mind. Right now, they all seem pretty insignificant.

He’s through the door before his brain can catch up with his feet, chasing down the boardwalk until Ashton is within shouting distance.

“Ash!”

Ashton turns around, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“Um,” Luke says, mustering up his confidence. “Wanna get a coffee?”

“A vanilla latte? You’re telling me your drink is a vanilla latte?” Ashton smacks his palm over his eyes as they wait at the end of the café counter for their drinks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I thought you were going to get it the day after ‘latte’, honestly,” Luke says, biting his lip to keep from laughing. “It was the obvious next step.”

“I can’t believe I missed vanilla latte,” Ashton laments dramatically. “It’s so basic!”

“Hey!” Luke protests. “It’s classic.”

“Fucking vanilla latte.” Ashton pouts as he scolds himself. “You’re an idiot, Ashton Fletcher.”

Luke’s still giggling when they sit down in the armchairs at a cozy table in the corner, folding his legs under himself instinctively.

“You’re like seven feet tall, how are you so cute?” Ashton’s dimples show through for the first time all night, and Luke is too relieved to even rebut the flirt.

“It’s a talent.” Luke smiles into his latte, dispersing the heart marked into the foam.

“You’re full of those,” Ashton replies, ignoring his own coffee in favour of looking across the table at Luke, eyes soft. “I like your hair like this,” he adds with a kind smile. “You usually have it up in the shop.”

“Oh–” Luke self-consciously runs a hand through his curls, free of their usual hair tie. “I have to pull it back when I tattoo. It gets a little crazy otherwise.”

“Crazy? No, it’s gorgeous,” Ashton says while Luke blushes behind his mug. “Like a prince.”

“Stop it,” Luke mumbles, putting his drink down before curling further into his chair. “You come here to compliment me or are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“The former, if that’s okay,” Ashton says with a self-deprecating laugh. He relents at Luke’s disapproving look. “It’s nothing. I overreacted.” He sighs. “It’s just work stuff.”

“Just work stuff that had you fuming for the full, what, two hours it took you to get here?” Luke raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“More like two and a half,” Ashton says, ducking his head sheepishly. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”

“Bit late for that.” Luke puts his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his head on his hand. “You practically kicked down the door to my shop and asked me to tattoo something on you as a distraction. Kind of makes it my problem.” He pauses shortly, averting his eyes. “And I care about you. Makes it my problem, too.”

Ashton doesn’t say anything in return, so Luke risks a glance up, and is met with Ashton’s hazel eyes gazing fondly back at him.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says finally. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I shouldn’t have said those things.” He makes a pained face. “That isn’t why I wanted to see you at all. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why did you come tonight, then?” Luke questions. “If not to get a tattoo?”

Ashton heaves out another sigh.

“Because you make me feel better, Luke,” he answers quietly. “It feels better just to be around you.”

Luke’s breath catches in his throat and he looks away quickly, fear settling in his chest.

“I know what you mean,” he whispers, fighting through it.

“I had a really shitty day,” Ashton starts after a moment’s silence. “The artist came in and decided she was unhappy with all of the recordings so far, and was trying to make me re-record all of the drums – for free – because apparently it was my fault that she sounded like shit.”

Luke scoffs. “That’s bullshit, though.”

“I know,” Ashton agrees. “But she called my boss and told him that I was the one being unreasonable and hard to work with. I managed to explain what happened and only just convinced him not to fire me. But I still got about an hour’s lecture about pleasing the clients. And a write-up on my file.”

“But anyone who meets you will know that she was the problem, not you. You’re amazing,” Luke says, blushing a little at his outburst of praise.

“Thanks,” Ashton replies with a genuine smile.

Luke hums, trying to move them along from his compliment. “And you wanted a tattoo because…”

Ashton’s smile goes weak as he looks down at the table. “Because it was either the shop or the bar,” he admits. “And then I’d probably have come to the shop anyway, except it would have been about four in the morning and you’d have had to clean my chunder off the doormat.”

“Oh,” Luke says, stunned. “Is that– have you–”

“Alcoholism kind of runs in the family,” Ashton says by way of explanation, shrugging. “It got me, too. Kicked it about a year ago, but today was just stressful enough that…”

“That you didn’t know how else to shut your brain off,” Luke supplies.

“You too? Or…” Ashton trails off, his iced coffee untouched in front of him, sweating rivulets of condensation.

“Not... exactly,” Luke mumbles noncommittally. “I just– I went through something, a couple years back, and I turned to a lot of different things to get me through it. Like tattoos.”

“Not too many times, at least.” Ashton gestures at Luke’s arms and tries for a smile, but his eyes are too sad.

Luke frowns as he tries to figure out what he can say, what he should tell, how to be honest. He’s terrified.

“Luke,” Ashton says seriously, interrupting Luke’s thoughts. His hand wraps around Luke’s over the table. “You know you don’t ever have to tell me anything, right? I know you’ve been through hell. I don’t need the details. I won’t ever ask for them.”

Luke’s eyes go wide but his mouth stays shut. He knew he hadn’t been the most subtle around Ashton, but he’s sure that he hasn’t given that much away. Ashton shouldn’t know anything. Did Michael or Calum–

“It wasn’t anything you said.” Ashton’s thumb runs over his knuckles, grounding him, his voice soft and reassuring like he knows what’s going on in Luke’s head. “Just, you know. Dark secrets all look the same on the outside, right?”

“I didn’t see yours,” Luke says in a small voice.

Ashton squeezes his hand before letting go. “I’ve just had lots of practice.”

The thought makes Luke unbearably sad. He sniffles a bit, picking up his mug to distract him in case he feels like he might cry. The beverage is barely lukewarm when he takes a sip, and not much of a distraction at all.

His lip wobbles as he sets the mug down, and he closes his eyes before putting his hand back on the table, fingers outstretched. A half-baked invitation, but he doesn’t think he can muster the courage for anything more.

It doesn’t take long before he feels Ashton’s fingers lace with his.

“C’mon,” Ashton says, pulling him out of the chair, his own coffee abandoned on the table. “Let me walk you home.”

They walk alongside the ocean in silence, the waves rolling onto the beach near their feet, soaking the sand before retreating. The sun set while they were in the coffee shop, and this far away from the boardwalk, it’s only barely light enough to see where they’re going. The lights of LA are too close for them to see any stars, but Luke wouldn’t be able to see them anyway.

He can’t stop looking at their hands, still clasped together between them.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t dropped Ashton’s hand; why he hasn’t pulled away; why he reached for him in the first place.

“Kind of feels like home, doesn’t it?” Ashton’s voice cuts through the darkness, pulling Luke out of his thoughts.

Yea, he agrees silently.

“I mean, I’m from the West,” he counters instead. “Not exactly Bondi out there.”

“Still,” Ashton says, looking out at the water. “We could have moved to like... Kentucky, or something.”

“I don’t even really know where Kentucky is,” Luke admits with a small laugh.

“Neither.” Ashton looks over at him with a grin, curls falling into his eyes. “Probably best that we both came here, then.”

They walk a little longer before Ashton stops them. They’re down the beach directly across from the shop, now, and Luke’s apartment. The lights are off, meaning Calum and Michael have gone home.

