-In which a tall and intimidating tattoo artist, wrapped in the inks of tattoos and piercings, a total heartthrob of the town is utterly head over heels and wrapped around the small fingers of the tiny little chaotic cutie who works the night shift...
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I want y'all to imagine him like this in this chapter. Uff that dark angry gaze 🫣 he got me feeling some typa way
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Her palm is still holding onto his thumb when she stumbles out of the alleyway. He is behind her, closest he has ever been to the usually hyper fluff ball.
Except right now, she is nothing but a little lump of sadness.
He is holding onto her bag and her now cracked phone that he picked up from the ground in his other hand. And he keeps his distance, not wanting to startle her even more.
Jennie is filled to the brim. She has no idea what just happened to her. Everything went by so fast, yet at the same time, it felt like she was stuck under those abusing hands for hours.
She sniffs, hurriedly wiping her tears away before they fall. Even in this state, she tries to put herself together, fully aware of the tall man's presence towering behind her.
Yet again, she is in a situation where he is unintentionally there to save her. And she doesn't want to bother him more with her stupid crying. She won't break down in front of him.
But one glance of her that falls on the ground, over the very mushed rice ball she had gripped in her hand like it was treasure thirty minutes ago, and she feels her eyes brimming with tears again.
Her lips quiver down, and her stomach grumbles from being empty the whole day. Her little palm tightens over his thumb and she bites her lips to stop the whimper from coming out.
She was looking forward to that...
The man takes her towards the shop, and if she wasn't so blank, she would have realised something about him. Something that might change the way she sees him.
He wasn't just a man who was covered in tattoos, and dark clothes. The gold chains that hangs his thick neck, and the silver bracelet that looked so light in his wrist, maybe they aren't cold against his skin. His warm thumb that is trapped in her hand should tell her enough.
It would describe him better. Rough and tumble, quiet but strong. A man with icy cold eyes.
He could have left if he wanted. If he wanted, he wouldn't bother with it. But he stepped in. Just like he did at the bar.
If she turns around now and hides herself in his arms, he won't push her away. You never know. He might even keep her there forever.
But she stumbles a bit when she tries to step up the little stairway leading up to the shop. Embarrassment blooms her face, and she hurries to not make him wait.
But the man remains silent behind her, patience is his presence. It makes her slow down a bit, and she dares not look back.
