Chapter 12 ~ Rafe
I’ll break a few rules if he kisses me
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I might be making the dumbest decisions of my life, followed close behind by trusting my brother with a needle hovering over my heart so early in the morning. The shop doesn’t open for another two hours, so getting a tattoo now is perfect.
“I don’t need to remind you how insane this is, right?” Seb asks, not looking up from the stencil. “Like, genuinely, I believe you have lost all sense of the fucking plot.”
I sigh. “You and me both, brother.”
“He’s going to see it and think you’ve lost your mind.”
I smile at that. I shouldn’t, but I do.
“Maybe.”
My brother finally meets my eyes, his expression tangled between concern and something that looks almost like pride.
“I don't get you. You pulled away from one kiss—one, and now you’re getting his name inked into your chest, permanently, might I add.” Seb shakes his head, chuckling lightly to himself.
“This is not an apology, Rafe—this is a declaration of something I don't even know you are fully grasping how big of a deal it is yet.”
I know exactly what I am doing. It should have been done the first time Minho kissed me. I haven't been with anyone since then—haven’t wanted to. He’s all I think about, and I did a shitty thing pulling away from him when his friend came into the shop.
“Perhaps it’s both.”
I'm not sure how else to explain it to Seb. When Nyla walked in, the way Minho’s face fell when I took a step away from him, the way the room had gone cold, or maybe that was my insides.
I have spent the last three days replaying that singular moment on a loop, each time hating myself a little more for making him feel unwanted because I know him, I know the way he thinks, and I can’t live with myself if he believes another person didn’t care about him.
My brother adjusts his gloves, the latex snapping against his wrists like a sharp pinch. “Last chance to back out.”
“Start the fucking needle.”
Seb holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Aye aye, captain.”
Seconds pass, and the first touch of the machine is a shock; it’s been a while since I’ve gotten myself a tattoo, so the vibrating sting radiating out from the centre of my chest catches me off guard. I clench my jaw and focus on why I am doing this.
So Minho knows he owns me, body and soul.
“You could have bought him flowers or taken him out to dinner in the city,” Seb says, voice carrying over the buzz filling the quiet room. “Or simply write a long ass text apologising and send a fruit basket.”
“He’s allergic to flowers.” I should know; he couldn’t stop sneezing the day his dad married Vicky, and it only got worse when they arrived home to a foyer full of flowers. “And he hates the city.”
“Fruit basket?”
I raise a brow before our eyes meet. Seb breaks eye contact first to get back to work. “Getting the guy you like fruits seems insulting unless you've been dating for a while and he likes that kind of gesture,” I manage as my brother finishes the first letter.
“So, you figured getting a tattoo of his name was the next best thing?”
“That and something else I know he wants wrapped in a nice red bow.” I try to be as vague as possible, but when my brother turns red as a tomato, eyes going wide with realisation, I bark out a laugh, the movement of my shoulders making the needle in his hand skip, and I hiss through my teeth.
“Jesus Christ, don’t fuck up my romantic gesture, you idiot. ”
“Sorry, sorry, but seriously,” he pauses everything he is doing, looks out the window, then down at me. “This just seems like it is a lot, even for you, and let's not forget he’s Colton’s son—your best friend's son.”
“I never said I forgot who Minho is.” God knows I tried to ignore the attraction I feel for Minho for as long as I could, for Colton most of all.
I don't want to complicate his life, but at the same time, I can no longer ignore it when his son looks at me—I want to put a collar around his neck with the word “MINE” on it. “I just can’t pretend anymore.”
“I know at the end of the day you won’t listen to me, but be careful and for the love of God, no more sex jokes around me,” he begs.
“No promises, Mr. I am going to use my brother's office as breeding grounds with Eden U’s hockey goalie.”
Seb rolls his eyes. “Whatever, you're just jealous because I christened the place before you could, and you’ve been celibate for an entire year.”
Jealous? Christened the place?
I could throw up. The shop is my place of work, my business that I built from the ground up and he—
Thank God he doesn’t work here full-time anymore. I ended up keeping him part-time, but Ollie is gone, so there will be no more sex in my office, which now has a lock and a key only I have access to. And I’m not a monster; I got the goalie a job in the city—that should keep him and my brother busy.
“Bet you dream of stretching Minho’s tight pussy around your cock while he’s splayed over your desk,” Seb teases.