They stare out at the water for a bit, shoulders pressed together. Luke shivers, blaming it on the cold air rising off the ocean before his brain gets any ideas. Ashton squeezes his hand gently, and Luke squeezes back.

Luke feels a rush of emotion flood his chest. Maybe it’s the weight of Ashton’s hand in his, the tiny grains of sand beneath his feet, or the breadth of the ocean before them, but something gives him the courage to voice how he’s feeling.

“I haven’t had a home in a long time,” Luke says, just barely audible over the sounds of the Pacific, “but I think it’s what I feel when I’m with you.”

Ashton turns them, then, until they’re facing each other. He takes Luke’s other hand and draws him closer until their chests are almost touching. Luke’s heart races as Ashton looks up at him. Even in this light, his eyes are warm and gentle and soothing.

Home.

Ashton studies him, looks into him for a moment, and just when Luke is about to shy away from his gaze, Ashton breathes out a whisper between them.

“Can I kiss you?”

Luke gives a short nod, letting him lean in further. Ashton pauses for just a moment before closing the distance and tentatively pressing their mouths together.

Luke gasps in a breath as Ashton’s lips meet his own, soft and plush and cold from the salt air. Ashton releases Luke’s hands so he can reach up and cradle his cheek carefully with one, the other just barely grazing Luke’s hip to hold him steady. Luke drapes an arm over Ashton’s shoulder, his fingers tangling in the hair just above the condor tattoo. His other hand makes it’s way over Ashton’s heart.

The kiss is gentle, even sweet, but Luke’s chest is still heaving when he breaks away to press his forehead against Ashton’s.

“I need to go home,” he whispers against Ashton’s lips, his eyes still closed. He feels Ashton nod before he takes Luke’s hand once more.

“Okay,” Ashton says simply, kissing him softly on the corner of his mouth.

“You can’t come in.”

“Okay,” Ashton repeats, pulling him away from the water and towards the shop.

When they make it to the door, Ashton shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away while Luke enters the passcode on the automatic lock. Usually he’d use his keys, but he can see that those are still on the back counter where he left them when he ran out of the store after Ashton.

Not a great decision, his brain says. Luke isn’t even sure which part he’s referring to.

“Um,” he says, awkward now as he pulls the door open after the lock buzzes and clicks.

Ashton just smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Luke asks as Ashton steps back.

“Yea,” Ashton says as he turns around, walking away down the boardwalk. “Save me an appointment ‘round four o’clock.”

“For what?” Luke calls after him.

“I still want to get that snake,” Ashton replies, looking back over his shoulder with a grin. “Just for a different reason.”

Luke lies awake for hours that night. His heartbeat sounds like waves in his ears.

At some point during Luke’s sleepless night, he decides that the best course of action is to pretend that nothing happened when Michael and Calum come in the next morning.

Of course, he fails almost immediately when Michael starts the day by asking him, quite innocently, “Where’d you go last night?”

“What?” Luke squeaks. “Nowhere?”

Michael just laughs at him. “Mate, you ran out of here like your house was on fire. Except, this is your house, so I know it wasn’t.”

“Oh, right.” He blinks at Michael a few times. “I, uh.”

“Lu, angel, please.” Michael snickers. “Instead of hurting yourself trying to come up with a good lie, why don’t you just tell Papa the truth?”

Luke scrunches his nose up. “I really wish you wouldn’t call yourself that.”

“Don’t speak to your father that way,” Michael scolds, folding his arms. “Don’t change the subject. I know Ashton was here and then you were both gone, so, I was just wondering where you went. You know we don’t like it when you run off.”

“Ok, please drop the dad thing,” Luke begs. Michael just raises an eyebrow at him, continuing to stand with his arms folded, tapping his foot rhythmically. It’s enough to make Luke yield. “Fine, we went and got a coffee. That’s all.”

Michael’s face lights up immediately.

“That’s all, Mike.” Luke sighs, flipping open the appointment book before Michael can get another word in. “You’ve got that sleeve in about thirty minutes, so you should probably go get set up.”

He manages to avoid talking about it again for several hours, until Calum finishes up with his first client at around half past three.

“Heard you went on a date last night,” Calum says once Luke has cleaned up the water he spilled when he was snuck up on in his studio room.

“It wasn’t a date,” Luke insists as he throws away the wet paper towels.

Was it? It was. Was it? It wasn’t. Was it?

“A coffee date, then, whatever.” Luke can’t help but think that Calum’s face is looking particularly punchable today.

“Please just leave it, Cal.” Luke’s tired. He hasn’t slept. He’s tired. “I don’t know why you guys are so obsessed with my love life, anyway. Shouldn’t you worry about your own?”

“Ours is just fine, thank you very much,” Calum smirks, “and you just called it a love life, so I think that means–”

He’s cut off by the sound of the shop bell.

“Ashton!” comes Michael’s voice from the lobby. Luke curses under his breath. Shouldn’t Mike be tattooing or something?

Calum whistles lowly as Luke pushes past him, following him out to the front.

“Hey, Mike.” Ashton says, beaming widely as he hands Michael his green tea latte. He looks up when he sees Luke and Calum coming through the curtain. “Hey, Calum, I got your cold brew.”

He looks Luke in the eye, then, his smile turning gentle. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Luke returns, looking away quickly.

The four of them stand there in silence before Michael speaks up.

“Well this is very interesting, but I don’t get paid by the hour.” He grabs his drink and the sharpie he was apparently looking for and heads through to the back, slapping Calum on the ass as he passes.

“You literally do,” Calum laughs as he follows him, leaving Ashton and Luke alone.

“Hey,” Ashton says again, handing Luke a coffee. “Vanilla latte.”

“Thanks.” Luke clears his throat awkwardly. “Um, I’ll get you to fill out your paperwork. Did you want to see the drawing?”

“If you’ve got it handy,” Ashton says, “but I trust you.”

Luke’s hasn’t been this stiff for a tattoo since he was starting out as a teenager. He can’t stop thinking about the coffee shop, and the beach, and the kiss, and what it all meant. He’s on autopilot, trying to use the hum of his machines to clear his mind as he maps out the intricate hatches of the snake’s scales, the parallel lines of its belly, hoping to fall into the tattoo instead of off the edge. It doesn’t seem to be working.

Ashton’s uncharacteristically quiet, too, and Luke’s not sure if that helps or hinders his attempts to block out his own thoughts.

So much for pretending nothing happened, because things are pretty obviously different now than they were yesterday.

Luke finishes the line work in a little under an hour and a half, wiping Ashton’s arm clean with distilled water after he fills in the solid black of the snake’s tail.

“Lines are done,” he says, nervous for some reason. “Um. Do you need a break?”

“I’m okay.” Ashton smiles at him and settles back on the chair.

“Okay,” Luke says. He takes a deep breath. “We should be finished pretty soon, there’s just a little bit of shading to do.”

“Ready when you are.”

Luke’s never felt less ready, but he hooks up his shader and gets back to work anyway.

