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Nov. 9th, 2019 02:51 pmAfter seeing Alex's tattoo and spending a few weeks enjoying waking up to press kisses against it, touching it, and knowing what it stands for, Michael's finally found something that he wants for himself. Max had covered himself in tattoos back home and for Michael, it had been twofold. He hadn't really thought anything really belonged on his body, not even the symbol, but also he'd never had the money.
Those things aren't true anymore.
The design he's picked evokes plenty of important things to him. It's got the stars and constellations that speak to his alien nature without outright claiming it, but the shape evokes a treble clef and a guitar. To finish it off, he's threaded Alex's first name, scripted along the curve of the moon.
Because, to him, Alex is the one who's hung the moon.
It'd taken four hours in the morning for it to be done, and Michael's only now coming into the shop after lunch, feeling irritable and whiny and pained. He stops by the desk to greet Alex, dropping a coffee there as he leans in to press a kiss to his temple, cupping the side of his head. "Hey, you taken lunch yet?" he asks, checking his phone for the time.
He needs acetone, badly, because he hurts okay? Even if he'd had the tattoo done on the back of his shoulder (where Max has his, because at least he knows no reaction will happen), he still wants a lot of acetone. "I'm gonna grab mine and eat before I start work."
Those things aren't true anymore.
The design he's picked evokes plenty of important things to him. It's got the stars and constellations that speak to his alien nature without outright claiming it, but the shape evokes a treble clef and a guitar. To finish it off, he's threaded Alex's first name, scripted along the curve of the moon.
Because, to him, Alex is the one who's hung the moon.
It'd taken four hours in the morning for it to be done, and Michael's only now coming into the shop after lunch, feeling irritable and whiny and pained. He stops by the desk to greet Alex, dropping a coffee there as he leans in to press a kiss to his temple, cupping the side of his head. "Hey, you taken lunch yet?" he asks, checking his phone for the time.
He needs acetone, badly, because he hurts okay? Even if he'd had the tattoo done on the back of his shoulder (where Max has his, because at least he knows no reaction will happen), he still wants a lot of acetone. "I'm gonna grab mine and eat before I start work."
