Tramp Stamps | Lookism

3. Bluebirds

"There she is!"

"That's the new transfer?"

"Damn, what is it with this school and having hot transfers?"

Cleo regrets not taking Jay's earbuds.

Lunchtime had finally arrived, Cleo's growling stomach thankful as she snatched up a lunch tray, but it seems she wasn't allowed to sit down and eat her freaking food. Why? Because two chihuahuas foaming at the mouth decided that now, in front of Cleo, was the best time and place to fight.

"You think you can just talk to me like that, asshole?!"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want!" he raised his hand, preparing to throw a punch.

'Wouldn't it be nice if a FIGURE OF AUTHORITY would DO THEIR JOB?' Cleo's eye twitched as the random dudes brawled in front of her, 'Do teachers just not exist here?! I'm pretty sure that one teacher dipped almost right after I introduced myself...'

"Excuse me," she deadpanned, not catching their attention in the least, "Excuse me??"

They continued on fighting, and Cleo was starting to think that living was overrated. At least, until a beast of a man showed up, walking over like one of those firefighters in slow motion.

"Oh shit."

"Damn, here he comes."

"Vasco to the rescue!"

"Stop fighting," he said, the muscles in his face as expressionless and intimidating as ever. His arms bulged with impressive strength as he grabbed their heads and forced them away from each other effortlessly, "Be kind to each other."

Tall stature. Narrow eyes. Beefier than a cow. And those tattoos...!

Cleo hit her palm with her fist, coming to a decision, "A perfect tattoo model!"

Confused, the man turned around with their heads still in hand. Upon seeing Cleo, his cheeks turned pink. Pretty girl... looking at him? His cheeks darkened even more. But... wait a second. Something about her seems familiar!

All of a sudden, a lightbulb went on in both of their heads.

Flashback to a few years ago, a freezing winter afternoon. Cleo was lounging around the tattoo shop, having nothing better to do, while Xin was packing up his things for the day. At the time, Cleo wasn't very experienced in hands-on tattooing. She was young— although talented— and her schedule was filled to the brim. It left little time for any practicing, other than the occasional sketch or line-depth practice on pig skin.

A loud knock sounded from the entrance. Normally the door was unlocked, but it was past closing time.

"Kid," Xin called, letting out a long and clearly annoyed sigh, "Get the door."

"No "please?"" she asked, still chilling comfortably on the red, patchy couch. After a few seconds, Xin continued to stay silent, so Cleo begrudgingly stood up to do as he asked.

Quickly, she unlocked the door and swung it open, "Who the hell—" she spat, glaring, until she paused. In front of her was a boy, around her age— maybe even a bit younger, kneeled down shirtless in the snow.