The tattoo turns out well, despite his mental state, and he’d probably even be proud of it under different circumstances. Ashton thanks him and says it’s perfect, just like always, but his smile is softer today, less blinding than normal, like he’s no longer trying to light up the whole world – only Luke’s.

Luke cashes Ashton out with steady hands, keeping it together as he reminds Ashton of his aftercare process.

“Thank you,” Ashton says again, sliding a handful of twenties across the counter before leaning over to kiss Luke on the cheek. “See you soon?”

“Um, yea,” Luke stutters, his stomach turning uncomfortably. “See you.”

As soon as Ashton is out of sight, Luke turns heel and runs straight to Calum’s room.

He falls into Calum’s client chair – a fully hydraulic spa bed that Luke has always coveted. The leather groans as he shuffles against it, finding a comfortable position before leaning back and finally letting his body collapse, his strings cut. He breathes out a shaky sigh.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “Fuck.”

Calum spins around from where he’s working at his desk, acknowledging him for the first time since he came in.

“Is this a conversation we need Mike for?” he asks, tapping his pencil against his full bottom lip. “Because he isn’t finished with his last client yet.”

“No,” Luke says, keeping his eyes closed. “I mean, probably, but. You’ll do.”

“I’ll do, he says,” Calum mutters. “See if I give you my best fatherly advice.”

Luke gives him a weak smile and beckons him over. Calum doesn’t bother with the pretense of annoyance, wheeling his chair over to Luke immediately. He stands up and pulls Luke forward by the fabric of his t-shirt and embraces him tightly.

“What happened?” Calum murmurs into his ear.

“We kissed,” Luke whispers. “I kissed him.”

“Just now?”

“No, fuck,” Luke exclaims, drawing back in horror. “I wouldn’t. I would never. Last night.”

“On your date?” Calum asks, keeping one arm looped around Luke’s shoulders.

“It wasn’t–” Luke drops his head. “I fucked up, Cal. I fucked up so fucking bad.”

“You didn’t,” Calum says immediately, climbing onto the chair with Luke, the hydraulics wheezing as he tries to squeeze in next to him. Luke braces himself on the other armrest, trying to shift over the best he can, but Calum just manhandles him so Luke is half on top of him and half sideways in the chair. He puts his arm back around Luke’s shoulders, pulling him even closer before he continues. “You didn’t, love. You two are– it’s mutual. Anyone can see that. It’s not a bad thing. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t. He just tipped me 80 bucks, like he had to.” Luke presses his face into Calum’s shirt. “Fuck, I’m just like him.”

“Hey now.” Calum puts two fingers under Luke’s chin to make him lift his head, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You are nothing like him. What he did– what he did to–”

He’s interrupted by a knock on the doorframe.

“My spidey senses told me I was missing cuddles,” Michael says sheepishly as he leans in through the entrance.

Luke sighs, his head falling back onto Calum’s chest as Michael walks over, immediately trying to climb on the chair with them.

“Whoa, whoa,” Luke says, sitting up quickly. “We may actually die if we try this, and this chair is expensive.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t leave me out then.” Michael folds his arms over his chest and pouts, making him look even more like a child in his oversized clothes. “What’d I miss?”

“They kissed,” Calum answers for Luke, his hand reaching up to the back of Luke’s head to comb through his curls when Luke lets out a distressed noise. “Ashton left a good tip. Luke thinks he fucked up.”

“Well that won’t do,” Michael says decisively, having heard enough. “We’re closing the shop for the rest of the day. Family emergency.”

“Wait–” Luke protests, but Michael cuts him off.

“I don’t have any more appointments today, do you, Calum?”

“Nope,” Calum says, the word popping out of his lips at the end. “Not anymore, at least.”

“Luke doesn’t either,” Michael hums thoughtfully, “but I guess we could always take some walk-ins…”

“Fine,” Luke relents. “What are we doing?”

“Cuddling,” Michael says, grabbing Luke by the hands to pull him out of the chair. “Duh.”

“Cuddling” turns out to be more of a euphemism for “An Intervention,” but Luke is comforted by it anyway.

No, he’s not a completely terrible person. He knows that.

Still, the voice in his head continues to ask if he’s taking advantage of the situation. Of Ashton.

Even though he’s calmed down, his heart is still in his stomach thinking about what he’s gotten himself into, even though he swore it would never happen.

The relationship between artist and client is sacred. Luke’s seen it exploited, and he promised he’d never be that guy. He swore. He’d be a safe place for patrons of all ages, genders, sexualities, races, religions – he promised he’d never abuse that relationship.

Despite what Michael and Calum say, he believes that he has.

It’s what drives him to break his own heart, just a couple of days later.

Ashton comes bounding in like always, except, it’s very much not like always. His usually wild honey-coloured curls are carefully slicked back; he’s wearing dress shoes; and his torso is adorned with a colourful short-sleeved button-up, tucked into well-fitting navy slacks. It’s a stark contrast from his typical uniform of vintage tee, black jeans, and boots. He’s holding his hands behind his back, confidently leading with his chest.

“Hey,” Luke says, his eyebrows raised. “You coming from somewhere or did you get that dressed up to get a tattoo?”

“Actually,” Ashton says, coming to a stop right in front of the counter, shuffling his feet nervously. He looks significantly less self-assured than he did about five seconds ago. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Look,” Luke starts, “if this is about what happened the other night–”

“It is,” Ashton confirms.

Luke closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh. He knew he crossed a line, he knew as soon as he did it, and now he’s going to lose Ashton for good.

“I thought maybe you might be confused about where we stand, where I stand,” Ashton continues. “I just wanted to make my intentions known.”

He pulls his hand from behind his back, brandishing a single red rose.

Luke’s eyes widen as the panic begins to rise in his chest.

“I like you, Luke Hemmings,” Ashton says, definitive and brave. “I like you, and I want to take you out on a date. A real one.”

Luke feels paralyzed as the world narrows in around him.

“You… what?” he musters out.

“I like you,” Ashton repeats, much more nervously this time, ducking his head and scratching at his condor tattoo. “So much.”

Luke just blinks at him.

I like you, too, I like you so much, you’re the only place that feels like home, you’re incredible, you’re beautiful, you’re everything–

“So what do you say?” Ashton asks, still holding the rose forward. Luke watches the way his hands shake. “Go out with me?”

“I…”

I can’t, I won’t, I can’t, I can’t–

“I’m sorry,” Luke stutters out, finally. “I don’t date clients.”

Ashton’s smile flickers, like he’s waiting for the punchline. His face falls completely when he realizes Luke isn’t going to say anything else.

“You don’t… clients?” Ashton says, mouth feeling around the word like it’s foreign to him.

Luke drops his head, unable to look at Ashton any longer, unable to meet the hurt in his hazel eyes.

“Right. And I’m… right.” Luke watches as Ashton’s hand reaches out and drops the rose on the counter. “Okay.”

Luke doesn’t look up again until he hears the shop bell ring.

The thing is, you can get used to anything.

Before California, before Venice Beach and Youngblood, long before the mercy of Michael and Calum, Luke lived next to a fire station.

