Chapter 2 Don’t Touch #2
Nico had worked with people who were nervous about tattoos before.
He had seen clients arrive shaking because they were afraid of needles, clients who could barely look at the skin they wanted covered, and clients who changed their minds halfway through a consultation.
Gideon was different. His discomfort was not about pain or permanence. It was about control.
Everything about the man suggested control.
The way he watched the room.
The way he noticed every movement.
The way he kept his back positioned so he could see the entrance.
Even the way he had exposed his scars had been measured, revealing only what Nico needed to see and nothing more.
Nico respected that.
He also understood that the scars themselves told a story without giving him the right to invent the details.
He had examined enough scar tissue to know how much information the body could carry.
Gideon's burns were not uniform. Some areas were relatively smooth, while others were raised and rigid beneath the skin.
Certain sections appeared tighter when Gideon moved his shoulder.
Other areas were uneven, with subtle changes in texture that suggested deeper damage.
There were also places where the skin appeared more sensitive than the surrounding tissue.
Nico had noticed the changes in Gideon's breathing when his fingers reached those areas.
He had noticed even more when Gideon tried to hide the reaction.
That was the part that stayed with him.
Gideon wasn't afraid of being touched because he was fragile.
He was afraid because touch took control away from him.
Nico understood why.
When someone's body had been injured badly enough to leave permanent scars, there were often years of other people making decisions about it.
Doctors decided what needed treatment. Nurses decided when wounds needed attention.
Therapists decided how far a joint should move.
Firefighters probably had their own routines for checking injuries after a call.
Gideon had spent years allowing necessary hands to touch his body.
Perhaps that was why unnecessary touch had become unbearable.
Nico cleaned the consultation area even though it was already clean.
He wiped the surface once, then again.
His mind returned to the moment Gideon had asked, “You need permission?”
The question had sounded almost unfamiliar to him.
Nico had answered honestly.
Because you asked me not to touch you without a reason. I need to examine the tissue. That's a reason, but it's still your body.
That had been enough.
Gideon had allowed him to continue.
Nico wondered what would happen if he earned more trust.
He immediately stopped himself.
That wasn't his decision.
If there was ever going to be anything between them beyond a professional consultation, Gideon would have to choose it himself.
Nico had no intention of becoming another person who decided what Gideon needed.
He finished cleaning the station and moved to his desk.
The rest of the afternoon passed normally. Two clients arrived for appointments, one for a small geometric piece on his forearm and another for a larger black-and-gray design. Nico worked through both sessions with his usual concentration, but Gideon remained somewhere in the back of his thoughts.
He tried not to let it distract him.
He failed.
It was nearly evening when the studio door opened again.
Nico looked up.
Gideon stood there.
He wasn't wearing his station uniform this time.
He had changed into a dark shirt and jeans, and his hair was slightly damp as though he had showered recently.
He looked less like the intimidating firefighter from across the street and more like a man who had spent a long day carrying something heavy.
“You're back.”
Gideon nodded.
“I have another question.”
Nico gestured toward the consultation chair.
“Come in.”
Gideon stepped inside.
Nico closed the door but didn't lock it.
Gideon's eyes noticed.
That small detail did not escape Nico.
“You don't have to close it,” Gideon said.
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because we're closed to walk-ins.”
Gideon looked at him for a moment.
“All right.”
He sat down.
Nico waited.
“What changed your mind?”
“Nothing.”
Nico smiled faintly.
“Fair enough.”
Gideon looked toward the workstation.
“You said you could start small.”
“I did.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we could work on one section instead of trying to design the entire piece at once.”
Gideon nodded slowly.
“I want to know what that would feel like.”
Nico understood.
“You want another examination?”
“Yes.”
“Which area?”
Gideon touched the upper edge of the scar near his shoulder.
“This one.”
Nico moved closer.
“Do you want me to explain what I'm doing as I go?”
Gideon thought about it.
“Yes.”
“All right.”
Nico put on gloves.
“This area looks less rigid than the section we examined yesterday. I'm going to check how the skin moves before I say anything about tattooing it.”
Gideon pulled his shirt aside.
Nico waited until he was ready.
“May I touch it?”
“Yes.”
Nico placed two fingers lightly against the skin.
Gideon's shoulder tightened.
Nico stopped.
He didn't remove his hand immediately, but he didn't increase the pressure either.
