Chapter Text
Rumi knew she’d been standing on the sidewalk staring at the doorway long enough for it to be creepy, but she couldn’t help it.
It wasn’t that the doorway in question was itself daunting or anything; it was just a typical glass door, for a business that sat tucked away on a side street on the outskirts of Seoul. It was even sitting on the sunny side of the street as the day gently rolled over from morning to noontime, making the small chalkboard ‘welcome’ sign hanging inside it gleam all the brighter.
No, the part that was giving Rumi pause was what laid beyond the door. And the potential it had to change...everything.
Was she ready? Really ready?
...No.
Not really.
But she was also sick and tired of not being ready, so whatever she was now would just have to do.
Half regretting declining Jinu’s offer to accompany her, Rumi shook off her nerves as best she could and pushed the door to Ink Stained Tattoo open. A bell jingled pleasantly above her and a woman’s voice called out a greeting from the back in response, saying she would be right out.
Nodding an affirmation— and cringing when she realized there was no one upfront to actually see her do it —Rumi swallowed her nerves as best she could, trying to distract herself by taking in what she could see of the parlor from the front door.
Like any other business, the front was set up like a waiting/reception area, with a glass case doubling as a counter, and a long backless couch lining two of the walls all the way to the corner. The walls themselves were absolutely covered in framed artwork, ranging from old school 'flash tattoos'— as her anxiety-induced internet deep dive had taught her —to modern styles and what looked like straight up graffiti spray painted directly onto the dark red colored walls behind the frames. In one corner was what looked like one of those poster holders she saw in stores; the front page holding multiple small designs and presumably the rest holding even more, like a Rolodex of tattoo options.
The backmost wall, behind the counter, was more of a divider that was half wall, half curtain divvying up the front from the back; probably for privacy. The thought of no one seeing her while she was being worked on soothed Rumi for all of half a second before she remembered that the tattoo artist would very much be seeing her.
All of her.
Intimately.
Okay maybe this wasn’t a good idea aftera-
“Sorry for the wait!” a bright voice chirped as the curtain swished aside and someone came out from behind it. “Welcome! How can we help you today?”
Fortunately the appearance of another human being helped to snap Rumi out of what felt like the start of a spiral. Unfortunately, the “appearance” of said human seemed to unplug the part of her brain responsible for little things such as ‘speech’ and ‘social etiquette’.
The woman— around Rumi’s age, if not a little younger —was about what she had expected from someone working in a tattoo parlor. She was a few inches shorter than Rumi, with ink black hair curled up into two space buns at the back of her head, her ears littered with piercings that glittered under the warm overhead lights, and wearing a tight teal colored crop top that showed off the tattoos that flowed down from her shoulders like water. A second look revealed that there was water inked into her skin, with a plethora of what looked like sea turtles and tropical fish swimming along her biceps in vibrant greens and bright blues that almost made the water look dull in comparison.
Rumi had expected all of that. Tattoo parlor. Tattooed employee. It was so obvious.
What she hadn’t expected was for the woman to look so goddamn cute. If someone asked Rumi what the human version of a golden retriever looked like she would gesture to this girl like Will Smith to his wife. She couldn’t look at this girl without the word ‘happiness’ coming to mind. Everything from her big expressive eyes to her wide beaming smile to the way she couldn’t seem to stay still just from the sheer excitement of having someone in her shop gave the impression of someone who was having a great day and couldn’t wait to tell you all about it! Probably with multiple hand gestures-
“-Miss? You okay?” the black-haired golden retriever girl asked, heading tilting like an actual puppy and- O h fuck she asked me a question, shit-
“Hi!” Rumi squeaked, entirely too loudly, “Yes- Sorry! I just- Urg-"
Well, this is going well-
“I’m here to- get a tattoo?”
“Well this is definitely the place to get one,” the woman smiled, “Way better than if you went to, like, Claire’s or something. Not that they do tattoos; just piercings. But they kinda suck at it-”
“Who’s Claire?” Rumi asked bemusedly.