The first couple of nights he kept all of the windows shut tight, even with the stifling heat of summer in Sydney roasting him on the leather couch he slept on. He had to clamp his pillow over his ears every time the firefighters got a call and didn’t sleep a wink for days. He bought ear plugs, downloaded a white noise app, and even tried out sleeping pills for the first time. Nothing helped.

Nothing except time.

A couple of weeks later he was sleeping peacefully against the droning sirens, undisturbed by their wailing in the night. After a couple more, he didn’t bother to even close the windows. He just got used to it.

You can get used to anything.

You can get used to soy milk in your morning coffee when your roommate is lactose intolerant, and it’s easier to buy one carton. You can get used to the buzz of a tattoo needle and the way it feels when it makes a path across your skin. You can get used to America when you’ve spent your whole life in a country across the world.

You can get used to the burning smell and lightning shock of laser removal.

You can get used to not talking to your family.

You can get used to turning a blind eye, you can get used to a slap across the face for a small mistake, you can get used to being told “on your knees”.

You can get used to anything.

You can get used to someone being in your life – an ever-present ray of light, a shot of espresso – and you can get used to them being gone.

Luke isn’t surprised when Ashton stops coming around. Even someone as full of life as Ashton can be drained by someone as futile as Luke.

Luke moves around the shop despondently, hardly speaking for days at a time, while Mike and Cal send him sympathetic looks every time he passes. He wishes they wouldn’t. He did this to himself.

They both try to talk to him, separately and together. It varies in approach from day to day. Sometimes, Michael will pet his hair and tell him that everything will be okay, and the next time he’ll cuff him lightly and say “just call him”. Calum might play good cop and bad cop in the same conversation, telling him that he’s done nothing wrong but he needs to get his head out of his ass.

He gets used to Calum and Michael treating him with kid gloves like it’s his first day in the shop again. He gets used to the sleepless nights, the what-ifs, the pitying looks.

He gets used to buying his own coffee. He gets used to the door opening and it never being a man with bouncing curls and a megawatt smile. He gets used to missing Ashton.

And he does – he misses Ashton. Just because he knows he made the right decision, it doesn’t make it hurt any less that he lost him completely. Ashton’s presence brightened the shop, his day, his life. He pushed his way in, knocking down every fortified barricade around Luke’s heart, and now there’s an empty, Ashton-shaped hole in all of his walls.

He doesn’t deserve sympathy or pity. It was the right thing to do; he couldn’t keep taking advantage of someone who trusted him. But it doesn’t make his heart any less broken.

His heart takes another beating when Michael approaches him one day, walking into his room at the studio like Luke’s a startled horse and he’s just trying not to get kicked. He might as well have his hands out like he’s trying to herd a velociraptor.

“Luke,” he says carefully. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Go on, then.” Luke’s too tired to be bothered about whatever it is Michael has to say. He’s always tired, these days.

“Well.” Michael worries his hands together. “Ashton just called and booked an appointment.”

“Huh,” Luke grunts. He is surprised at that. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t know why he’d still want to be tattooed by me.” He frowns. “We should probably tell him no, right? I don’t want him to think–”

“See, well,” Michael interrupts, grimacing. “That’s the thing, Luke. He didn’t book in with you. He, um.” He shuffles his feet awkwardly. “He booked in with me.”

“Oh,” is all Luke can think to say. “Oh.”

“I had an opening – but I’ll cancel it, if you want. We can tell him no. Private studio, right?” Mike flashes a weak attempt at a smile.

“No, no.” Luke waves him off. “No, it makes sense. He shouldn’t trust me anymore. Or want to be in the same room with me after I–” He shakes his head. “And if you were free, anyway, then he’d be crazy not to book with you. It makes sense. It’s fine. You should tattoo him. He probably wants cover-ups of all the ones I did for him, because I bet he regrets those now. You should–”

“Luke, stop it,” Michael says, suddenly beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Ashton doesn’t hate you because you expressed your boundaries. You know none of those things are true.”

“Some of them are, I think,” Luke mumbles.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Michael says, rubbing his thumb over Luke’s bicep. “It’s up to you if I go through with it or not.”

“Do it,” Luke says. “I’m not worth turning a client away for.”

“If you’re really okay with it, I’ll do it. But you should think about it.” Michael leans down to press a kiss into Luke’s hair. “And you’re wrong. You’re worth everything, sweetheart.”

And, because they always work in tandem, Calum finds him in the office of his apartment later that night, dropping down on the squeaky futon against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a deep sigh. “But I have to say it.”

“I kind of doubt that either of those things are true.” Luke puts his pencil down, turning away from where he’s been deep in thought, sketching out bright eyes and deep dimples and messy curls. “But go ahead, I guess.”

Calum’s face is stony as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers in front of his face in concentration.

“I know you think that you did something noble when you turned Ash away,” Calum begins slowly. “But you didn’t. It wasn’t noble. It was self-sacrificing, and for what?” Calum chuckles humourlessly. “For both of you to be broken by it?”

“We don’t know that he’s broken,” is all Luke says in reply.

“Well, I’m beginning to think that you’re not a very good judge of character if you can’t see that Ashton had his heart shattered and left on the floor of the lobby,” Calum points out. “That, and if you think you’re anything like Rick.”

“Don’t– don’t say–” Luke stammers, shocked that Calum dared cross the invisible line they laid years ago.

“No, I’m going to say his name.” Calum frowns, dropping his hands to look at Luke sharply. “We need to talk about him, for real, because you still think you have something, anything in common with him.”

“He’s the one who taught me,” Luke whispers. “How can I not?”

“Because you’re a good person, Luke. Because you know what he did was wrong. Because–” Calum cuts himself off, swallowing hard as tears well up in his eyes. “He wasn’t teaching you, Lu, he was abusing you.”

Another word that they don’t say.

“But I let him do those things,” Luke admits weakly. “To me, and to other people, too. I saw him and I didn’t stop him.”

“You did what you had to, love,” Calum says gently, reaching for Luke’s hand. “He was your superior, your mentor, your only source of income, and your fucking landlord. You did what you had to in order to survive. You were a victim–” Luke flinches and Calum squeezes his fingers before continuing. “You were. Don’t forget that Mike and I– we saw what he was doing to you. And I’m gonna have to live with myself every day of my life knowing that we didn’t get you out of there sooner.”

“No,” Luke protests. “Don’t say that, you helped me as soon as you knew anything, you have nothing to feel–”

“Luke,” Calum interjects with a watery smile. “I wish that I had helped you sooner, and I’ll always feel that way. But I also know that I didn’t contribute to what happened to you. The same way that you didn’t contribute to what happened to those other people, or to you.”

Luke’s quiet, dropping his eyes to look at their hands instead of Calum’s face.

“You would never take advantage of someone or abuse your position as a tattooer because you know what it’s like. I know– You know you’d never do anything inappropriate with a client.” Calum stands, pulling Luke with him to hug him tightly. “You may have learned something from him, but it wasn’t what he tried to teach you.”

Luke buries his face in Calum’s neck, wrapping his arms around him and holding on desperately.

“You’re a great tattooer and an even better person, Luke,” Calum whispers into his hair. “I’m so proud of the person you are, I’m so proud that Mike and I get to watch you grow. I love you, okay? You’re nothing like him.”

