Page 1 of Epidermis

one

Jasper should have stayed home.

He didn’t have any appointments, just sketches to work on, and that could have been done from the comfort of his own desk, stained though it was with pale rings from mugs of coffee he never quite finished before it got cold. His workspace at the tattoo shop had no such identifying traits. It was immaculate and impersonal. Other artists had framed pictures of loved ones or prints of their favorite work they’d done, or figurines lining the half walls that separated the booths. People would ask Hiyori if the woman in her photos was her girlfriend, and she would beam and correct them—wife.

His co-workers chose pieces of themselves to put on display that they were willing to expose to strangers. Jasper imagined that would feel like gutting himself and scattering his booth with viscera, but each to their own. What was inside his co-workers was far more palatable to expose than what was in him.

Jasper noticed a smudge of charcoal on his finger and wiped it on his black jeans, where it would become indiscernible from all the other black. He didn’t mind getting his hands dirty at home. There, his fingers would be streaked with black, he’d get paint in his hair, graphite would stain under his nails, and he always left his workshop in a state of organized disarray.

Only because he was there alone.

That wasn’t something he showed to the world. He didn’t want to give people anything to look at. Social media had done a splendid job of that already; winning a coveted award was life-changing for his career but also an introvert’s worst nightmare. Hiyori’s shop had already been among the best and once Jasper was recognized for his work at The National Tattoo Convention, the largest tattoo convention in the United States, even more people flocked to their door.

Jasper was never not booked—he only had today off because he’d scheduled it that way. Anything more than five days a week tattooing and he burned out like a matchstick. He felt incredibly fortunate to never have to worry about having work, it had just been an adjustment to go from reluctantly promoting himself on his own account of a few hundred to being asked for an interview for Inked: A Collective, an account with over a million followers. It had started as a magazine that he used to read every week as a teenager—never buying, since his dad couldn’t afford it, but he would pluck it from the magazine stand and look through it while they waited in line. Then it went digital when physical media started to fall out of popularity.

The bell above the door chimed, but he didn’t look up. His booth was all the way in the back corner and he effectively was not there. Hiyori got up to greet their guest and unfortunately paused her music to do so, leaving Jasper no choice but to listen to their conversation in the abrupt silence.

“Hi, welcome to Blackwing Tattoo. Are you my three o’clock?” she asked.

Was it really almost three? Christ. Jasper ran a hand down his face. He didn’t realize he’d been drawing for that long. The last time he’d looked at a clock, it was noon.

“No, I’m afraid I’ve come to intrude as a walk-in.” The man’s voice was accented. European, but not an accent Jasper was familiar with. He heard the click of dress shoes on the tile as the man walked further into the shop. “A single ear piercing, if you have the time.”

The bell chimed again. Hiyori’s three o’ clock consult, most likely.

A brief conversation confirmed that to be the case, and Hiyori told the man, “My piercer had to leave early today and I’m afraid I have an appointment, but give me just a second.” The shop piercer was Shariah, Hiyori’s sister-in-law, so needless to say, Shariah got cut all the slack when she needed to leave early.

Hiyori came up to the half wall between their booths, folded her arms on it, and rested her chin on them to smile at him.

Jasper stared back, unimpressed. “I’m not here.”

“Come on, please? He’s so nice, and an ear piercing takes like, two seconds. I bet he’s a great tipper,” she whispered. Strange assumption, but Jasper didn’t care enough to question it.

She liked to pester him in that little sister kind of way, but altogether she didn’t ask for much. Hiyori was endlessly accommodating to Jasper’s quirks, never pushed him to take any of the interviews he was constantly asked for, and always brought him lunch because he forgot to eat otherwise. Jasper sighed and laid his sketchbook next to his computer. “Fine. I’ll get set up.”

“I love you.”

He went to Shariah’s booth and collected what he needed. She’d left early with a migraine, so Jasper could have done the piercing there, but he preferred his booth. It was further away from the door and he didn’t like how Shariah’s collection of scantily clad anime girl statues looked at him. Waifus, she always stressed.

He’d just sat back down and prepped the chair when Hiyori walked the customer back. She was taking his ID and giving him a clipboard. “Alright, Mr. Iversen, I’m just going to make a copy of this while you sign your life away. You go ahead and get comfortable. Jasper’s gonna take good care of you.” She smiled and left with a swish of her long black ponytail, and she managed to make even that movement look cheerful.

“Hello,” the man said, opening the button of his suit jacket before lowering himself into Jasper’s chair. He was dressed like he was on his way to the opera and smelled like an entirely different tax bracket. No wonder Hiyori said he was probably a good tipper.

“Hello,” Jasper said, his lips twitching into his best imitation of the man’s polite smile. “I’m Jasper, I’ll be stabbing you today.”

The man’s smile lifted into something more genuine. Amused. “I can hardly wait.”

Hiyori returned to trade the man his ID for the paperwork he’d just finished signing, then left to see to her own appointment. She caught Jasper’s eye over the wall and mouthed thank you while the man was tucking his license back into his wallet. He stared back petulantly in return, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Which ear did you want?”

“The left, please. I’ve even brought my own earring.”

The man sounded proud of himself, if not slightly in a joking manner. Jasper gave him an apologetic look when he produced a small bag that held the earring in question. “I have to pierce you with a regular stud that has room to accommodate the initial swelling. As soon as it heals, you can wear whatever you like.”

“Ah.” The man was clearly disappointed, but understanding.

Jasper gave him the small case that displayed each of the starter earrings they offered. As the man looked down at it, Jasper looked at him. His posture was excellent, his hair combed meticulously into place in a way Jasper’s curls wouldn’t allow in a million years. His suit was beige, trimmed with the same dark brown as his eyes, and he looked to be somewhere in his forties. Handsome, in an untouchable sort of way.