all the possibilities {arsen/theo}

The parlor was quiet. Better yet, it was dead. Matteo swept the floors twice out of boredom, and Arsen had been ordered to wipe down chairs, tables, and equipment despite those tasks having been completed the night before. Late mornings after the parlor first opened were almost always void of life like a graveyard, except there was no grass for him to sit on and no headstone to prop his flowers against. Everyone here was alive, more or less, living their sunshine lives and reminding Arsen not to slouch because it was bad for his spine. Scowling, he stood up straight and wiped the last bit of dust off the counter. Matteo was talking more than usual. Their third worker was in the back, avoiding everything like he always did until a customer walked in. Unfortunately for him, Arsen planned on snagging the first one. He wanted to work.

There was usually a one to two hour delay between opening and their first customer. Today was no different. A young girl about sixteen waltzed in with her group of friends, making a ruckus about how big she wanted her purple heart tattoo to be. They approached the counter with cheerful smiles and childish giggles. Arsen returned their greetings with a stoic mask. ”How may I help you?” He sounded as enthusiastic as a robot, but he was genuinely looking forward to putting that needle in his hand and inking something pretty, even if it was a design as mundane as a purple heart on the back of a girl’s neck.

To his relief, the girl didn’t squirm or flinch. She was perfectly capable of enduring the needle’s sharp touch throughout the entire process. It was discomforting to have her friends peeking over his shoulder and invading his personal space (not that they weren’t cute, but he was done with hookups and the like), but overall the work was pleasant. The girl’s utter delight at her new tattoo seeped through her smiles, and she tipped him before she disappeared with her friends. Matteo patted him on the back for a job well done. Arsen simply shrugged. It was nothing, really.

All he wanted to do was work and draw, work and draw. Home was heartbreakingly silent. He rarely ever caught his father meeting with his employees, so Arsen didn’t have anybody to talk to. Dad sure as hell didn’t want to talk, not unless it was about school. Fuck school.

He heard the bell jingle again and glanced up from his blank paper. He had been sharpening a pencil in preparation for a sketch in order to pass the time. A boy his age walked up to the counter, propped his elbow in front of the paper and cheekily acknowledged Arsen’s inability to smile. Matteo ceased his cleaning and looked up at them from across the store. ”How may I help you?” Arsen asked, unblinking and unimpressed by his customer’s annoying ass greeting. He was in no mood to smile, ever. There was nothing in his life to smile about.

[/presto]

A simple “I want a tattoo” would’ve been nice. Instead, he repeated the question and practically smooched Arsen over the counter, spewing one of the worst lines he had ever heard. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t a pick-up line; it was god awful, and to make matters worse the boy was actually cackling at his own comment. Arsen didn’t flinch an inch from the intrusion of personal space – it would take a lot more than a smiling stranger to ward him off. He was a statue set in stone. It was not an easy task to faze him nowadays, even Matteo knew that. He didn’t bother leaving his cleaning station to assist Arsen with this “customer.” He knew better than to interfere. His employee would handle it himself. There was no avoiding it, really. Arsen was a stubborn kid.

He could handle this sunshine boy, whoever he was. His purpose was still a mystery, although his claimed fear of needles made him wonder why he had even bothered to walk inside. Was he only here to pester him? Maybe he was the whole point. Maybe that terrible joke had been a pick-up line after all. Arsen considered this for a moment, eyes scanning him from head to toe as he lounged in one of the chairs. Not bad looking at all. Kind of chipper, but he was willing to try anything once. Matteo stared at the duo questioningly. He probably expected Arsen to do something rude. He was often rude to unpleasant customers, and this one was no exception with his weird comments and annoying rambling.

He sighed through his nostrils and stashed the blank piece of paper away. He didn’t look “utterly miserable,” that had to be an exaggeration. Arsen resembled an ordinary guy, he had just mastered the art of stoic masks and hiding emotions. There was really no need for his emotions in the workplace anyway. Everyone knew he was off-kilter because of what happened the previous year, but its lasting effects were evidently noticeable not just by the staff, but by customers. That was what Matteo had claimed at least. It didn’t make sense to him. Customers were usually satisfied with his work unless they were complete assholes. That would warrant Arsen being an asshole in return. That was the only time his behavior could be labeled “different.” Everyone was just imagining shit.

He was right about the dryness though. Everyone always said he had a dry sense of humor, but that didn’t matter to him much. He didn’t find many things humorous these days. Matteo thought it was sad, and the rest of the employees thought it was disturbing. He was pretty sure they pitied him because of his dead mother and baby sister. And his crippled left leg and right arm. Pity did nothing for him. He didn’t want it from these people, he just wanted to be left alone so he could enjoy his work in peace.

”Are you hitting on me?” he finally asked. There was no point in beating around the bush. He might as well find out if the boy was wasting his time or not.