“I love you too,” Luke returns, muffled by Calum’s skin.

When they break apart, Calum wipes at his eyes and heads for the door.

“I’ll let you get back to it. I told Mike I wouldn’t be that long,” he says with a short laugh. He pauses for a second before turning back. “I know you think you’ve fucked everything up for good, but I think you’re wrong.”

Luke sighs, sitting back down in his chair. “I don’t know about that.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you should call him.” Calum shrugs. “Honesty goes a long way. God knows Mike and I hurt each other dozens of times before we figured our shit out.”

“Yea, but you and Mike are like, soulmates,” Luke says, smiling sadly. “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Calum raises an eyebrow. “Michael makes me the best version of myself, as a person and as a tattooer. He pushes me, he challenges me, he picks me up when I need it and he kicks me in the ass if I need that. And then I look at the work you’ve put in for the last month – the lack of passion in your drawings, your attitude towards tattooing, the way you’ve talked to clients – and I compare it with the month before that?”

Luke bites his lip, hard. His work has suffered, he knows that. He’s supposed to love tattooing, he’s supposed to be thankful every day, and he hasn’t been. Another broken promise.

“You’re a talented enough artist that you’re getting by just fine, Luke,” Calum adds. “But I think you’re worried that starting something with Ashton would make you a worse person and a worse tattooer when it’s completely the opposite.”

Calum pats his hand against the doorframe thoughtfully. “Just think about it,” he says, making his way to the stairs and leaving Luke alone with his thoughts, a half-drawn portrait, and the single dried-out rose tucked reverently into his pencil holder.

Despite being able to himself for a full two weeks thanks to Mike’s advance warning, it only takes a split second for Luke to realize that he is woefully unprepared to see Ashton again.

Every brick that Luke laid to fill that hole in his walls, every grain he placed to re-draw his line in the sand – it’s all washed away the second his eyes meet Ashton’s across the lobby.

It’s been barely a month and a half since he saw Ashton last, but he can’t help but think that he looks different, somehow. Physically, he’s the same. Of course he’s the same. His curls still flop in every direction, his eyes the same shocking colour of hazel. He’s dressed a little differently – a crisp black polka-dotted dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and tucked into what looks like a new pair of black jeans – but there’s nothing to suggest that this is a different man than the one who last left the shop.

Maybe it’s just because he’s not as happy to see Luke as he used to be.

Ashton approaches the counter slowly, cautiously, like Luke is a wild animal. Luke feels paralyzed.

Somehow, in those two weeks, he never thought about what he’d say when he saw Ashton again.

I’m sorry.

Do you hate me?

I had to.

I miss you.

“Um,” is what comes out of his mouth. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Ashton replies nervously. “I’m here to see Michael?”

“Yea,” Luke says awkwardly. “I know. Um, I’ll get him for–”

“Ashton!” Michael says on cue, prancing out through the curtain. “Great to see you buddy!”

Luke fixes him with a bemused stare. This is not what he expected from Mike. Hasn’t he heard it’s supposed to be weird? When he glances back at Ashton, he can see he looks equally bewildered.

“Crazy thing just happened,” Michael continues, unfazed by the confused looks in his direction. They only get more baffled when he starts to wave his hands in the air like he’s twisting light bulbs. “I got carpool tunnels.”

“It’s ‘carpal tunnel’,” Luke says flatly. “And… you’ve just developed it? Right now?”

“Must have!” Michael replies brightly.

“...What?” Ashton says after a moment. “You mean–”

“You know that carpal tunnel can be career-ending for tattoo artists?” Luke says, crossing his arms.

Mike blanches. “Did I say carpal tunnel?”

“No, actually,” Luke deadpans.

“I mean I’ve got a bad back,” Michael corrects. “Like, just for today. I thought that’s what that meant.”

Michael is probably the worst liar that Luke has ever met.

“Anyway,” he continues. “The point is that I can’t tattoo you today, Ashton.”

Well, he could have cancelled earlier and saved Luke a lot of stress, but better late than never, Luke supposes.

“Oh.” Ashton frowns. “Well, that’s okay. Maybe–”

“But Luke can!”

“What?” Luke blurts at the same time Ashton goes, “Huh?”

“Yea!” Mike grins. “I can’t tattoo today, ‘cause of my neck–”

“Back,” Luke sighs.

“–back, so Luke is going to tattoo you instead. Is that okay?”

Luke and Ashton look at each other for the first time in a few minutes. Luke tries to read his eyes, but he can’t. He has no idea what Ashton is thinking, but he can only guess it’s something along the lines of Are you kidding, I never want to be in the same room as him ever again, or Not even for a million dollars, or I’d rather die a painful–

“Sure,” Ashton says. He breaks eye contact with Luke and looks at Michael instead. “That’d be fine.”

Luke continues to stare at the side of Ashton’s face.

Ashton bites down on his bottom lip, sparing a quick glance at Luke. “If it’s okay with Luke, that is.”

“Sure it is!” Michael answers before Luke gets a chance to respond. “He’s a professional, right?”

“Right,” Luke grits out, glaring daggers at Michael before backing down. He sags as he turns to Ashton. “Right. No, of course it’s not a problem.”

“Great!” Michael claps him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go get Calum to rub my neck–”

“Back,” Ashton and Luke say at the same time.

“–so I’ll leave you guys to it.”

He’s gone through the curtain before Luke has a chance to protest any further.

He and Ashton stand there in silence for a few seconds.

“Subtle,” Ashton says, giving him a crooked smile like it’s a peace offering.

“Sorry about him,” Luke sighs. He looks at his feet, shuffling uncomfortably. “You really don’t have to go through with it, if you’re not– if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine, Luke,” Ashton says gently. “I’m okay with it.”

Luke nods, trusting that Ashton wouldn’t lie to him. He needs to believe that Ashton wouldn’t lie to him about that.

When they head through to Luke’s studio space, the stencils for Ashton’s tattoo are already laid out on Luke’s table – right next to his fully prepped tattooing cart. Even the ink is poured already, two perfect rows of black and red.

Idiot, Luke thinks.

Next time, the purple ink is going in Mike’s shampoo. Or, maybe he can orchestrate some kind of Carrie situation. That seems reasonable.

He picks up a stencil sheet. It’s three circles of diminishing sizes, set in a perfect row. A curved line slices through two of them at different points.

“The crescent part is red,” Ashton says from behind him. “It’s the blood moon.”

Luke nods. There’s two stacks of them, but the stacks appear to be slightly different. Luke looks at them with uncertainty.

“It’s, um,” Ashton adds. “It’s going to be the same on both forearms, but mirrored.”

Luke frowns. They’re simple enough tattoos, visually, but perfect circles like this can be extremely difficult to render, and lining them up on separate body parts is going to be a nightmare.

“We’d better get started, then.”

The time it takes to line up the stencils allows Luke to calm down and get fully into the zone of tattooing. He places them all at once, and then individually, lining a ruler up to Ashton’s arm and making marks at every possible intersection of paper and skin. He cleans each stencil away, unsatisfied.