I bite my tongue because yes—I have, but fuck him for having similar thoughts as me. “What happened to no more sex jokes? And I swear, if pussy and Minho ever come out of your mouth in the same sentence again, I will send you to Cali to live with mum.”
My brother laughs. “I only needed to get back at you for putting images of your dick wrapped in a red bow in my head.”
“You should think about having less sex if a few simple words made your thoughts wander so far.”
“Consider getting back in the game before you take Minho for a spin,” he shoots back so effortlessly I have to fight tooth and nail not to laugh.
He knows I won’t take anyone other than Minho to my bed, knows it’s going to be me, my hand and porn until I am ready to cross that line—break so many rules I made for myself.
I raise my right hand and give him the finger. “Get back on task; I want this done preferably before his birthday.”
Seb is quiet for a long moment, the needle’s buzzing a steady rhythm against my skin. When he speaks again, his voice is low, softer even. “Do you love him?”
I know why he asks, and know what he truly wants to ask. Is he worth risking everything for? And the answer has never been clearer.
“Yeah,” I say, and the word feels like the most honest confession I have made in a long time. “I do, and it hurts to think he doesn’t know.”
“I mean, how could he?” Seb isn't looking at me as he works on the tattoo, but it's as if I have his full attention, as if he is waiting for an answer. “You need to be honest with him, tell him what you want, how you feel.”
Before I can say anything, the machine pauses, and my brother wipes away the excess ink with a paper towel, revealing the first few letters of Minho’s name.
The skin around it is bright red and swollen, but the lines are cleaner than I expected, though I shouldn’t be surprised; I taught Seb all he knows after all.
“It's going to take another fifteen or so minutes until I am finished,” he tells me. “Did you want to text him?”
Yeah, I did.
I pull out my phone, thumb scrolling through my contact list until it's hovering over Minho’s name, the little photo of him grinning with shades on while holding up a fish he’s caught this summer that just passed when he went camping with a few of his friends from Briarston.
We used to text all the time until he stopped reaching out altogether.
At first, I figured I had done something wrong, but then Minho sent me a video of him sucking some random dude’s cock at a glory hole, his eyes trained on the camera as if he knew I would watch—that was only a few weeks before it was clear he was back in town.
Little does he know I am not Bellamy; I don’t play games, and if he pushes me enough, he’ll know exactly what it's like to be with someone who doesn’t hold back.
Taking a deep breath, I start typing.
Me: Can you meet me at the shop? I have something I need to show you.
Three dots appear moments later, followed by an immediate reply, making my heart do all kinds of somersaults.
Minho: You okay?
Me: Yeah, just figured we should talk, in person.
Minho: See you in twenty.
I put my phone face down on the armrest, close my eyes and let Seb’s needle do its work. I can’t wait to see the look on Minho’s face when he sees the design I chose for his name over my heart.
The perfect spot for the guy who's mine.
***
It’s exactly twenty minutes by the time the front door chimes, alerting me to Minho’s arrival. Seb is wrapping a thin layer of sanitary film and tapping it down over the fresh ink.
Minho steps inside, hair damp from what I assume was his quickest shower since he’s wearing a grey hoodie and the shortest shorts I have ever seen on him, and I can’t ignore how cute and nervous he looks in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Hey.” Each step he takes toward me is tentative, and I hate that I am the reason. “Your text seemed urgent.”
I can’t help but look at his legs, how thick and muscular they are, the tattoos I sure as hell did not put there—especially the one peeking through his shorts, running up his right thigh.
Our eyes meet when I look up. “Aren’t you cold?” I ask.
The weather isn’t getting any warmer, yet he looks unbothered by how chilly and windy it is outside.
“I was rushing.” Another step, but still too far. “Are you going to judge what I wear when I come see you going forward, or are you going to tell me what was so urgent I had to come today?”
“It is—urgent.” Seb gives me a look that says “good luck” and disappears into the back room, leaving me alone with Minho.
I stand up slowly, my hands clammy and my heart thundering against the new tattoo like a war drum.
“I’ve been thinking about the last time you were here, about what happened—what almost happened. ”
Minho’s jaw tightens. Before he crosses his arms over his chest, his hoodie rides up enough for me to see skin, a glimpse of the legs of the spider tattoo there, and I swallow. “You mean when we almost kissed but got interrupted?”