Ink & Intrigue -jaden hossler

Chapter Eight: Ink and Heartbeats

Londen's POV

It was a rainy Sunday when Jaden showed up at the studio, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, looking unusually nervous.

“Remember our deal?” he asked with a half-smile, his eyes glinting with excitement. “You said you’d let me tattoo you next time.”

I laughed, already half-regretting that promise. “Alright, alright. But don’t expect me to go easy on you if you mess it up.”

We spent the next hour going over the design. I chose something simple—a small heart outline on my shoulder, a reminder of everything I’d been feeling lately, the emotions I couldn’t quite put into words. It felt fitting that Jaden would be the one to ink it on me.

He set up the station carefully, his usual confidence tempered by an endearing focus. Watching him was surreal; he was usually the one letting me be the artist, but now, the roles were reversed.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice soft as he looked at me. “Ready?”

I nodded, taking a deep breath as he leaned over me, the hum of the tattoo machine filling the quiet space. His hand was steady as he traced the outline, his face inches from mine. The closeness, his warmth, the smell of his cologne—it was all so distracting.

When he finished the last line, he sat back, wiping the ink gently. “Done,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I think it turned out pretty well.”

“Not bad, Hossler,” I teased, my voice softer than usual. “Guess I’ll keep it.”

We laughed, but the laughter faded quickly, leaving a tension in the air, thick and heavy. Our eyes met, and suddenly the room felt charged, every unspoken feeling between us rising to the surface.

Without a word, he leaned in, his hand resting on my shoulder, and kissed me. It was gentle at first, his lips brushing mine in a way that felt both tentative and full of promise. But then, the kiss deepened, filled with all the emotions we’d both been holding back. I felt myself melt into him, letting go of everything I’d tried so hard to keep hidden.

When we finally pulled away, he looked at me, his eyes wide with something that felt like surprise and… maybe even regret.

“Londen, I…” he started, but his words trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. He shook his head, looking down at the floor.

“What is it?” I whispered, feeling a knot of worry form in my stomach.

But he just stood up, running a hand through his hair. “I—I have to go,” he muttered, his voice strained.

I reached out to him, confused, my heart racing. “Jaden, wait. What’s going on?”

He hesitated, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t read—pain, maybe even fear. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the studio, leaving me alone in the quiet, with nothing but the echo of his kiss and the weight of his absence.

As the door swung shut behind him, I stood there, stunned, a thousand questions flooding my mind. Why had he kissed me? And why had he left so suddenly? It felt like the ground had shifted beneath me, and I was left standing in the empty studio, feeling as if a part of me had walked out with him.

The heart tattoo he’d given me still stung, a fresh reminder of the kiss that lingered on my lips. But as the minutes turned to hours, and he didn’t return, I realized that maybe this was one of those unfinished stories he’d talked about.

And for the first time in a long time, I was scared—scared of what I felt, scared of the emptiness he’d left behind, and scared that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t coming back.