••Holland/Osterfield imagines••

Semicolon;//Tom

(Word count: 2517)

A/N: So this is kind of like an alternative universe version of Tom so he's not a celebrity.

Warning: Mentions of suicide, depression, anxiety, and self harm

(Inspired by my own struggles and the story behind the tattoo I want to get when I turn 18)

I took a deep breath, pushing my large glasses up the bridge of my nose and grasping the handle of the tattoo shop door in front of me.

You can do this, Y/n.

I told myself, finally pulling the door open, causing a small bell to jingle, indicating a customer had arrived. I walked to the front desk, pulling at the fabric on my sweater sleeve. An attractive muscular young man with brown hair, big brown eyes, and tattoos covering his arms, most likely in his early 20s, walked behind the desk. He gave me a kind smile.

"How can I help you today, love?"

His words made me want to melt right then and there, his thick British accent being like pure gold dripping from his plump, pink lips.

"I uh...I made an appointment yesterday."

I stammered, watching him rake his finger through his luscious curls.

"Name?"

He asked, clicking at the computer on the desk.

"Uh...Y/l/n. Y/n Y/l/n."

He nodded and quickly typed my name into the computer, scrolling for a second then smiling.

"There you are! Why don't you head back with me and we'll get started. I'm Tom by the way."

I smiled and nodded as he led me to one of the back rooms.

I observed his movements, mesmerized by the muscles in his arms and back. He wore a tight black t-shirt, accompanied by some grey skinny jeans and a pair of black and white vans.

Holy Jesus...

I thought to myself as he directed me to sit on the large, leather chair. He sat across from me on his own swivel chair.

"So, what would you like done today?"

I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and placed it into my lap.

"I would like to get a semicolon on my hip."

He tilted his head to the side.

"Why a semicolon, might I ask?"

I ran my fingers through my hair.

"Well, when I was in high school I suffered with depression and anxiety, which I still have struggles with from time to time, and I used to harm myself...a-and at one point I attempted suicide..."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking down at my hands.

"The semicolon is when you have the choice and the power to end everything, but you decide to keep going. To continue the sentence."

I felt Tom's eyes on me as I sniffled slightly, trying not to break down. He placed his hand on my knee, making me look up at him. My red eyes met his sorrowful ones.

"You're so brave."

He whispered. I swear I saw a tear in his eye, but he wiped it away before I could really tell. I cleared my throat and sat back a little bit, pushing my glasses up my nose. He stood up and walked over to the table covered in random mechanical tools.