competition, allison argent

025. tattoo

It's the night before the first day of junior year, and the three boys find themselves at a tattoo parlor. Cody and Stiles are there to support Scott. Well, at least Cody is supporting Scott. Stiles, not so much.

"Does your mom know about this?" Cody wonders, gesturing to Scott's arm on the ink press.

Scott nods, "Yeah."

"Does she know what you're getting?"

Scott sighs, "Yeah."

"Okay, but why two bands?" Stiles wonders, crossing his arms over his chest.

Scott replies, exasperation and irritation clear in his tone, "I just like it."

Scott shrugs. "I just like it."

Cody nods, accepting the answer. It's Scott's decision after all. But of course, Stiles is more skeptical. "But don't you think your first tattoo should have some sort of meaning, you know, or something?" Stiles proposes.

"Getting a tattoo means something," Scott insists, trying to convince his friend.

Stiles smiles, almost patronizingly. "I don't think that's..."

"He's right," the tattoo artist interjects, the large, tatted man getting his needles ready as he sits down next to Scott. "Tattooing goes back thousands of years. The Tahitian word 'tatua' means 'to leave a mark.' It's like a rite of passage."

"See?" Scott looks to Stiles, giving him an 'I told you so' look. "He gets it."

Stiles scoffs. "He's covered in tattoos, Scott, literally."

The bearded man exhales as he moves his chair closer to Scott. "Okay, you ready? You ain't got any problems with needles, do you?"

Scott shakes his head. "Nope."

Stiles scrunches his face, already looking a bit queasy. "I tend to get a little squeamish though, so..."

It isn't five seconds after the needle starts to scrape against Scott's skin that Stiles faints, hitting the floor with a thud. Cody chuckles, glancing at the tattoo artist. "Does this happen often?"

The man smirks. "Honestly? Yeah. Usually, it's the person getting the tattoo though."

>

"You okay?" Cody asks as he climbs into the drivers seat of Stiles' Jeep, an amused look on his face.

Stiles rolls his eyes as he holds an ice pack to his head in the backseat, grimacing at the pain. "Shut up."

Cody chuckles as he turns the engine on, sparing a glance at Scott. "How's it feeling?"

"Kinda burns," Scott comments, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes, you just had your skin stabbed about 100,000 times with a needle," Stiles reminds him, sarcasm lacing his words.

"Yeah, but I don't think it's supposed to feel like this."

"Did you look up the reviews of that place?" Stiles wonders, tossing the ice pack on the floor.

"No, why?" Scott responds.

"What if it's a dirty needle?" Cody's eyes widen as he gasps at the question.

"Now you have hepatitis," Stiles remarks nonchalantly.

Scott begins to panic. "Does hepatitis hurt?"

Cody bites his lip, trying not to laugh. "Maybe you should just take it off, you know, see if something's wrong with it," he suggests.