Witness (boyxboy)

Chapter 8: Not A Common Contract

Despite everything, criminals still exist. In fact, with all the technology, crime of the hacking variety has increased immensely.

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Have you ever slept so well that you wake up completely refreshed and ready for the day?

Neither have I.

My eyes tiredly flutter open as I hear birds chirp loudly. Tempted to simply roll over and go back to sleep, I keep my eyes open as memories of the party flicker through my mind.

Michael.

I shoot up in bed and look around my room, only to find it empty. I mean, what was I expecting? Michael carrying me to my room like a princess and staying the night in my bed? Well, I am just in my boxers... Did I get undressed or did Michael do it for me?

I flush brightly at the thought.

I can't remember what happened. So sue me.

Pulling on some sweatpants, I decide to go downstairs to eat. It's a little passed 7am on a Saturday, so neither of my "roomies" should be up just yet. I trot down the stairs feeling a slight chill. It's been a long time since I've been shirtless, but it feels good to have my tattoos out in the open.

They're frowned upon, so I always have to hide them. Tattoos with my race is like a fingerprint. They can be similar, but they're never exactly the same. Mine are in the shape of a star with swirls and streaks coming from it. The star rests just above my collarbone in between my shoulder and neck on my right side, and the the swirls and streaks stream down the side of my chest, my shoulder, and the side of my back. It's a silvery color that seems to shimmer in light. I've always loved it, because my mom always said that it made me her little shooting star. The thing about Dakarians is that we are born with their tattoos in our skin, but they aren't given color until circuitry is put into our body after we're born. It's a beautiful side affect, and it doesn't bother me in the slightest, unlike a lot of people.

Shuffling into the kitchen, I make myself some coffee and a bowl of cereal. I'm too lazy to make anything else. I plop down at the table and tiredly stretch before starting to eat.

"What the hell is that?"

I turn towards Michael in surprise as he stares at my shoulder in confusion. My gaze flickers to the tattoo and back to the confused blonde as a spoon hangs from my mouth. He walks over in loose pajama pants and a tight wife beater. His normally pulled back hair is messy and unbrushed, making him look utterly adorable.

No. Not adorable. Stop it Conrad.

"This?" I ask, pulling out the spoon and gesturing to my tattoo with a mouthful of cereal.

He nods and collapses into the chair next to me.

"Every one of my kind has it," I tell him after swallowing my food. "It's proof of the circuitry in our bodies."

He stares at it for a moment, perplexed. He gently brushes his fingertips along the mark, making me shudder.

"You probably shouldn't do that," I warn quietly, lowering my head in embarrassment.

"What? Why the fuck not?" He seems kind of angry that I won't let him touch it.

I swallow and shift awkwardly. "It's...uh, sensitive..." My gaze flicks to him quickly, barely catching the blush build onto his face.

"Oh."

I let out a nervous laugh and run a hand through my thick messy curls. "Yeah." I look over to him as he avoids my gaze uncomfortably. "Thanks again for helping me," I say with a small smile as his chocolate gaze reverts to me. He looks at me and leans onto the table, leaving only a foot of space between us. My palms grow sweaty, and I swallow nervously as he studies me closely.