It had been a good many years since I’d set foot in a place like this — and I certainly hadn’t been alone the last time. Everyone I’d ever met who had tattoos had been pretty friendly, and I knew the stereotypes weren’t true, but it was still kind of an intimidating environment to arrive in, especially for a guy who looked like me.

Especially seeing the alpha who stood behind the desk.

He had eyes like the dark heat at the center of a burning match, and just as intense. If it wasn’t for the black-and-grey ink all over his body, even stretching up his neck and onto the side of his face, where a dagger pointed down at his sharp, square jawline. Dark stubble blended up into his hairline, and the thick, slicked-back length of hair on top of his head. Real men didn’t look like this — not outside of cologne advertisements and… well. Porn, probably.

I swallowed. Even the sound of his voice stroked a feather along the long-ignored needs of an omega. I’d buried those deep several years ago. I didn’t think they were accessible any more.

Then again, I also didn’t think men like this existed, so… what did I know, in the end?

“Um… yeah,” I said, which didn’t answer his question. “I have an appointment with Mark.”

My hand rubbed at the ring on my finger, absent-minded. I dropped it as soon as I realized what I was doing. The last thing I needed was to look any more nervous than I already did, and fiddling with my hands wouldn’t help that cause. That being said, it was probably a far-off dream to act normal around this alpha.

Even so, I couldn’t ignore the quiet voice inside my head. Couldn’t strangle it out, either, even though I tried.

Please be Mark.

“Right,” he said, flashing a smile of pearly white. My knees were already weak. Good thing tattoos were always done sitting down; I didn’t think I’d last on my feet much longer. God, this was embarrassing. How old was I, exactly? “You’ll be Dylan Kapernit.”

“That’s me.”

That’s me? I tried not to wince. If everything I said was as lame as this, then I wouldn’t have to worry; this alpha would disappear on me long before I got into any trouble. Still, if what I’d said was stupid, then the tattoo artist didn’t seem to notice.

“Great. Right this way.”

He was Mark. I followed after him, trying to remember what exactly constituted a ‘normal’ distance. The animalistic part of me wanted to be right at his heels, catching his scent right from the source. Maybe it had been too long since I’d paid attention to these needs, but what was I supposed to do, with a little girl in tow? You couldn’t exactly flick open Bitr and just… hook up with somebody. You also couldn’t call up your brother at two in the morning and ask him to take her.

I was destined to act like an idiot in front of alphas like this, and that was all there was to it. I should be grateful, really; shame was an excellent distraction from the mean reds.

Better not mention the mean reds in front of Mark. Maybe you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but he definitely didn’t seem like the kind of guy to recognize a reference to Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Or to respect a weedy little omega who did.

“So, Dylan,” he said, hopefully fully ignorant of what it did to me to hear him say my name like that. “Remind me what you’re looking for today.”

“Oh, um...” I cleared my throat. “I have a wedding ring on my finger…? Like. Tattooed. And I want to get it moved to the other hand.”

“You mean…?”

“Removed and redone,” I said, nodding. My ears turned pink. I hoped I didn’t sound stupid. Noah had this idea because one of his friends had done it. Maybe Mark had seen this before?

He nodded slowly, either way. “Okay,” he said. “Sure. I can do that. Let me take a look at it now?”

I held out my hand, already steeling myself for the physical contact. Omega hormones could be frustrating sometimes; I couldn’t help but envy humans who didn’t have to anticipate such strong reactions every time they went through the motions like this. That touch didn’t mean anything, no matter what my body and my instincts said. No matter how the warmth from his fingertips spread up my hand and down my forearm — set a hot blush across the back of my neck.

“Okay,” he said. “How old is this?”

“I got it six years ago.”

“Wear’s pretty good,” said Mark, turning my hand over in his. He wasn’t holding it any longer than he needed to. Right…? “You’ve taken good care of it. That’s not really on our side, but… it’ll come off nice and easy anyway. Just might take a little longer. Now… you know. Getting them removed hurts a lot worse than getting them done in the first place. You prepared for that?”

I nodded, though this was news to me. The pain didn’t really matter. I was sure I’d endured worse.

“Okay. Uh… I don’t want to get too personal, but… is it okay for you to be without it?”

I shook my head, not understanding.

Mark scratched the back of his neck. I could see his muscles, tense under his plain white t-shirt. I wished it wasn’t instinctive to notice details like that. If Micah were still around, it wouldn’t be. “Um. I guess what I’m asking is whether you’d feel better if we tattooed the new one first. That way there’s not going to be a time when you’re not wearing it.”

