Page 19 of Inked Desires

AReS

I know this is a mistake.

I kept my distance for six fucking months. I held the line, fought with everything I had. Every damn day, I waited for Benton, and every night, I barely slept a wink. He never came.

But Andrew did.

At first, I thought I’d imagined him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him—but couldn’t look too long, either. There he was, standing in front of me in a dark red winter coat, just like himself, already ready to get on my nerves.

I head toward the glass door, ready to unlock it, when I catch sight of him again. He’s outside, smiling, holding up two steaming cups with his gloved hands. I rush to open the door.

A blast of cold air rushes in with him, and I shut the door behind us.

“You’re here,” I say, my voice a little too upbeat.

His smile grows as he hands me a cup.

“Black. I didn’t know how you take it,” he says.

I nod. Of course, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember anything. Without waiting for a response, he walks over to the desk, sets his coffee down, takes off his coat and gloves.

“What should I do?” he asks right away.

Seeing him back in that chair stirs a flood of memories. The space feels less empty, but nothing is the same. Andrew is brimming with energy. Maybe I should’ve kept him away from all this. Maybe that was the only way to protect him from the memories.

He waits patiently for my answer. I can’t bring myself to send him away.

“Make coffee. Sweep. Pay the bills. Greet customers,” I say, trying to sound casual.

It’s nothing special, but he nods and gets up. In the kitchen, he finds a broom and starts sweeping like it’s the most satisfying task on Earth.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” I admit, not wanting the conversation to end.

“I’ve got nothing else to do. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t keep busy,” he says honestly.

A gust of cold air and the chime above the door pull my attention. I turn. Travis steps inside. I give him a quick nod.

He freezes. His eyes shift between Andrew and me, full of disbelief.

“No, it’s not William. It’s Andrew,” I answer the unspoken question.

“Who’s William?” Andrew asks, glancing between us.

“His ex-husband,” Travis replies before I can.

I just nod. He might not remember, but we’ve lived through this already. I don’t want to keep things from him anymore. It broke us last time. Talking about that part of my life still feels like someone’s yanking on my ribs.

“You were married?”

“It’s a long story,” I say, avoiding the subject. I rest a hand on Travis’s shoulder and guide him to the back room. “If anyone calls, I’m busy.”

I shut the door behind us.

“Pants down, on the table,” I tell my former teammate.

“You could at least buy me coffee before trying to get me naked,” he laughs.

“Funny. I’ll get your coffee. Lose the pants,” I shoot back as I walk out.

Andrew’s sitting at my desk, holding a piece of paper. Shit.

“It’s beautiful,” he says.

“It better be. Tattoos are permanent,” I mutter, brushing off the compliment.

“Who’s it for?”

I pause in the doorway of the kitchen and look at him.

“No one. Just scribbling,” I lie.

“Didn’t peg you as the flower-drawing type,” he teases.

I pour coffee into a mug and leave the room.

“I’m full of surprises,” I toss over my shoulder, hurrying to Travis before Andrew can ask more questions.

Travis is already on the table in his boxers. I hand him the coffee and get to work.

“You never told me Andrew looks like William,” he says as I shave the skin on his thigh.

My hand stills for a fraction of a second, then continues.

“Why? Should I have?”

I glance up. Travis rolls his eyes. He’s always been the pretty boy of the team, with those beachy curls he whined about shaving off for months. Like all of us.

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

I inhale, set the razor down, clean the area, and grab the stencil.

“My life is weird. He only looks like William at first glance. But Andrew... he’s completely different.”

With Travis, things have always been easy. He looks like a surfer cliché, but he’s thoughtful, quiet, never judges, and carries his own demons in silence.

“True. You’re the one who always makes everything complicated,” he says with a smirk that almost makes me smile.

“Shut up and let me work,” I grin back.

One look tells me he didn’t take offense.

I pick up the tattoo machine and shut out my thoughts. The familiar hum vibrates through my wrist, then spreads through my entire body.

Sometimes I forget how much trust people place in me. Tattooing helps hold my soul together. A tattoo is permanent. It gives something to the person wearing it—something that lasts forever. This one will stay on Travis’s skin until his body eventually rots in the ground.