“Hm? Oh! Sorry! Wrong country!” she laughed, scratching the back of her head. “ Forgot they don’t really have that rep here... -Anyway, what kind of tattoo are you looking for?”
Rumi felt her shoulders lock up, but she took a deep breath and pushed through the familiar tinge of fear.
Here we go; moment of truth.
“The, uh, the kind that help...cover scars?” she said, finally leaving the confines of the doorway and stepping up to the counter, which she now noticed was filled with rows upon rows of piercings and stickers. “I-um I saw your posts on instagram and-”
"Oh! You’ll want Mira for that! She’s, like, our in-house expert. Hold on, let me get her,” the woman hopped back over to the curtain, pulling it far enough aside for her to stick her head through and yelled, “MIRA! COME UP HERE A MINUTE, PLEASE!”
Rumi, who hadn’t expected such a small woman to have that much volume in her, almost didn’t hear someone yell back a reply due to her own heart thumping so loudly in her ears from the shock.
“She’ll be right up-” the woman smiled, popping back into place behind the counter. “You’re gonna love her, she does great work! She’s the one who did my sleeves!”
“Oh? They do look nice! Very...crisp?”
“Uh huh!” she nodded vigorously, “Bet you have a hard time seeing my scars, huh?”
Rumi blinked. “Scars?” she wondered, automatically leaning forward for a closer look.
“Yup!” She raised one arm and pointed to some spot on her bicep with her free hand. “This one is from skateboarding. This one is from parkour-” she swapped arms, barely giving Rumi anytime to even spot the raised edges that dotted her arms. Though she did have enough time to note how very...toned they were. And she didn’t mean from the ink in the tattoos.
“-This one is from when I tried to parkour while skateboarding, and this one... Wait- What’s this one from again?” The woman squinted at the far side of her right forearm, as if doing so would help her recall the memory linked to what looked like a bumpy crescent halfheartedly carved into her flesh. While she stared, Rumi found herself a little concerned that someone could forget how they got a certain scar.
Then again, could she remember when she specifically got each one of hers?
...
Well...
“-Zo, you know you don’t really have to yell; the shop isn’t that big,” a new voice stated from behind the curtain, making Rumi jump back from the counter in surprise.
The curtain shifted and out came another employee who also was expectedly tattooed while also being unexpectedly attractive. Only where the first woman was short, bubbly and adorable, this one was tall, stoic-looking, and frankly just plain hot. She looked like one of those runway supermodels who were paid horrendous amounts of money to never smile.
Or maybe to step on people.
She honestly looked like she’d be down for either one.
Long red hair— almost pink, really —cascaded straight down her back from partial twin ponytails and Rumi’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the hue down until it was obstructed by the white sleeveless button-up top she was wearing. The arms coming out of said top were also covered in tattoos, only where the first girl had an oceanic theme going on, this one seemed to have no theme at all. Rumi saw flowers, chains, spikes, calligraphy, and what looked like a teddy bear holding a butcher knife in the first five seconds of looking; and that was just on one of the woman’s biceps. The woman looked like she had every style ever conceived decorating both of her arms, reminding Rumi of the old I-Spy books she’d loved as a kid. By all accounts it shouldn’t have worked— should have been a chaotic, cringey mess —but somehow this woman managed to pull it off.
“Mira, do you remember how I got this scar?” bubbly girl asked, holding the scarred limb in question towards her. The taller woman leaned down slightly and looked for all of half a second before a smirk spread across her face.
“Zoey. That one was me. Remember?”
“Oh yeah!” ‘Zoey’ giggled, and -oh Hell, she has dimples- “- You got all cute-aggressive that one time. Damn vampire.”
“You love me, you damn monsterfu-”
“-Anyway! This is- Shit- Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Zoey.”
“No silly," Zoey giggled, "That’s my name. I want hers-”
“-Rumi! I’m Rumi,” Rumi stated in a voice that blessedly did not betray how gay her thoughts were.
The blush she could feel on her cheeks was doing that job all on its own.
“Hi Rumi! I’m Zoey, and this is my girlfriend, Mira,” Zoey explained with a beaming smile and even a slight bow that Rumi returned reflexively.
