The bell over the door of the tattoo parlor tinkled lightly as it opened slowly and Zayn didn't have to lift his head to know who it was. Right on time, like clockwork.
"Harry, you've got to stop coming in here every day," Zayn drawled as he looked at the shoppers magazine filled with colored gauges and body rings. Harry smirked and sauntered over to the counter, laying down a few notes on top of the page Zayn was looking at.
"But I'm a paying customer. You can't turn me away."
"I can turn you away when I think you're close to ink poisoning and getting four tattoos in the past two days is a bit ridiculous." He closed the magazine, pushing the money back towards Harry hand. Harry slid his hand so his fingertips touched Zayn's and no that wasn't butterflies in his stomach as Zayn's brown eyes came up to meet his.
"That's not even a real thing." Zayn rolled his eyes. "Besides, even if it were, what would you do about people who get sleeves and spend hours in a chair?"
"It's different," he muttered, standing up from the chair he was in and walked over to the door separating the lounge from the shop. He looked at Harry expectantly, leaning against the door frame. "Well, you coming back or what?"
Harry's grin took over his face as he walked towards him, brushing his hand over the tattoos peeking out from Zayn's shirt sleeve before grabbing at his wrist to pull him to the station he knew belonged to Zayn. Harry sat down in the soft, black leather chair, crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his hands behind his head.
"I feel like it's been a while since I've seen you," Harry said, eyes following the curve of Zayn's spine as he bent over to start up his gun, reaching for the razor and disinfectant on the shelf behind him.
"It's literally been," he stole a glance at his watch, "23 hours since I finished you up yesterday, Haz." Haz, Harry thought as he tried to will himself to not turn into a 13-year-old girl at the sound of the nickname.
Harry squirmed impatiently in the chair, watching carefully as Zayn pulled on latex gloves, the bottoms snapping around his inked wrists. Harry had been coming to Zayn's shop for the past two years. Whenever he would get that itch, he would scrounge up some cash and make his way to the tiny shop to get a small design somewhere on his body. He loved becoming a piece of art, seeing his pale skin being replaced with vivid colors and dark blacks and small masterpieces that turned him from plain ol' Harry into something much bigger than himself.
Zayn tattooed himself on Harry from the outside in. He drew lines and circles and dots that would melt beneath Harry's skin to carve smiles and breathless laughs and shared cigarettes and bright eyes onto his organs. Zayn was an art piece himself and Harry felt happy to give him a hanging place in his veins.
"What are we doing today?" Zayn said, propping his head up on his hand. Harry rolled his head over towards the sound of his voice, finding him down by his waist. He shrugged.
"I don't really know." Zayn's head snapped up. "Surprise me."
Harry laid his head back down and closed his eyes, waiting for Zayn's response. No, Harry, I couldn't choose for you. Are you completely insane? Get the fuck out of my shop. Anything but-
"Okay."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, why the fuck not?" Zayn picked his gun up off the small side table next to him. "Unzip your trousers."
"I'm sorry, what?" Zayn sighed.
"Do you want this to be a surprise or not?" Harry nodded his head, eyes large as they locked onto Zayn's. "Good, now. Unzip your fucking trousers."