It’s grotesque, really—choosing to endure pain just to change your own skin. Some people get tattoos to remember. Others to move on. And some just because they like the design. Not every tattoo carries meaning. Sometimes, they mean more to me than to the client—because they carry my work, my mark. My identity as an artist. Artist. I’ve never seen myself that way. It’s just an escape. Another drug. For a little while, I can forget. I can disappear. In those moments, I feel free.

I finish the tattoo and wipe down his skin. He didn’t make a sound the whole time. Either he handles pain well, or he’s got a tight grip on his reactions.

“All done,” I say.

“About time. Another minute and I’d have shoved that needle in your eye,” he grumbles.

I set the machine aside and watch his face. A little pale.

Travis stands and walks to the mirror. He stares at the dove on his thigh in silence.

“It’s a good ending. No more wars. I’ve seen enough pain,” he murmurs to his reflection.

I say nothing. What could I say? He’s right. We’ve seen enough death. We’ve seen hunger, misery, suffering. And we’re not entirely innocent.

“You can pay Andrew. Just let me wrap this up first,” I say, steering the conversation elsewhere.

He walks back over and lets me finish. Once the bandage is on, he leaves the room without another word.

I don’t follow. I start cleaning the table and my tools. Got more appointments today. Always busy in winter.

I hear Andrew laugh. It’s that soft, bright sound that fills the room with warmth. It settles in my chest like something dangerous. Life would be so easy with him. I could imagine a future. But life’s never easy. He doesn’t remember me—doesn’t remember us. I have to keep that in mind. We can’t get close. I can’t afford to slip. Benton is still out there. If I let myself fall again, I might miss something. I have to stay sharp.

I pull myself together and step out.

Andrew hears me and looks up quickly.

“I wanted to pay the bills, but I don’t know your PIN,” he says.

I join him and glance at the screen. He’s already pulled up the right program. I lean in a little, reaching over to type.

I don’t expect it—his scent hits me hard. Raw. Like the promise of rain after an endless drought. My fingers tense against the keyboard. I clench my jaw and shut my eyes. My self-control is hanging by a thread, fraying fast. It wouldn’t take much.

Then suddenly, his small hand lands on my forearm.

A jolt of energy rushes through my muscles, the same way my tattoo machine does when it hums to life. He has the same power—he can numb any pain I carry. My breath catches. My knees threaten to give out. How much longer can I stand being near him?

“You okay?” he asks softly.

I pull myself together and pry his hand off me.

“Don’t touch me, Andrew,” I growl, punching in my code before practically bolting from the studio.

Outside, I stop dead. My heart is hammering. My skin itches. I want to dive into acid, anything to replace the chaos inside with a pain I can control.

I lean against a streetlamp, my body only calming once the cold starts sinking into my bones. My mind clears—but not enough. Andrew is still there, still clinging to me like a second skin. I can still feel him. I remember the way his body felt against mine. I know exactly how his face lights up when he lets go. The images cut through me, whispering temptations I can’t afford. The kind of temptations that nearly got him killed.

I shake my head hard.

When the cold becomes unbearable, I head back inside.

Andrew’s behind the desk, arms crossed, watching me.

How long has he been standing there?

“We weren’t just friends, were we?” he says. “We were… together.”

His brows knit for a moment, then his gaze drops to the floor. When he looks up again, his voice is quieter.

“Do you still feel something for me?”

His question hits me like a bullet. I’m freefalling. Is it that obvious to him? Probably. Probably to everyone. I never was good at pretending. I don’t even try to hide how little I care about anything anymore.

He sees too much. Too fast. But I’m not ready to answer—not when he’s not safe. Not when he doesn’t remember. Not when he doesn’t feel the same.

I leave him standing there and return to my workroom.

His question hangs in the air between us—and that’s where it’ll stay. My schedule is full today. There’s no need to talk unless it’s absolutely necessary.

I survived a full day with Andrew—and somehow, I managed to keep my distance. He seemed hurt. Good. Even if it twists my gut to hurt him, it’s for the best.

It was only one day, in a week that already feels endless. I even lasted two more, hiding out in my own damn living room. A miracle. That man’s a hurricane when he sets his mind on something. And yet, he’s been surprisingly calm.

I unlock the front door and find him already there, early as usual. Just like the days before, he’s brought me coffee. And, like always, I thank him politely. But today, he’s not smiling the same way.

Instead of heading to the desk, he stands still in front of me.

