Oh.
Ashton mentally reverses course. If what Skylar says is true, then thisissome impressive work. The skin around the shoes is alabaster-smooth and clear, with no sign there was anything else marring it at all. It’s virtually impossible to restore magically-inked skin in that fashion—Ashton would absolutely know. He’s worked extremely hard to become the artist that he is, and that’s not a skill in his arsenal for a reason. A good cover-up, sure, but the ability toeraseexisting ink?
His interest in possibly securing Link's services heightens.
“Take ’em for a spin,” Link says gruffly and Skylar grins in response, eyes focused on her abdomen as the sparkly heels click together three times before vanishing completely in a puff of smoke. They reappear just as she throws her head back and laughs, drumming her feet in excitement before leaning forward and grabbing Link's head to yank him forward and plant a rough kiss on his cheek.
“Geroff, Sky,” Link protests, ducking free to return his tattoo gun to the holder next to the rest of his ink and supplies. “Get out of my chair,” he demands, physically turning away, but even Ashton can see that his cheeks are pink and he’s smiling. Apparently,humblereally runs in the family, andendearingisn’t trailing very far behind.
Clutching the Michael Shield book tightly in his hands, Ashton steels himself to make conversation. Speaking of skills that aren’t in his arsenal, that list doesn’t end at ink erasure. Casual social interaction has never been his forte, and it’s something Ashton nearly always has to psych himself up to do. As tough as it is, Ashton decides that once the redhead has said her goodbyes and Link is finished cleaning his station, he’s going to make his move.
The reality of the situation is that Ashton is tired of living with the disaster he’s carting around on his back, and Link's skillset appears to be exactly what he needs. Add to that the quiet compassion, empathy, and style with which he managed to craft the witnessed cover-up for his friend, and really, there’s nothing else to think about. Link is the tattoo artist for him.
While he waits, Ashton busies himself with perusing Link's sample books and the merch thatSoul Survivorhas displayed for sale. There’s even an iPad on the table that’s pre-loaded with an animated slideshow featuring a selection of Link's magical tattoos, and Ashton swipes through them with growing interest. There are plenty of examples that appear as equally complex and nuanced as Ashton is seeking for himself, and the obviously happy customers wearing them go a long way towards reassuring him that he’s doing the right thing.
He’s so engrossed in analyzing Link's various finished pieces that he doesn’t immediately notice the shadow drop over him, cast by the man standing on the opposite side of the table. When Ashton does glance up, everything he might’ve been thinking flies out of his head, chased away by the pair of gorgeous, emerald-green eyes peering back at him. His mouth, suddenly dry as bone, drops open but nothing comes out.
He can’t help but stare, admiring the faint smattering of freckles dusting the man’s face, the soft curve of his plush lips, his artfully-tousled honey-brown hair, and the perfect dash of matching scruff painting his chin. It’s all so flawless that Ashton can’t help but wonder if some of those things were tattooed on, too.
Link Remington,up close and personal, puts the version Ashton has seen on social media, in magazines, and in various advertisements and interviews on notice. He’s beyond lovely, his presence something like magnetic, and the moment their eyes meet, something electric flashes between them. It’s jarring—an instant connection that feels impossibly deep and powerful, a pull so oddly gripping that Ashton couldn’t begin to put a name to it if he tried.
In actuality, it’s terribly unnerving, and as he gropes at the table for something to hold onto, to keep himself upright in the face of—what exactly is happening here?—Ashton has the strangest, fleeting thought that whatever it is, he shouldn’t fight back.Solely based on his expression, Link seems to be feeling some type of way too, and that’s...interesting.
After a minute, a woman somewhere behind Ashton bursts out laughing, the piercing noise slicing harshly through the moment, and Ashton blinks hard. When he opens his eyes again, Link's still looking back, but they’re essentially standing and staring stupidly at each other, which is bizarre.
Link breaks the silence.
“I know you,” he says carefully, shaking a finger, eyebrows knitting together slightly as he visibly racks his brain. “You’re Ash Andrews, right? You used to work for Whitaker, over at Sainted Angels.I love your stuff, man. Huge fan.”
