Ablaze

15

The throb of my temples was the first sensation to hit me as I woke up. My groan was muffled by shoving my head under the pillow, appreciating the icy underside. Even though I hadn't drunk much, my head still pulsed, and it took a little longer for my eyes to open. My lashes felt tacky from last night's makeup, amplifying the struggle to open them.

Thankfully, the headache began to subside as the veil of unconsciousness lifted. I dwelled under the pillow for a few minutes, waiting for it to fade until it was an ignorable heaviness at the base of my skull.

Harry's arm was still anchored around my waist, subconsciously keeping me close to him. The warmth of his skin was soothing against mine, providing more solace than the duvet. I had moved throughout the night, my back now to him, huddled against his side.

Conscious that Harry was still asleep, I rotated slowly to face him. He was only in his boxers, his tattooed skin a lovely contrast against my olive skin.

My gaze was trained on his face, checking to ensure he was still asleep. His eyes were closed, his expression completely relaxed as he slumbered. These were the moments where he was the most tranquil. When he was awake, his face was a stone wall of tension, and to see how serene he looked like this made my heart feel satiated.

I used the opportunity to study the ink spread across the expanse of his flesh. My touch was feather-light as I traced the tattoo above his heart. The knowledge it was for me rendered a smile to grace my lips, my ears burning as I thought about it. Harry had actively sought someone to tattoo it for him, settling on that quote as his reminder of me, permanently etching it into his skin. The area around it remained untouched, a circle about the size of his fist left blank.

Most of the designs were seemingly random, engraved close together with no coherent story. Two swallows graced just underneath his collarbones. The moth on his stomach was the largest, the rest smaller.

They were muddled like patchwork, each added at some point. However, I understood Harry and knew they signified something- they were entirely tangible for him. They were clear relics of memories he held that I couldn't be a part of for many years. Although there wasn't much room on his torso, legs, or arms left, I hoped that when he got more on his back, I could pinpoint exactly where the inspiration had stemmed from.

I continued inspecting the tattoos, outlining the pistol on his ribs, chuckling softly at the cute teddy bear outline and a pair of dice. My movements faltered when I noticed the spider web, the center outlining a scar that was undoubtedly a gunshot wound. The skin of the wound was pink, the flesh made entirely of scar tissue. Harry hadn't informed me he had been shot before, and my chest clenched tightly, feeling gutted as I visualized him going through it alone.

My fingers paused, glimpsing a small peach tattooed just above the elastic of his boxer briefs. It was cartoonish in design, settling in the crevices of his hipbone. It was such a heavy reminder that was permanently branded, the intimacy of the area not lost on me. I appreciated the peach as such a guiltless object with no misery behind the importance, only that it was my favorite fruit.

Harry's voice made me jump, startingly me out of my trance as I traced the cartoon peach, "I'll get your name tattooed on my dick next if you want."

My rounded eyes flew to his undisturbed face. He had relocated his other arm, now using it to shield his eyes.

"I'm offended you don't already," I scoffed.

"I've got your face tattooed on my right ass cheek, though."

Giggling, I reached underneath him, pinching his bum brutally. His eyes flew open at the sensation, immediately narrowing at me, his emerald eyes still glazed over in grogginess.