“We need to talk,” he murmurs against the lid of his cup.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for more.

“This can’t go on like this,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Come on, Ares. You’re hiding in your own shop just to avoid me.”

I sigh. So much for subtlety.

“Maybe I should quit. This isn’t good for you. You shouldn’t have to run from me in your own space...”

A hollow opens up in my chest. He wants to leave. Just like that. Even though I’m keeping my distance, I like having him near. Seeing him every day. I went so long without that face… and now he wants to take it from me again. How fucking dare he?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say at last.

He stares at me, then says quietly, “I should go.”

Without thinking, my hand grabs his arm.

“Don’t. I need your help here. It’s hard to find someone you can trust.”

He glances down at my hand, takes a deep breath, and asks softly, “Can you let go of me?”

Shit.

I release him instantly.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” I breathe out.

Gently, I rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, look at me.”

He raises his gaze. I can see his pulse hammering in his throat.

“I would never hurt you, Andrew,” I say firmly. “I’m not easy, and yeah, I can be an asshole. But I would never hurt you.”

“…Okay,” he replies, voice trembling.

“Come on. Sit down. Breathe. You’re not alone. Everything’s fine.”

I guide him to the chair behind the desk. Take the cup from his hands and set both on the table. Then I help him off with his jacket, slow and careful, avoiding any sudden moves.

When I feel him relax just a little, I kneel in front of him.

“Please tell me you know I would never hurt you.”

Maybe it’s unfair to ask. He doesn’t really know me anymore. To him, I’m just a stranger—a vague memory. But I need to hear it. I couldn’t stand it if he were afraid of me. Not now. Not when he’s the only thing that makes me smile lately.

“I overreacted,” he says.

It doesn’t make me feel much better.

He doesn’t add anything, and I’m forced to accept that.

“Alright.”

I press a hand gently to his knee before rising.

“Just… don’t leave, Andrew. I’ll try harder, I swear,” I say with a faint smile.

“For now,” he concedes, then focuses on the computer.

Message received. He needs space. I back off.

It must be hell not knowing why you flinch at certain things. Why your own body doesn’t feel safe.

The door swings open, and a cascade of black hair appears in the doorway. He slams the door shut behind him. His smile fades the second he sees Andrew at the desk.

“Hey,” Andrew says with a polite, somewhat forced smile.

“What the hell is going on here?” Kiran growls.

Perfect. This guy always knows how to make an entrance—and always at the worst time.

“What is this?” he demands.

I step aside.

“Andrew, this is a friend of mine. Kiran Calascione.”

Andrew offers him a more genuine smile and nods in greeting. I turn to Kiran.

“Kiran, you already know Andrew.”

“Oh, do I?” Andrew asks, confused.

“Sort of.”

Kiran’s completely thrown off. I grab his shoulder and steer him into the kitchen.

“What’s he doing here?” he finally blurts out.

“He showed up a few days ago. Out of nowhere,” I reply, letting him go as I pour us two mugs of coffee.

“He remembered?”

I hand him the mug, which he grabs immediately, and nod for him to sit.

“No. He discovered Google. The FBI monkey told him he hid out here once. The tattoo on his neck and my website led him straight to me.”

“Figures. What I don’t get is why he’s sitting behind your damn desk.”

I don’t get it either. But I can’t tell him the real reason. He’ll launch into one of his lectures.

“He needed a job,” I say flatly.

Kiran rolls his eyes and takes a sip of coffee.

“And Benton? He’s not a threat anymore?”

“Everything’s the same,” I mutter.

“And you’re still letting him stay here. Knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your distance,” he laughs bitterly. “And honestly? It was dumb to hand him over to the FBI in the first place. They’ve already proven they can’t protect him. We can.”

“You don’t know that. No one knows what that bastard’s planning. I have to be more careful than ever. Him being here just makes it worse.”

He tilts his head and studies me for a beat, then sighs in resignation.

“You’re such a fucking masochist. I know you. You’ll try to keep him at arm’s length—and it’ll blow up in your face.”

“We’ll see.”

I won’t confirm his theory. That bastard knows me too well.

“What are you even doing here?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Checking in. You’ve been darker than usual lately.”

I roll my eyes. He checks on me every week. My mood was already shit before Andrew walked back into my life—so I don’t see why he’s suddenly so concerned.

“I’m fine.”