When he’s finally got the first arm to their liking, he’s faced with the even harder task of making sure it matches the second arm. All told, stenciling takes over half an hour – with Ashton patiently standing while Luke applies one stencil after another, checking them in the mirror, and then letting Luke wash it off again – but finally, they finish.

“That’s perfect,” Ashton breathes out as he looks at his arms in the mirror. “Just like that, that’s perfect.”

“I think so, too,” Luke agrees, pleased that he was able to get the stencils the way it needed to be.

“That was the hard part, right?” Ashton says, meeting his eyes in the reflection with a small laugh.

“Oh yea,” Luke says, returning a grin of his own. “Smooth sailing from here on out.”

Since his station is already set up, Luke only has to check his machines before he’s ready to start.

“Okay,” he says once Ashton is comfortable. “You good? I can start anytime.”

“I’m ready,” Ashton confirms. He quickly adds, “and I’ll let you know if I need to stop.”

Luke looks up from where he’s been holding Ashton’s arm to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Ashton smiles back at him, and Luke starts his machine.

He starts with the smallest circle on Ashton’s right arm, the one closest to his wrist. He moves steadily upwards, lining each one as slowly as possible, careful not to make any blowouts or peaks in the smooth, thin lines. It’s tedious, but necessary. He wants these to be perfect.

For Ashton, they need to be perfect.

He takes a deep breath as he finishes lining the third circle, leaning back to look at his work. So far, so good.

“Let’s spin you around so I can line the other side, then we’ll do the fill and colour,” Luke explains. Ashton nods, standing so Luke can release the lock on the bottom of the table, turning it 180 degrees.

Ashton brushes off his pants absent-mindedly. Luke takes note of his long fingers, the way they curl slightly around the swell of his thighs, straining beneath the blackest of black denim.

“Luke?”

Luke tears his eyes away, looking up at Ashton’s face.

“Can I sit down?”

“Oh, yea. All good, get comfortable.” Luke says, motioning for Ashton to sit. “Sorry,” he says, trying to sound like he isn’t all the way torn up about it, “you look nice, is all. You look good. Do you need a break?”

“Thank you.” Ashton smiles, not meeting Luke’s eyes as he picks at a piece of thread on his jeans. “And no, I’m okay.”

Ashton starts to talk once Luke starts up again. The sound of his voice, uninterrupted and speaking freely, puts Luke at ease like it always has.

“I got a new contract at work,” Ashton tells him. “I’m a full-time session musician, now.”

“Ashton,” Luke says excitedly, trying not to lose concentration as he finishes the first circle. “That’s amazing! Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Ashton blushes. “I got it a couple weeks ago and decided I needed to celebrate with a tattoo.”

Luke bites his lip as he starts on the next circle. “Sorry that Michael couldn’t do it,” he mumbles.

“Luke–”

“No, it’s fine,” Luke interrupts. “It’s really fine. He’s the best.”

“That’s not–” Ashton sighs. “That’s not why I booked with him.”

“Yea.” Luke shrugs as he lifts his needle where the circle meets the crescent. “I figured.”

“Luke…”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Luke says, though his jaw clenches tightly. “Sorry. Want to tell me about these? The blood moons?”

As always, Ashton gracefully allows Luke’s deflection. “It’s about balance, I guess.”

“Balance?” Luke prompts.

“The blood moon happens during a total lunar eclipse, when the moon blocks the sun completely,” Ashton explains. “But the redness, it’s actually caused by the light of the sun refracting off of the Earth’s atmosphere. Right? The sun is still there, and its light still exists even in the darkness.”

Luke continues to work, knowing that Ashton will carry on.

“For me, it makes me reflect on my internal battles, the light and the dark inside of me. My love against my hatred, my joy against my spite. My urge to create against my urge to destroy.” He pauses momentarily. “My will versus my addiction.”

Luke’s breath catches and he has to pull his needle up to avoid fucking up his line. He takes a deep breath before continuing, exhaling deeply as he pulls around the curve.

“I know that I have the capability for evil, for destruction,” Ashton continues. “That’s inside me. Like my addiction: that hatred is inside of me, and if I feed it, it grows.

“I have to choose, every day, with every action, to be good. I choose to be happy, to smile, to spread joy, to forgive, to– to trust…” he trails off. “I choose to love.”

Luke’s heart is beating hard and fast against his chest.

Ashton chooses.

He finishes up the final circle of line work before reaching for his shader. He clears his throat a little.

“Do you need a minute? Or can we…”

“Yea,” Ashton breathes out deeply. “We can keep going.”

Luke dips into his black ink and starts to fill in the bottom circle with solid black. Ashton winces slightly as Luke saturates the colour over the ligaments in his wrist. Luke wishes he could hold his hand.

“It sounds, um,” Luke says awkwardly. “It sounds really personal.”

“It is,” Ashton agrees. “I actually designed these myself.”

“I better not fuck it up, then,” Luke tries to joke, but it comes off bitter instead.

“You won’t,” Ashton says confidently. “I trust you.”

I trust you.

It’s said offhand, maybe, but it hits Luke like a freight train.

Ashton chooses.

Maybe Luke can choose, too.

It’s not until he’s finished filling in the black on both arms that he’s able to work up the courage. To choose to trust.

Once he knows Ashton is okay to move on, he starts in on the colour, watching as the deep red bleeds out of his needle.

“I think I understand these,” he says finally, voice shaky. “Because I think there’s a lot of darkness in me, too.”

Ashton lets him continue at his own pace.

“My first apprenticeship as a tattooer was– I didn’t actually learn from Michael or Calum. Not to start. I learned from a man–” he breaks to swallow hard. “His name was Rick.”

The name tastes like acid on his tongue.

“Rick was a real asshole,” he says with a humourless laugh. “He, um. He kind of treated me like his bitch, you know. Do this, do that. Everybody said it was all a part of the apprenticeship process. You just do what you’re told and you don’t ask questions.”

Luke’s never had to tell anyone this before. He doesn’t quite know how.

“At first, he’d push me around a bit, call me names.” Luke tries to focus on the skin under his fingers rather than the moisture behind his eyes. “Then, he’d hit me if I fucked something up – like if I made a stencil the wrong size or set out the wrong amount of black ink. Then he…”

“Luke,” Ashton says quietly. “You don’t have to tell me this.”

“No, I want to.” Luke takes a deep breath. “I’m choosing to.”

Ashton looks pained, but nods in understanding.

“I couldn’t pay him anything. I wasn’t making any money because he wouldn’t let me tattoo anyone, and if I did, he’d keep the cash,” Luke remembers. “When I’d told my parents I wanted to quit school and become a tattoo artist, it ended in… the biggest fight. I walked out the door and told them I didn’t need them, and my pride and shame was too heavy to let me go back.”

He washes his shader thoroughly and wipes down Ashton’s arm, cleaning away all of the excess ink. One side finished.

“Other arm?” Luke says, dabbing at his brow with his shirt sleeve to surreptitiously wipe his eyes.

Ashton looks at him with a soft expression. “Keep going.”

Luke does.