Blinking in surprise, Ashton takes a step back and touches a hand to his chest. “Me?” he asks, genuinely shocked. “That is… entirely unexpected. That is to say—I’m surprised you’re aware of my work.” The resulting grin he gets in response is nearly enough to knock Ashton off his feet, but he forces himself to try and act cool, to not stutter like a lovestruck fangirl, or stare blankly like the socially awkward freak he definitely is.
“Well, yeah,” Link affirms brightly. “I follow you pretty much everywhere online. So, uh, you showing here today? Come to check out the competition?”
“Not exactly. Actually, I was hoping,” Ashton starts and then hesitates, nearly losing his nerve now that the time has come and Link is so much more…Linkthan he expected. In other circumstances, he’d like to take this man to dinner, to buy him a drink, to see if Link would be interested inhimas a person. To get to know each other, perhaps discover whether that electricpullwas merely a strange one-off or something much rarer. Something important.
Unfortunately, Ashton needs Link, and he came here for a reason.
Decisions, decisions.While his frontal lobe is entirely aware that hiring Link for such a tricky job and asking Link out are two emotionally-charged exploits that he should probably not be attempting at the same time, his hindbrain is having a difficult time focusing onwhythat is.
Ashton clears his throat and tries again. “If you know who I am, then you’ll understand when I tell you that I’m in need of your particular skill set, and that not just anyone will do.” As he speaks, Link's cocky, flirty grin fades to something more mellow and contemplative, but he continues staring, regarding Ashton with unhidden, open interest.
“A cover-up?” Link guesses correctly, his hands absently organizing some of the artwork displayed on the table between them. Ashton nods and Link looks thoughtful. He shoots a glance over in his sister’s direction, but Sam is busy with a new client, so Link just strokes his chin. “Skylar was my last for today,” he muses, opening his mouth like he’s about to ask a question before abruptly stopping and narrowing his eyes.
“Can I ask you something?” he says, and Ashton nods again. “You and Whitaker, are you still—”
“Definitely not,” Ashton answers quickly, punctuating his reply with a firm shake of his head and a grimace. “And while I’m sure you were asking in regards to a professional capacity, I’m well aware of how rumors travel in this community, so I’d like to take the opportunity and clarify that the answer to whether we remain involved personally is a hard no, as well.”
The grin returns to Link's face in full force, and Ashton can’t help but flush a little under his attention—it’s daunting. Link's presence is so full, so lively, so all-encompassing in a way that Ashton was totally unprepared for. On the other hand, it’s been ages since he felt this sort of instant spark with another person, and he can’t claim that he’s not enjoying the way it’s playing out.
Just then, Link's gaze dips to Ashton’s hands, taking notice of the book he’s holding. Slightly self-conscious, Ashton forces himself not to shrink or hide—he’s not ashamed of his taste. In fact, he’s proud of it. If Link is going to mock him for loving Michael Shield’s fantasy novels, then Ashton would rather know now and save himself the trouble of getting invested, only to be hurt later. If the choice is between Link or Michael, well. Michael has spent years proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll never let him down.
“You borrow that copy from the library?” Link asks lightly, though there’ssomethinglurking in his tone that Ashton can’t quite put his finger on. “If not, it’s pretty beat-up. You should get your money back.” He winks, clearly finding his own joke amusing.
Surprised, Ashton holds the book up and smiles ruefully before shrugging. “No,” he replies, “It’s one of my favorites. I’m afraid that I’ve read it so many times, the love is really beginning to rub off. If this book were the Velveteen Rabbit, it would have long since anthropomorphized and hopped away. I own first editions of the entire series and, unfortunately, most of them look like this. What about you, have you read them?”
He looks expectantly back at Link, who doesn’t answer. Instead, he tips his head to the side and bites his lip, shaking a finger in Ashton’s direction as he says, “Hang on one sec.”
While Ashton obediently “hangs on”, Link pops over to the far side of the extended booth where Sam has started inking his second client. They exchange a handful of words before Sam looks up with eyebrows raised, darting a not-so-subtle glance in Ashton’s direction. That’s followed by a two-fingered wave, since the rest of them are wrapped around her machine. Link says something else and Sam nods, waving him away. Grabbing his jacket, Link briefly squeezes Sam’s shoulder as he makes his way back to where Ashton is waiting.
