Harlequinne

- tea and tattoos -

Here's how i remember it: I'm laughing my head off over some stupid knock-knock joke you just made and next thing I know we're touching. Not, y'know, point-on-the-doll-where-he-touched-you type touching. No, it was just a light touch on my shoulder.

It was late at night in a hotel room in Australia. All the lads had left to their own respective rooms and we were both very tired and a little bit wine drunk, the perfect equation. We were playing off of each other and poking fun at things and mimicking people and recounting funny stories but it eventually led to this: tea and tattoos. 

We put away the wine bottle and I brewed a cuppa. As I stood there next to the little burner and kettle, you were splayed on the floor across the pillows and blankets we had tossed there for optimal comfort and conversation. 

We fell into a comfortable silence as the whistling of the kettle became the only sound in the room. 

I was looking down at my nails, you were tracing the butterfly on your abdomen. I poured us our tea and came back to our spot on the floor. We sipped silently occasionally looking at each other. As I was blowing lightly on my tea, you reached out and started tracing the flower on my shoulder. 

It surprised me because before then, we had never had any more contact other than a kiss on the cheek for hello/goodbye and friendly hugs. It was weirdly intimate. 

I scolded myself for melting under your light touch; goosebumps ran along my collarbone as you kept drawing what was already drawn. 

I felt myself unravelling under your touch.

Isn't that weird, how I've never stopped feeling this everytime we touch? 

"When did you get this one?" you said gently. 

I made a little humming sound and replied, "Well, last year marked the 5th year my aunt lost her battle with breast cancer," you furrowed your eyebrows at that. I continued, "This was actually one of her drawings she gave to me when I was little. Whenever I was upset, she'd squeeze my shoulder, and it comforted me. So this is my small way of honoring her." I'd only ever told my immediate family this story and it felt like giving away a secret to you. We were not close at the time, so it felt almost like telling a stranger I still wet the bed or something. This night is when I feel we bonded the most. Forget the month on tour with you where we became friends and had loads of fun, no, this night was the night I opened up a little bit of myself to you for the first time. All because of a touch. 

I asked you about your tattoos and sure enough they were all silly arranged doodles, except for the swallows on your chest, they meant something. You lost a bet and got that one, you saw this somewhere and got this one, and so on. It was amusing hearing about the places where you got them and your reasons, or non-reasons, you got them. 

And then I told you about the birds going up the side of my hand were about beauty and freedom. The 'x' and 'o' on each of my wrists were to always be kind and loving. The "follow your bliss" on one foot and "bring your passion" on the other were my life motto. And finally, the tattoo on my left thigh is a beautiful work of art my best friend had drawn right before the horrific crash a few years back that left him dead and a large gash running from above my right hip to just above my knee. 

The whole time, I was saying this slowly in between sips of tea and you were there listening intently. You had stopped tracing my shoulder and moved to trace my thigh. I bit my lip when a bolt of electricity shot through me. You looked up at me and gave me a shy smile and retreated your hand. I almost wanted to reach out for your hand and shout 'don't stop!' but that would have been taking it a little too far. 

You still continue to trace my tattoos lazily and we still have conversations over tea. And I would never trade having you for anything in the world. 

~ Quinne ❃