“Yeah, I think she got that, Zo,” Mira smirked again; the expression on her face giving Rumi ‘I know what you are’ vibes that she vehemently ignored.
“She’s looking for a tattoo to cover a scar-”
“-Scars. Actually. P-Plural,” Rumi spat out, feeling her cheeks heat up even more when both of their gazes were on her at the same time. She felt the immediate urge to backtrack— Scars? What scars? I don’t have any scars, ha ha ha —and it took every ounce of willpower she had to stay rooted in place.
Especially when she saw Mira change.
She couldn’t explicitly say what was different. A change of stance? A different level of tension in her shoulders? She wasn’t sure. All Rumi knew was that something was different about the way Mira held herself now. The different way she was looking at Rumi now.
She wasn’t sure if she particularly liked it.
“Did you have any design in mind?” Mira asked, the edge of her voice somehow rounder now. Softer. Rumi grit her teeth and tried her best to not read it as pity.
“Not...exactly,” she confessed; in all her hours of research it was the one thing she hadn’t been able to figure out. “It just- Needs to be... Big?”
The implications of why it needed to be big seemed to fill the space between her and the two women. Rumi felt one foot beginning to twist towards the door.
This was a mistake-
“-Big. Alright, I can work with that,” Mira stated with a nod before jerking one thumb over her shoulder. “How about we pop back into my office and work on the details; my next appointment isn’t for a few hours.”
We have time, Rumi thought Mira’s eyes said.
She took a breath and tried to slow her heart down.
“Uh- Yeah. Sure. Okay.”
Mira held the curtain open, gesturing for Rumi to enter first. Zoey chirped a “Good luck! Let me know if you two need anything!” as she passed her; and before Rumi knew it she was properly in the business side of a tattoo parlor.
Her sneakers squeaked as the black and white checkered tiled floor continued on to the back, and stepping beyond the curtain revealed a surprisingly spacious area. The space seemed to be divvied up into four areas: each with an armless rolley chair, a swivel chair that looked like it belonged in a barber shop, a small bookcase, and what looked like a rollable metal chest of drawers that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a garage. Directly opposite where she stood was a small hallway that held a few doors on either side, with an emergency exit at the far end. The whole area was brightly lit, and smelled like cleaning supplies, ink, and, for some reason, a hint of something almost spicy.
Startled out of her rubbernecking by Mira strolling by her, Rumi followed her to the back-left most section, taking the swivel chair when the taller woman gestured to it.
While she made herself comfortable, Mira walked to the wall and began dragging a curtain along a railing-system that Rumi hadn’t even noticed was installed into the ceiling. When it was fully closed the section they were in was completely cut off from the rest of the room.
“Alright-” Mira stated, clapping her hands as she plopped down onto the chair in front of Rumi; manspreading in a way the purple-haired woman explicitly ignored, “-I am a big fan of ripping off the bandaid, so; may I please see the scars you want me to cover?”
Rumi just managed to not choke on her own breath at the bluntness, though she couldn’t help but freeze in place regardless; nails dug into her own thighs as she fought the reflex to run.
This was a bad idea-
No it’s not-
I should wait for Jinu-
I’m already here-
This feels humiliating-
So does having the scars-
“Hey.”
The word, spoken so softly, still managed to snap Rumi out of her spiral hard enough for her to jolt in her seat.
Looking up— when had she looked down? —she saw Mira. Still sitting on her stool, elbows placed on her knees in a relaxed fashion, even while it was evident that Rumi had her full attention.
“It’s okay. It’s just you and me. No one else. And I’m much better at keeping my mouth shut than Zoey is,” Mira murmured, the gentleness of her words matched by her small smile.
Rumi blinked, surprised when on her next inhale the edges of her vision sharpened. Had she been starting to hyperventilate?
...
...Is this worth it?
...
Mira was still looking at her. Not with impatience, or even pity.
Just: waiting.
...
...
...Yes.