“Too much?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to continue?”
Gideon swallowed.
“Yes.”
Nico continued carefully.
He moved along the edge of the scar, checking how the tissue responded beneath his fingertips. Gideon's skin felt warmer than Nico expected, and the scar itself had a different texture beneath the glove. Some sections were smooth and slightly glossy, while others felt firmer and less flexible.
Nico moved toward a narrower section.
Gideon's breathing changed.
His muscles tightened.
Nico stopped instantly.
Gideon looked down at his hand.
“You stopped.”
“You tensed.”
“I didn't say stop.”
“You didn't have to.”
Gideon looked at him.
Nico removed his hand and stepped back.
“I don't want to guess when it comes to your body.”
For several seconds, Gideon said nothing.
Then he slowly exhaled.
“It's sensitive there.”
“I figured.”
“How?”
“Your body told me.”
Gideon looked almost irritated.
“My body?”
“You tightened before you said anything.”
Gideon looked away.
Nico sat back down.
“That's why I ask.”
“You always notice everything?”
“Occupational hazard.”
Gideon's mouth moved slightly.
It wasn't quite a smile, but Nico recognized the beginning of one.
“You're annoying.”
“I've been told.”
The tension in the room eased.
Gideon adjusted his shirt but didn't pull it completely back into place.
Nico noticed.
He didn't comment.
Instead, he explained the difference between healthy skin and scar tissue in simple terms. The raised areas might require lighter passes.
The tighter sections could make certain designs difficult.
Sensitive areas might need additional consideration, and healing could vary depending on how the tissue responded.
Gideon listened carefully.
“So you won't know exactly how the ink will take until you do it.”
“That's part of it.”
“That sounds risky.”
“It can be if the artist is careless.”
“And you're not?”
“I try not to be.”
Gideon looked at him.
“That isn't a very confident answer.”
Nico smiled.
“Confidence is knowing what I can do. Arrogance is pretending I can control everything.”
Gideon was quiet.
That answer seemed to land somewhere deeper than the tattoo discussion.
“You don't think you can control everything?”
“No.”
“Most people try.”
“Most people learn eventually that it doesn't work.”
Gideon looked down at his scar.
“I know.”
Nico didn't ask what he meant.
He didn't need to.
The silence between them was comfortable for the first time.
Gideon eventually pulled his shirt back over his shoulder.
“I still don't know if I want it.”
“You don't have to.”
“But I might.”
“I'll be here.”
Gideon stood.
He hesitated before walking toward the door.
Then he stopped.
“Yesterday, when you touched it…”
Nico waited.
“I didn't like it.”
“I know.”
“But I didn't hate it either.”
Nico kept his expression neutral.
“That matters.”
Gideon looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because you get to decide what it means.”
Gideon nodded.
He opened the door and stepped outside.
Nico watched him cross the street through the front window.
The firefighter reached the firehouse, then stopped beside the entrance.
For a moment, he looked back.
Nico was still standing behind the counter.
Their eyes met.
Gideon gave him a small nod before entering the station.
Nico returned to his work.
He didn't know where this was going.
He didn't know whether Gideon would ever get the tattoo.
He didn't even know whether Gideon would come back tomorrow.
But he knew one thing.
Gideon's trust was not something Nico would take for granted.
For Gideon, being touched had become associated with injury, treatment, loss, and helplessness. Nico wanted him to learn that touch could also mean choice.
Not obligation.
Not pity.
Choice.
Across the street, Gideon entered the station and headed toward his locker.
He stopped before opening it.
His shoulder still remembered Nico's touch.
The memory should have bothered him.
Instead, it made him strangely calm.
Nico had noticed every change in his body.
The tightening muscle.
The altered breathing.
The instinctive tension.
And each time, he had stopped.
There had been no disappointment in his eyes.
No frustration.
No attempt to push Gideon past a boundary simply because he wanted to know what was underneath it.
Gideon had spent years expecting people to treat his scars as evidence that he was damaged.
Nico treated them as part of his body.
There was a difference.
A bigger difference than Gideon wanted to admit.
He opened his locker and reached for his uniform.
For the first time in years, the thought of someone touching his scars did not make him feel exposed.
It made him feel seen.
Gideon wasn't sure whether that was more frightening or more comforting.
He suspected it was both.
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