Chapter 1 The Transfer #2
By the time the firehouse across the street settled into its evening routine, Nico Reyes had already finished his last appointment.
The studio was quieter now, with the music turned low and the front lights dimmed enough to make the space feel separate from the busy street outside.
He stood behind the counter and checked the day’s appointments on his tablet before closing the schedule.
His hands were stained with traces of ink despite the gloves he had worn for most of the afternoon.
A faint smell of disinfectant mixed with soap and the clean, metallic scent of his equipment.
Nico had always liked that part of closing time.
The work was finished, the machines were silent, and every station was returned to order.
He wiped down the counter and glanced through the front window.
The firehouse was still active.
The new firefighter was there again.
Nico had noticed him almost immediately that morning.
It would have been difficult not to. Gideon Cross had the physical presence of a man who seemed built for the work he did.
Even from across the street, Nico had recognized the broad shoulders, heavy arms, and controlled movements that came from years of demanding physical labor.
The scars were what caught his attention after that.
Nico had seen scars of every kind.
Burns, surgical marks, accident injuries, self-inflicted wounds, scars left by violence, and scars that clients could barely explain because they had spent years avoiding mirrors.
Some people came into his studio wanting to cover everything.
Others wanted to celebrate what their bodies had survived.
Some simply wanted a design that allowed them to stop thinking about the damaged skin every time they looked at it.
Nico never assumed he knew which category a person belonged to.
That was one of the first lessons he had learned as a tattoo artist.
Skin told a story, but it did not tell the whole story.
The man across the street looked like someone carrying a story he had no intention of sharing.
Nico respected that.
He had watched Gideon throughout the day without making it obvious.
The firefighter had moved through the station with quiet efficiency, avoiding unnecessary conversation and keeping his attention on whatever task was in front of him.
Even when the other firefighters joked around him, Gideon rarely joined in.
There was nothing rude about him.
He simply seemed determined not to let anyone get too close.
Nico understood that kind of distance.
He had met enough people through his work to recognize when someone was protecting himself.
He turned away from the window and picked up the spray bottle.
The front door clicked.
Nico looked up.
He had already locked it.
For a moment, he thought someone had forgotten something, but then he saw the man standing outside the glass.
Gideon.
Nico walked toward the door and unlocked it.
“You’re closed,” Gideon said.
“I am.”
Gideon glanced through the window.
Nico waited.
The firefighter looked like he was considering whether to leave.
“If you need an appointment,” Nico said, “I can book you for tomorrow.”
“I don’t want an appointment.”
Nico leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “Then what do you want?”
Gideon’s eyes moved toward the sign above the counter.
“Can you cover a scar?”
Nico studied him for a moment.
“I can work with some scars.”
“Cover it?”
“Sometimes.”
Gideon’s expression tightened.
“Can you make it disappear?”
There it was.
The question Nico had expected sooner or later.
He stepped aside and opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
Gideon hesitated before entering.
Nico closed the door behind him and locked it again. He did not miss the way Gideon’s eyes moved around the studio as soon as he stepped inside. The firefighter took in the exits, the windows, the back hallway, and the equipment. It was quick enough that another person might have missed it.
Nico didn’t.
He said nothing.
Instead, he walked toward the consultation area and pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
Gideon remained standing.
Nico raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t have to sit if you don’t want to.”
Gideon finally lowered himself into the chair.
Nico took the seat opposite him.
“Where’s the scar?”
Gideon looked at him.
“You don’t need to know how I got it.”
“I didn’t ask.”
The answer seemed to catch him off guard.
Nico rested his forearms on the table.
“I need to see the skin if you want an honest answer. I won’t need the story behind it.”
Gideon was silent.
Then he reached for the bottom of his shirt.
Nico looked away.
He had no interest in making the moment more uncomfortable than necessary.
A few seconds later, Gideon pulled the fabric aside enough to expose part of his upper torso and shoulder.
Nico’s expression remained neutral.
Inside, he took in the extent of the damage.
The scars were worse than they had looked from across the street.
Burned skin ran over Gideon’s shoulder and upper chest in irregular patterns.
Some areas were pale and smooth, while others were thicker, slightly raised, and uneven.
The tissue appeared tighter in places where the burns had healed deeply.
There were sections where the natural movement of the skin had clearly changed.
Nico had seen this before.
Not on someone with Gideon’s exact injuries, but enough to know what he was looking at.
He stood.
“May I?”