Taking a deep breath that felt like it tripped slightly on the way down, Rumi reached for her left sleeve with a hand that quietly shook. Grabbing the end of the shirt she had chosen specifically because it was so loose, she pulled it up her arm, feeling it stretch slightly as it bunched over her bicep.
She kept her gaze firmly on the floor; she already knew what was underneath.
The scars varied. In thickness, length. Some were laid out in neat rows like soldiers on parade. Others crisscrossed like she’d lost a fight with a tiger cub.
The biggest one— nearly as long as her palm was wide —ran along the inside of her forearm. Right on top of and alongside her artery.
It was her worst scar. And the newest, even if already a few years old.
It had also come closest to never becoming a scar at all.
She once more regretted not bringing Jinu. She bit her lip to keep her mind and her body where it was.
Mira said nothing for a while. If it wasn’t for the combat boots in the edge of her vision, Rumi would have forgotten she was there at all.
“...Is it just the one arm?” she finally asked after a minute long eternity.
“...No. M-My right, too. ...And my shoulders...”
“Hm,” she hummed quietly. The noise didn’t sound judgmental, but Rumi’s mind thought she heard it anyway. Her fingers twitched with the urge to drag her sleeve back down.
“Alright then,” Mira said before she rolled herself over to the shelf on the wall— plucking a black sketchbook from it —before rolling back to Rumi’s right side. “I have a bunch of sleeves I’ve designed already; how about we go through and see if anything sparks your interest. Yeah?”
“Y-Yeah. That sounds- Good,” Rumi squeaked back.
As Mira flipped through the pages— mumbling under her breath about ‘organizing her shit one of these days’ as she seemed to look for something in particular —Rumi tucked her bare arm out of sight, slowly working her sleeve back down to her wrist.
If Mira noticed the movement, she didn’t mention it; only letting out a breathy “Aha” as she finally found a design for Rumi to look at.
Rumi could feel her frustration beginning to dig into her spine like an irritable goblin in need of a good nail clipping, and she was sure Mira was about three seconds away from being absolutely Done™ with her.
They’d been sitting in the artist’s section for what felt like an hour, flipping through page after page of the woman’s artwork. Talking about this and that— what Rumi liked, what she didn’t —trying to find something that Rumi thought she could have imprinted on her body for the rest of her life.
But nothing was ‘clicking’. Not like all her online research and Mira herself said it would.
And it wasn’t because Mira’s designs weren’t beautiful. They were! Every time Rumi thought she’d seen the peak of the woman’s skill— the best of her linework, her composition, her use of color —she’d turn a page and casually show off a piece even more amazing than the last!
Rumi loved every single tattoo that Mira showed her.
She just...didn’t think she could wear any of them. Do them proper justice. As if their potential was wasted on trying to cover up her mistakes. Her sins.
They were on their third sketchbook now— one bristling with looseleaf sheets of paper sandwiched between every other page —and Mira had decided to let Rumi thumb through it on her own. Like she hoped that perhaps one of the smaller tattoos she’d designed would catch enough of Rumi’s attention for her to compose an entire sleeve around it.
The frustration was now transitioning from her spine to her throat and Rumi could feel it begin to tighten with anxiety. She was taking too long. She needed to pick something soon or else Mira might finally lose her patience and simply kick her out of the shop. Get annoyed for wasting her time on someone who didn’t know what she wanted, only that it wasn’t anything she’d seen so far. And she had liked what she’d seen so far. She just had to pick something, soon, but nothing felt right and really she should just pick something, anything, and quit being so picky as if she wasn’t grateful Mira was willing to tattoo her at all and-
“-You guys doing okay back here?”
Rumi yelped as a sudden voice chirped loudly from behind her and Mira. She flinched so hard that the sketchbook slipped right out of her hands and landed corner first onto the floor; the loose pages popping out of it like large pieces of confetti and fluttering around her feet.
“Zoey,” Mira admonished tiredly, though her voice seemed to have a fond tinge to it.
“Sorry!” Zoey apologized. Rumi glanced back over her shoulder, seeing the shorter girl sticking her head around the edge of the curtain while holding enough of it up to cover the lower half of her face.