I hadn’t really thought about that. It was touching that he had. I only needed to think for a moment before nodding.

“I’d like that.”

“Okay. Sure. Let’s get this new one done first. You make yourself comfortable. Coat can go on the stand there.”

I shrugged it off and hung it up, trying not to stare as he started setting up the equipment. Now that I was right here preparing, it felt a lot more real. Would this really help, like Noah suggested? In the moment, it felt like purely a cosmetic change. An unnecessary one, at that. Maybe I should just ask Mark to fill in the old one, and…?

No. No, I had to try this at least.

I watched Mark setting up the tattoo machine and get a pot of ink ready.

“Just black, right?”

I blinked, coming back to myself. I hoped he hadn’t caught me staring. “Sorry. Yes, please. Just black.”

His back was turned, so I couldn’t see his reaction — just the back of his neck, hair shaved down quite close to the skin. Instinct had me imagining what it would feel like to bury my face there, and pick up all that heady alpha scent. I really had to put a stop to these thoughts before my hormones acted up and he could detect them. He was going to think I was some divorcee, recently free from a loveless marriage and horny for the first alpha that crossed my path.

Why did I care whether he thought that or not?

“I’m just gonna come out and say it,” he said. My heart dropped until he continued speaking. “I don’t know whether I should be asking or not, so I’m just gonna put it out there, and you can talk if you want to or tell me to keep my nose out.” He turned over his shoulder to look at me, all sparkly dark eyes. “What’s this in aid of?”

I looked down at my hand.

“You really don’t have to tell me,” he said, a beat later. “Tell me to butt out.”

“It’s not that,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind. It’s just… you know.”

“That’s okay. Say no more.”

He took a seat beside me in the chair, knees apart to better fit against the guest chair. I tried not to think about that, or the tightness of his jeans. My head was a mess of emotions right now.

“Alright. Naked hand, please.”

My traitorous ears turned red as if I were a teenager, but I lifted my hand to the black support cushion anyway. He grinned, evidently sturdy enough to shoulder the weight of the heavy topic we’d almost just breached. I liked that about him — the emotional resilience. But then I guessed he didn’t have a stake in any of this. “Sorry,” I said. “You’re having to walk me through this like a pup.”

“I was wondering if you’d noticed,” he said, testing the pedal and checking that his gloves were in place. “Hard to tell how good other people’s noses are sometimes.”

“I don’t know. Some things are pretty hard to miss.”

Did that make it too obvious he affected me?

“You’d be surprised.” The needle buzzed as he tested it again, a wide grin on his face. “Even our kind aren’t always paying close attention.” He was way too close to me to be this attractive. It wasn’t fair. Had Noah known that this guy would be here when he booked the appointment? Maybe I’d keep his extra ten dollars just for putting me through it if so. This was practically torture. Torture by handsome alpha. “Alright, pup. You ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

Too embarrassed to say much else, I let him go to work. He had a careful and light touch; though it hurt, in that deep-scratch way only a tattoo could, it was much more bearable than I remembered. Maybe the other artist had been heavy-handed.

Or maybe I had just been weaker then.

Like I’d just been thinking, pain didn’t really hold much over me any more. It was too familiar.

Maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t talking. By the time the new ring was finished, I couldn’t even catch his scent any longer; my head was full of memories, and all I could do was nod as he asked how it was.

“You good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You still want me to take it off this hand?”

I nodded. I’d come this far. What was a little longer in the fire?

“Okay,” he said. “Wait here just a sec. I’m going to wrap that for you. Then I’m going to get the laser equipment set up.”

In the end, he didn’t do any of that first. He brought me a glass of water and a square of dark chocolate. The kindness of the gesture pulled me up for a heartbeat, but I still felt like I was wading through mud as he continued preparing around me. His silence and the strength of his presence were comforting. I was pretty sure I could get through this and make it to my car for privacy before this all caught up with me.

“Okay, we’re all set. You ready for the laser?”

“Yeah,” I managed.

I thought I was telling the truth. Then he murmured, “Here we go,” and the burning started — and it was so much more than I had been expecting that it shocked me out of silence.

I was crying before there was anything I could do to stop myself.

“Whoa, hey...”

I shook my head as he stopped. “No, no...”

“Never mind ‘no, no’. Take it easy. It’s okay. We can wait.”

“I’m just-”

“We can wait,” he insisted. His gloved hand came to rest on my wrist. His scent came flooding back in one heady rush, knocking the wind out of me. Tugging the words out of me.