“I was living at the shop, but not like I do here. I slept on the couch in the lobby. I didn’t think I had anywhere else to go. I just knew I loved tattooing and it’s all I wanted to do. I thought it was just a sacrifice I had to make.”

Luke takes a deep breath.

“Like I said, I couldn’t pay him anything. He wasn’t really teaching me anything, either, but that’s not how he made it seem. He’d just beaten me down so far that… I believed I was shit and didn’t deserve to tattoo, you know? I believed that. I believed I wasn’t ready, because he said so. So when he said that I owed him, and that I should get on my knees, I–” he stutters. “I did.”

“Luke,” Ashton gasps.

“I did, because I didn’t know what else I could do.” Luke ignores Ashton’s sympathy and tries to press forward. “He said I looked enough like a girl that I could probably manage to get him off. After, he’d knock me over and tell me I was a worthless slut who could suck dick about as well as I could tattoo, which... was not very well, I guess,” he says, trying for a smile. “But that wasn’t even the worst part.”

Ashton draws in a breath that sounds like a hiss.

“I watched him do the same kind of shit to other people,” Luke says bitterly. “Not exactly the same. He didn’t– but he’d say shit to clients like... Fuck.”

Luke has to physically stop tattooing, ripping his gloves off to press the heel of palm to his eyes. A moment later, he feels a hand smooth over his hair.

“Luke, I–”

“No, let me just,” Luke takes a deep breath, reaching for another pair of gloves. “I need to finish this.”

Ashton nods, waiting patiently for Luke to gather himself enough to continue. After a moment, he’s able to resume – both talking and tattooing.

“He used to get handsy with all of our female clients. He’d say he needed to balance and he’d use it as an excuse to grope them. He’d make them take their tops off to get an arm tattoo. He used to tell girls they could get a free tattoo if they–” Luke shudders. “He took advantage. Of clients, of his power. Always. Because it’s really fucking hard to say no to someone who has a needle to your skin.”

He sighs as he finishes up the last circle. He puts his machine down and sits back. Ashton doesn’t move.

“I didn’t even… I never got the courage to stand up to him. I let that happen to all of those clients.” Luke shakes his head shamefully. “The only reason I ever left is because of Mike and Cal. They did a guest spot at our studio and they saw– they saw, accidentally, the kind of stuff he was… doing. To me. They saw how scared I was and they… they took me with them.”

That could be a whole story in itself, but it’s not the point of this one. Luke carries on.

“So that’s why I think that there’s darkness in me. I’ve seen what happens when power goes unchecked like that, I’ve seen how easy it is to take advantage of our position as tattoo artists, and…” Luke sighs, his breath trembling. “What’s worse is, I learned from him.”

“You’re afraid that you’re like him,” Ashton guesses. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Luke for a second. “That’s why you…”

“I like you, Ash, a lot – but I couldn’t do that to you,” Luke whispers, a tear finally falling from his eye. He wipes it away quickly on the inside of his sleeve, but he knows Ashton saw. “I couldn’t take advantage of you like he would.”

“You weren’t,” Ashton says, catching Luke’s hand with his own. “You never did. You never would.”

Luke drops his head, squeezing Ashton’s hand for just a moment before letting go and pushing back in his chair. “Go take a look in the mirror if you feel good to stand.”

Ashton looks at him for a long moment before he turns away to walk over to the mirror.

“They look amazing, Luke,” Ashton says as he inspects them. “Honestly, they’re perfect. It’s exactly what I had in my head.”

Luke just nods, words caught in his throat. He replaces his gloves and collects what he needs to bandage the tattoos, working in silence until he can catch his breath.

“Looks like I could handle it after all, hey?” Luke says as he bandages the second arm, his mouth twisting up – he knows he hasn’t executed a smile the way he hoped.

Ashton frowns immediately.

“What?” he says, his head jerking up sharply. “You think I– wait. Why do you think I booked with Michael?”

“Because I wasn’t good enough,” Luke answers. “Because you– you couldn’t trust me anymore. After what I did.”

“After what you– Luke.” Ashton shakes his head in disbelief. “You didn’t– I booked with Michael because you said you wouldn’t date a client.”

Luke stares at him blankly in shock.

“You… what?”

“I thought–” Ashton blushes to the tips of his ears, lifting a hand to run through his disheveled curls before letting the words tumble out all at once. “I thought maybe if I wasn’t your client anymore I might still have a chance?”

Luke just blinks at him. What?

“Luke, I–” Ashton looks down at his feet before collecting himself, lifting his head to look Luke right in the eye. “You’re all I’ve thought about for the past month– no, since I met you.” His eyes turn pleading. “I– Luke, I’m fucking crazy about you. Of course I trust you.”

He bites down on his lip and inhales deeply through his nose.

“And I still want this,” he adds. “If you do, too.”

Luke’s world turns completely upside down before righting itself once again. Like calm after a vicious storm.

“Um,” he says, keeping a hold of Ashton’s wrist as he finishes bandaging his fresh tattoos. His heart is about to beat out of his ribcage. “Do you wanna come upstairs with me?”

“Huh?” Ashton says, confused. “Why?”

“I, uh.”

He slips his hand down to intertwine their fingers. Ashton’s eyes light up, his familiar dimples setting deep into his cheeks as his lips curl into a brilliant smile.

Luke is terrified, but he chooses to be brave.

“I thought I might take you up on that date.”

Ashton follows Luke up stairs, fingers linked together. Luke can feel the bounce in Ashton’s step by the way he swings their hands between them.

Luke can’t stop smiling.

He leads Ashton past his office and into his small kitchen, where he drops his hand as Ashton looks around curiously. He runs his hands over every surface in wonder, like he can’t quite believe he’s here. Luke can’t quite believe it, either. Seeing Ashton in his space, after all this time – it makes the nerves bubble up in his chest again.

Ashton turns back to Luke with a wide grin.

“This place is so cool,” he says, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “You’d never know it was up here.”

Ashton jumps up on the counter. He looks at home. He looks like home.

He reaches a hand out for Luke to take, and draws him in when he does. He hooks his ankles casually around the bottom of Luke’s thighs and slides his arms over Luke’s shoulders, the bandages of his tattoos crinkling against Luke’s shirt. He giggles happily when Luke’s hands come to rest tentatively at his hips.

“I like you,” Ashton says, quiet and honest. There’s enough distance between them that Luke can breathe, but not so much that looking into Ashton’s eyes doesn’t feel intensely intimate.

“I like you too,” Luke whispers. “I really do.”

They stay like that for a moment, locked together loosely, Luke standing in the V of Ashton’s legs. Ashton’s smiling at him sweetly, looking like he’s just happy to be here, and Luke – Luke’s not sure he can take the pressure.

“Do you– um,” Luke says, dropping his gaze, cracking. “Can I get you some coffee? It won’t be iced, but–”

“Luke,” Ashton says, his hand moving to cradle Luke’s cheek. He guides him so they’re looking each other in the eyes again. “Can I just–”

Ashton lets out a shaky breath, like he’s nervous, too.

“Can I – please.” His eyes dart from Luke’s eyes down to his lips and back up again. “Can I kiss you? Please, I just– I need–”

Luke surges forward, pressing their lips together soundly.

