Page 116 of Line Change

The studio is in Georgetown behind a black door with no sign. Framed drawings and photographs of healed work cover the walls, and the artist’s room at the back has a padded table with one chair beside it for me.

Nolan has been trying to get onto Rafael’s schedule since that locker-room argument over where to put the tattoo. His books were closed the first time Nolan asked, and today’s appointment only happened because somebody canceled.

I looked him up afterward. People fly in from other countries to have him work on them. Nolan acted like I was being weird when I checked the shop license and read the inspection reports.

It was a reasonable thing to do.

“You can sit down,” Nolan says. He’s standing in front of a full-length mirror in jeans and socks, turning enough to look at the blank space beneath his right ribs. “This is going to take a while.”

I stay beside the mirror. “He hasn’t put the stencil on yet.”

“And that needs your supervision?”

“You asked me to come.”

“Yeah.” Nolan runs his palm down his side, testing the spot Sindre suggested in the locker room months ago. “I wanted you here.”

I cross the room and put my hand over the bare skin beneath his ribs. Months ago, I asked if he was ticklish there and nearly told the whole locker room that I’d had my mouth on the same spot.

Nolan’s stomach tightens when my fingers reach the softer skin below his ribs. He elbows me without much force. “Don’t start.”

I drag my fingertips lightly toward his hip. Nolan twists away and catches my wrist. “Ben.”

“You are.”

“I’m going to have a needle there most of the afternoon. I don’t need you making it worse first.”

The new ink will be off-limits tonight. Rafael sent the aftercare instructions before the appointment, and Nolan forwarded them to me because he knew I would ask. Once the tattoo is healed, I’m going to follow every line with my fingers and my tongue. He can complain about being ticklish while I find out whether the skin feels any different.

For now, I move my hand to his hip where it won’t interfere.

Nolan studies my face in the mirror. “Whatever you’re thinking, you have to wait until it heals.”

“I read the instructions.” I press my thumb into the top of his hip and lean down to kiss his bare shoulder.

Nolan turns his head and catches my mouth before I can step away. The kiss lasts long enough that his palm covers my nape and my grip on his hip tightens.

A knock sounds before the door opens. Nolan lets me go as Rafael comes in carrying a sheet of transfer paper and the drawing he approved. He’s lean, with silver threaded through his dark hair and heavy blackwork covering both arms down to his knuckles. The heron on the page is long and narrow, its legs disappearing into reeds that will curve toward Nolan’s hip.

“Ready?” he asks.

Nolan turns away from me and lifts his arm. “Yeah.”

He holds the drawing beside Nolan’s right side, checks the size, then points me toward the chair. “I need the light.”

I get out of his way and sit down.

Nolan grins at me as if Rafael has won something. Rafael has him stand straight while he marks two points on Nolan’s skin, then lays the transfer against his ribs and smooths it toward his hip. Nolan has to lift his arm over his head. The position stretches his side and makes every line of his body look sharper.

Rafael peels the paper away. Purple lines remain on Nolan’s skin. He sends Nolan to the mirror while he studies the placement from behind.

Nolan turns one way, then the other. The heron’s body follows the empty space below his ribs, with one wing reaching toward his stomach. It balances the heavier ink on his left side without matching it.

“What do you think?” Nolan asks me.

I get up and stand behind him. He’s looking at the tattoo in the mirror. I’m looking at the point where the reeds stop above his waistband.

I point to the reeds above his waistband. “The bottom should come up. Your gear will hit it there.”