Rose Tattoos | H.S (discontinued)

𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

"I wanna live here," I whispered to Harry.

Him and I currently sat on the grass even though we're bothered by the pricks digging into our legs as we watched the small dot of the sun disappear below the horizon.

"But you do?" He whispered back.

I let out a short, airy laugh. "No, I mean I want to live here in the garden."

I flinched when I laid my back on the grass—so that I wouldn't break my neck trying to look at the sky—because of the pricks poking me everywhere.

The bright, fiery color is now replaced by a dark, denim-like color with little twinkling specks sprinkled over it.

Harry leaned back to lay beside me.

"Ah, fucking bitch," he hissed. Squirming on top of the sharpness of the grass.

"You can handle the needle of a rotary machine but not the pricks of grass?"

"Oh, shut up," he said in his thick accent.

We laughed in unison with no tension in the air. I'm sort of glad he got that joke real quick. It would have been embarrassing if he didn't otherwise I would have ruined something great: our new friendship.

In the short amount of time I've known him from when he walked through the parlors door for tattoos, getting smoothies after a trip at the museum to being here right now, I guess I can say I would have never thought about lying beside a client of mines at seven p.m. on the weekend just staring at something so boring, yet so mesmerizing.

"Tinker Bell." Harry said randomly, facing me.

"Tinker Bell?" I repeated, facing him as well. His eyes were focused into mine and even in the dark I could see those glowy-green eyes.

He broke out into another smile and nodded when I said it.

"You shined so bright when the sun hit your skin, it looked like you were glowing like a fairy."