“I didn’t hear the machine going so I didn’t think- I just wanted to check in! You two have been back here for a while-”
“Shit- Your book,” Rumi hissed, popping out of her chair into a crouch, gathering the scattered papers, “I am so sorry!”
“It’s fine; the floor’s clean. A little gravity won’t hurt them,” Mira assured her, kneeling down to help while throwing Zoey a look over her shoulder, “Though the same couldn’t be said of sneaking up behind people.”
“I was not sneaking! I walked just as loudly as I usually do! Which is usually what you complain about!” Zoey retorted, defending herself.
“Only when you make your shoes squeak!”
“Squeaking shoes are proof of a clean floor!”
The pair argued— bantered, really —back and forth behind Rumi; but she’d stopped paying attention. While picking up the papers one page in particular had caught her eye. It’d been obscured at first, over half covered by other pages so that all she could really see was the lower corner of it; but something about it just said “Look at me” in a polite but firm voice. Pinching the corner, she drew it out of the pile and realized what she had been looking at was the back leg and tail of a tiger.
It wasn’t a realistic tiger. Probably the intention, as she’d already seen Mira’s ability to render something so lifelike it almost breathed on the page. No; this tiger was drawn in the old school style, like something from a woodblock print. Almost a caricature, really. The tiger had an exaggeratedly big blocky head, with large demonic-like fangs that curled out of its mouth like tusks. It was walking up the page, its back to Rumi, and looking back at her over one shoulder with giant eyes that reminded her of Jinu’s cat, Derpy; a fluffy ragdoll of a creature who forever looked like his head contained zero thoughts, only vibes.
But what really caught her attention, were the stripes.
Actually, “stripes” was perhaps too generous of a word; they didn’t look like traditional tiger stripes. They were shorter— zigzagging here and there around each other in a jagged chaotic fashion —unlike anything she’d ever seen on any real animal. They almost reminded her of stubby lightning. They curled and bunched up over the tiger’s muscles in a hypnotic pattern and Rumi found herself unable to look away.
“...You good?” Mira’s voice inquired softly from beside her. Blinking back into the room, Rumi turned her head to the side to find the redhead crouched down right next to her. She had a look on her face that Rumi didn’t have time to place before her mind reminded her of where she was and what she’d been doing.
“Sorry! Yes! I’m good!” she answered, hurrying to gather up the rest of her papers at her feet before rising back up; though she made sure to keep the tiger illustration on top.
“You’re okay,” Mira responded, standing alongside her. “Something catch your eye?”
“Um. Yes?” Rumi squeaked before she shook her head and tried answering more firmly. “I mean- Yes. Yes, I did- It did.”
“Ooh ooh, I wanna see!” Zoey squealed, bouncing into view so hard into Mira’s side Rumi feared she’d topple over. Her eyes widened with glee as she took in the illustration. “Ooooooh, a tiger! That’d look fierce on you!”
Fierce.
Rumi felt the word slip right between her ribs and coil gently but firmly around her spine. She knew the word, but had never really thought of it in relation to herself. It was used to show intensity. Strength. Ferocity.
Words that she never could imagine herself being described as. Words that she was practically the antonym to. She was more soft. Quiet.
Docile.
But she didn’t want to be. Not anymore.
Fierce.
The word whispered in her head. A promise and a challenge all rolled into one.
“So you thinking of getting the tiger?” Mira asked calmly, drawing her back out of her head for the second time in as many minutes.
Looking down at the drawing again— had she ever really taken her eyes off of it? —Rumi felt something click. Like cracking a joint she hadn’t realized had gone stiff somewhere deep inside her.
It felt amazing. It felt freeing.
It felt right.
“Actually-” she swallowed, unsure of when her mouth had gotten so dry, “Do you- Would it be possible to just get the stripes?”
“The stripes?” the taller woman questioned, tilting her head and taking a closer look at her own artwork.
“Yeah,” Rumi nodded, “I- uh- I like, the patterns?”