It’s nothing like their first kiss, which was sweet and careful and slow. This kiss has urgency, with one of Luke’s hands quickly finding its way up to Ashton’s hair, dragging through the chaotic curls that he loves so much, while the other snakes around to fist in the smooth fabric at the back of Ashton’s dress shirt. Ashton whimpers when Luke tugs on his hair a little, the hand that’s on Luke’s face trying to bring him impossibly closer, the other pulling him in by the waist until they’re fully pressed against each other.

Luke moans softly when Ashton coaxes his mouth open, deepening the kiss even further. Luke wants to touch Ashton everywhere, to put his hands everywhere – wants Ashton everywhere.

Without breaking the kiss, Luke pulls him down off the counter, changing the angle of their mouths when Ashton huffs out a gasp of surprise. Luke smiles into the kiss before breaking away, taking Ashton by the hand and leading him down the hall.

Ashton kisses him again as soon as they cross the threshold, slower now, with more meaning. But seeing Ashton here, in the low light of his bedroom makes it– it feels real, all of a sudden, and Luke can feel himself freeze again.

Fuck. Should I be doing this? Can I be sure that he wants this? Is this–

“I’m nervous,” Luke whispers, pulling away from Ashton’s mouth. He chooses to be honest. “I like you so much, Ashton, and I want this so much, but I–”

Ashton shakes his head, reaching up to pull Luke’s hair out of its elastic so he can run his hand through it as it falls around his ears. “Do you trust me? I mean, do you trust me to be honest with you?”

Luke doesn’t hesitate, exhaling shakily as he nods. “Yes.”

“And you already know that I trust you,” Ashton says, kissing Luke gently, with promise. “I’ll let you know if I need a break, right? And you can promise that you’ll tell me if you need to stretch your legs.”

“Okay,” Luke laughs, ducking to lean their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

Luke lets Ashton pull him over to the bed, where he sits down, pulling Luke onto his lap to straddle his thighs.

“Fuck,” Ashton whispers, stretching up to connect their lips again. “You have no idea how long I have wanted you.”

“Are you kidding?” Luke giggles between kisses. “You’ve been hitting on me since we first met.”

“You liked it,” Ashton says, his hands trailing up under the back of Luke’s shirt.

“I did,” Luke whispers, leaning down to kiss Ashton deeply, both hands on the sides of his face. When Ashton pushes at Luke’s shirt again, he leans back so they can pull it over his head together.

“Oh,” Ashton hums, leaning forward to kiss the puzzle piece inked onto Luke’s ribs. “One more. How many am I going to find?”

He kisses his way up to Luke’s mouth again, taking his bottom lip between his own and sucking lightly before pushing their tongues together again, humming happily when Luke starts to unbutton his shirt. They pull it off carefully, giggling as they try to avoid pulling at the bandages too much. Once his undershirt is off too, Ashton moves to lie down and pulls Luke with him, rolling them over in the same motion so Luke is lying on his back with Ashton on top of him, their bodies pressed together as they kiss again.

It’s not until Ashton reaches for Luke’s belt that he freezes. His hands shoot down to grab Ashton’s, pulling him away as gently as possible.

“What is it?” Ashton says, alarmed, doing what he can to get off of Luke as quickly as possible. “Are you okay? We don’t have to– I’m sorry if I–”

Luke pulls him down by the back of his neck, fingers pressed firmly over the condor tattoo, and silences him with a soft kiss. “It’s not that, okay?” he says when he pulls away slowly. “It’s not that.”

He pushes up to his elbows, letting Ashton move away until he’s sitting on his heels.

“It’s just– When we met you asked if I had more tattoos, and just now when you saw my ribs you asked again, and…” he sighs. “And now you’re going to– you’ll see.”

Ashton gives him a worried look.

“It’s okay,” Luke says, to Ashton and to himself. “I trust you.”

Ashton is hesitant, but moves his hands back to Luke’s belt, looking back up at Luke for reassurance. Luke smiles and nods for him to continue.

As Ashton peels Luke’s jeans away from his legs, Luke braces himself for the gasp he knows is coming.

“Luke,” Ashton whispers in part awe, part horror.

Littered all the way from thigh to knee on both of Luke’s legs are the tell-tale scars of tattoo removal.

“I had a lot more,” Luke explains. “But I didn’t want any reminder of him left on my body.”

“He did all of these?” Ashton says, his fingers brushing over each faint mark.

“Yea.” Luke’s breath catches as Ashton trails over the sensitive skin. “He said the only way I could learn would be to see it up close.”

Ashton just looks for another few moments before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the darkest one, still in need of a couple of laser sessions.

“He didn’t make you any less beautiful,” Ashton whispers into Luke’s skin, moving his lips to the next, and the next. “Inside or out.”

Luke pulls him back up then, desperate to kiss him again.

The kiss is uninterrupted this time, and grows more and more heated until they’re both naked, chests heaving as their hands roam over each other’s bodies.

“What do you want?” Luke asks, panting against his lips. “I don’t– I’m sorry– I don’t want to blow you, but–”

Ashton draws back at that, looking him in the eyes with concern. “Luke, you don’t– we don’t have to do anything.” He brushes Luke’s hair out his face with careful fingers. “Just kissing you, just being here with you is more than I could ever ask for.”

Luke leans up to kiss the bottom of his jaw, trailing up to his ear. “You can ask for more than that.”

“I want what you want,” Ashton laughs softly, pressing his lips against Luke’s forehead. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Luke smiles. He folds his arms around Ashton’s back and pulls him down again, kissing him shortly before embracing him. Ashton wraps his arms around him in return so they’re holding each other from tip to toe, his nose and mouth resting against Luke’s scalp.

“I'm comfortable just being with you,” Luke says in a whisper to Ashton’s neck.

He feels Ashton nod into his hair. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. Then that's what we'll do.”

Luke almost wants to put up a fight, almost wants to listen to the voice in his head that says he should, that Ashton deserves this part of him, that it's all he's good for – but the peace he feels in Ashton's arms, even naked and vulnerable, is enough to soothe him for the moment. He pushes his face into Ashton's chest, rubbing his cheek against the smattering of hair.

"Thank you," he whispers into Ashton's skin.

Ashton uses two fingers to tilt Luke's head up, kissing him firmly. Luke entwines their legs and smiles against Ashton's lips, content.

When they break apart, Ashton pulls him even closer and holds him there so they're nose-to-nose.

"I love you," he says simply, his eyes crinkling. It should scare Luke, and it does – but he chooses to be brave.

“I’m so glad I met you,” he whispers, unable to hold back the smile that takes over his face.

Ashton leans forward to peck him on the nose, the cheek, the mouth, both of them giggling all the while.

“I’m glad you gave me a chance,” Ashton returns, his thumb tracing the line of Luke’s cheekbone.

“You earned it,” Luke says honestly before kissing him once again.

Here, with Ashton, in his room, above a tattoo studio in Venice Beach, Luke feels like home might be a place for the first time in years.

They fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other. Luke dreams of lines in the sand being washed away to reveal untold treasures.

(Michael and Calum decide not to wake them up when they come to say goodnight.)