“It’s just… a lot.”

“It really fucking hurts,” he agreed. “I haven’t had much laser, but – wow, it’s...”

“No, not just that.”

He fell silent, eyes down on my hand. I felt alternatively foolish and supported between heartbeats, too caught up in shame to abandon the explanation and in too much pain to keep it bottled up.

It had been a very difficult day.

“I lost my husband,” I said, eventually. It felt like putting down a dead-weight; even just getting the words out was a relief. My body still burned from the length of time I’d been lifting it, but… hell. At least I’d put it down. “Two years ago.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I believed him. Whenever I’d been forced to tell strangers any of these difficult details about my life, I could sometimes detect an air of desperation about them. I had to live this horrible story, and they didn’t even want to have to endure hearing it. Didn’t want the awkwardness of not knowing what to say. By contrast, there was something purposeful and honest in Mark’s voice. Something that told me I didn’t have to feel bad about telling him, or about feeling sad.

Or maybe I was projecting what I needed onto this handsome alpha. Even if I was, it felt surprisingly good.

“It’s just difficult, you know?” I said, venturing a guess that it was okay to keep talking. His hand was still warm on my wrist. He wasn’t pulling back or leaning away; his body language wasn’t saying ‘stop’ while his mouth said ‘continue’. He was listening, even though he didn’t have to. “Because you want to move on, and you’re supposed to move on. Everybody tells you to move on. But how are you supposed to do that? And am I supposed to just forget…?”

“No,” he said, with surprising confidence.

Who had he lost, I wondered, that made him so sure?

“You don’t forget,” he continued. “You remember. Like you’re doing with this ring. I think you have the right idea. Take it off the one hand — not married. But put it on the other. Keep it with you. But getting over something like that… that’s like getting a tattoo in itself, you know? It hurts. You can’t do it without enduring that pain. Then once it’s done… it’s yours forever. Doesn’t hurt any more.”

I swallowed. I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks, and a pain thrashing in my chest like an animal — but a good pain, somehow. A pain I was expelling, rather than holding onto. Catharsis. Moving on.

“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t know how to be eloquent. Couldn’t tell him how much it meant to me, what he’d said. I wasn’t sure it could be put into words. When I met his eyes, I figured I didn’t have to.

“It’s okay,” he promised. “Really. I… don’t think any of us are really alive until we’ve been there.” A beat later, he cleared his throat. “So. If it’s too much for today, you can come back another time. But would you like me to finish…?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

After what he’d told me, I needed to.

It hurt like hell. There was no getting around that. He held my hand in place as he lasered away the last traces of the old ring, and I could feel tears brimming all the way through — but by the time we were done, and I could glance between the old ring and the new one, carefully covered in plastic wrap?

I felt like I’d done something good. Like I’d turned around a day I thought was lost.

Like I’d taken Noah’s advice to talk to somebody after all.

I stayed quiet, watching Mark tidy everything away. When it was all clear, he pulled off his gloves — and when I stood, he pulled me close into his arms for a brief, tight hug.

His scent was everywhere, and it wasn’t even the first thing I was thinking about. It just felt good to be held. Even my inner, thirsty omega was quiet in deference to the feeling of relief and well-being that spread through me like heat. When he let go, I felt like I’d been remade.

“Thank you,” I said, only hoping that my words were as sincere and powerful as his had been earlier. I needed him to know.

“You’re welcome,” he said. The ghost of a smile tugged on his lips, maybe marking the end of this strange intimacy we’d developed. A return to the real world. “And now I get to take your money.”

“You sure do.”

We headed out to the desk. The tattoo parlor didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as it had before, and even the heavy rain outside couldn’t suppress the way I felt. I paid for the new tattoo, and for the removal of the old one; I tipped well, feeling awkward and grateful and awkward about how grateful I was. No doubt I was a mess, but soon enough he was handing me a care sheet and sending me on my way.

“Any problems,” he said, leaning against the desk. “You come back in. I’ll see you right.”

“I appreciate it. Thanks, Mark.”

“Hey, you’re welcome. Maybe you’ll let me cover a full arm next time.”

I laughed, heart pounding at the sight of his smile, and I knew it was time to leave. Heading out the door, I dashed through the streets to my car, as much to get back into private space as it was to get out of the rain. Today should be about me and Micah, but far from being stuck in the past, my whole body was flush with something unmistakably new — and my skin was still tingling with potential where it had touched Mark’s.