Mira looked at the page for a few seconds before straightening up and smiling at Rumi in a way that made her heart stutter for a moment.
“Yeah, we can do that.”
“R-Really?”
“Absolutely,” the redhead nodded.
“Oh for sure!” Zoey grinned, “Mira could handle something like that no problem!”
“Give me a few minutes and I can have a mock-up ready for you to look at. Do you want both arms to be the exactly the same or different?”
“Uhhhh-”
-Gurgle-gurgle-
Rumi’s indecisive sound of ‘I have to decide more things?!’ was loudly interrupted by the growling of her stomach. She glared down at the traitorous organ, feeling her blush go all the way up to her ears; she’d been so anxious about coming to the parlor that she’d skipped breakfast, and now that she thought about it, it was past her usual lunchtime as well-
“Well someone sounds hungry,” Mira chuckled, leaning back from where she’d plucked yet another sketchbook from her collection; resting it on her crossed knee and already opening it to a fresh page.
“Which is another reason for why I came back to bug you two,” Zoey sighed fondly, “I was about to grab lunch from down the street. Mir, you want your usual?”
“Yes, please,” she responded, not looking up from where she’d already begun to put pencil to paper, “-With some of those reaper peppers, if he has any more.”
“I’ll ask,” the ravenette chirped happily before turning her big eyes to Rumi in a manner that seemed far too excited in the other girl’s opinion. “Hey, do you wanna come with? My treat!”
“Wha- O-Oh! No, thank you, I’d hate to impose-”
“You’re not imposing, I’m offering; big difference!” Zoey explained before leaning in and whispering loudly, “Besides, Mira hates it when people watch over her shoulder while she sketches.”
“Only when they’re chewing the squelchiest gummies known to mankind, Zo,”Mira deadpanned.
“Plus you really shouldn’t be making any big decisions on an empty stomach! Where is your brain going to get its energy from?!”
“And also she always orders too much and then has trouble carrying it all back.”
Zoey pouted at Mira with narrow eyes. “You say that and yet we rarely have any leftovers now, do we? ...But, yeah; I would love a hand. Also I feel like I owe you for scaring you a second ago, soooooo-”
“You really don’t have to-”
“Pleeeaaaaaassssseeee?” Zoey drawled, smiling up at Rumi with the most puppy-esque puppy dog eyes she had ever seen on a human and dear lord why was this girl so cute?!
“...”
“...”
The puppy eyes somehow intensified the longer Rumi stayed silent.
“...Okay...”
“Yay~” she grinned, gently taking Rumi’s hand and dragging her through the curtain and the rest of the parlor like an actual leashed puppy, gushing about the restaurant they were going to every step of the way. She thought she might have heard Mira chuckling at her— or at least at her expense —as they left, but she wasn’t sure.
“You’re gonna love this place! We grab food from there, like, all the time, and sometimes the owner will even customize our food for us with imported ingredients-”
Rumi’s pretty confident she made noises indicating she was listening to what the girl was saying, but she honestly wasn’t one hundred percent sure. She was a bit too busy trying to not focus on how soft and warm Zoey’s hand was and how almost right it felt being held in her own.
Calm your ass down, Ryu, she quietly admonished herself. It’s just- the hand of a very touchy-feely girl— a very cute, touchy-feely girl —who’s buying you lunch, while her girlfriend works on designing the tattoo that’s gonna cover your scars. No big deal. Not a reason to lose your shit.
They exited out onto the sidewalk, and Zoey finally slowed down enough for the pair of them to walk shoulder to shoulder down the street. To Rumi’s silent dismay, however, the early afternoon sun only made the girl shine even brighter than the lights of the shop had. Everything from her glossy hair, to her earrings, to even her tattoos seemed to almost glow with the sheer joy she had for life.
And she was still holding Rumi’s hand; swinging it gently between the two of them as they walked. Like they were old friends who had already done this a thousand times.
Rumi blinked, surprised to feel something tight in her chest unclench slightly and warm up like it was finally getting the bloodflow it needed. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her hand like this.
...
...
-Okay, yeah, no. I’m doomed.