[/presto]

A brief surge of anger rushed through him like a euphoric high, lighting his guts on fire. Why the fuck was he laughing like that, as if the idea of hitting on Arsen was absurd? There wasn’t anything wrong with the way he looked. He knew he was cute. The lack of expression might’ve turned some away, but such a mundane detail would escape his level of caring were he in the opposite positon. The audacity this stranger had heated his cheeks like a furnace, but his face remained carved of solid stone. He chose to stare at a smudge on the counter until the laughter subsided. He didn’t want to reveal any embarrassment, any disappointment, or any discontent. He needed to remain neutral.

”You’re cute,” the stranger said, and the fire extinguished. Damn right he was. Forget every bitter thought I just had. He owed him a mental apology for making assumptions. It wasn’t even about him – he was just taken. Fair enough, but that raised another question: why the hell was he here? He wasn’t hitting on Arsen – whose sex life was drier than his sense of humor – and he was apparently afraid of needles, so that was a no to a tattoo. What was the purpose? To waste space and time? He could be sketching right now. Matteo always encouraged him to socialize, but he was much better at communicating with paper. Though if he did want to be noticed, he would actually have to start going out to places.

Too much effort.

Arsen abandoned his post behind the counter and stood in front of the stranger with his legs apart, trying to make himself look somewhat intimidating. A “change of scenery” was not an excuse to loiter in his parlor. In his peripheral vision he could see Matteo returning to his chores, sweeping at invisible dust particles on the tile floor. He was hogging the broom on purpose. It was Arsen’s favorite method of chasing away insolent customers. They never believed him when he threatened to smack them with the bristled end of it, but the moment they challenged and/or disrespected him he whacked them right in the back. They would always protest at Matteo and demand that he fire him. Matteo tolerated his bullshit, but he would never get rid of him. He was the best worker here.

Matteo was also the only one who understood most of what had happened to him the past few years. He knew why Arsen was crippled, he had been here during one of the hallucinations (and approached him later on with concerns), and he had known Arsen the longest. It wasn’t out of pity that he kept him here. It was out of empathy and genuine concern. Arsen always met his pleas and worries with ice laced in his bitter words, but Matteo didn’t seem angered by it. He knew he should be grateful for it. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. He didn’t know. He just wanted to keep his job.

”You can’t stay here unless you buy a tattoo,” he said. He knew all about boring and depressing scenery – his house, for example – but again, no excuses. He couldn’t let strangers just do what they pleased. What if they started taking advantage of Matteo’s leniency? Not on my watch.

[/presto]

“Eventually” was not a satisfactory answer. The study he was in would supposedly end “eventually,” which translated into three years of side effects, four months of lies, and a lifetime of permanent damage. He became acutely aware of the rubber band wrapped around his left wrist. That was his ticket to reality; pain. Everything was pain nowadays, just like it had been when he was fourteen and screaming into his pillow for the first time. A step backward meant pain. One wrong move of the arm meant pain. Reality checks? Pain. A rubber band was merely a sting, but pain could wear at the sanity after a while. Fortunately, he had adjusted to it. He was a pretty durable guy, so a few stings here and there could simply be a result of habitual snapping instead of reality checking.

He knew this stranger was real, otherwise Matteo would’ve made a comment by now. He had only ever hallucinated in the parlor twice. Once with Emelia, and another with a supposed “customer” who stared at the design-book for hours until Arsen brought his suspicions to Matteo. Embarrassingly enough, Matteo had furrowed his eyebrows together and asked him if he was feeling okay. It was enough of a hint to jolt his memory, and he snapped the rubber band against his wrist until the stranger vanished. Matteo tried to let him off early that evening in case he was feeling sick or distressed. Arsen wouldn’t have that. He hated leaving early, it always made him feel unaccomplished and fragile.

”That’s none of my business,” he drawled, digging into his pack pocket for a miniature bag of peanuts. This “ball and chain” sounded like a father figure, but he didn’t want to ask. If there was literal head bashing involved then that was definitely a concern. Perhaps it was an exaggeration. He hoped it was an exaggeration. He didn’t know how to deal with a battered customer. His long-deceased empathetic edge would try to appeal to the situation. Too bad all he wanted now was to pop a peanut between his jaws.

Theodore was an okay name.

”I’m Arsen, but you can call me Arsen. It’s short for Arsen,” he said dryly, ripping open the bag of peanuts. See, he was making a joke. He was attempting to socialize. He glanced over at Matteo and crunched a peanut between his teeth. He would be proud.

”If you could get a tattoo, what would you want?” he asked, leaning against the counter with peanut crumbs glued to his tongue. Talking about tattoos was better than nothing at all. He would have to kick Theo out if they didn’t discuss something productive. Not that Arsen wanted him here, but a little chit-chat was good for passing time. It was slow today anyway. Absolutely dull. Maybe he could show Theo some of the design books before he kicked him out. ”Come back when you want a tattoo,” he would say, and that would be that.

Theo was weird anyway. Why was he wearing long sleeves? It was a million degrees outside, and he looked sweaty. It was kind of gross. Sweat was sticky and warm and he was tired of it tricking against his hand whenever he inked some guy’s back. There was also time he had to stoop over a man’s groin just to get an owl inked into the inside of his thigh. Talk about nasty.

[/presto]

Theo laughed at his joke, and it only confirmed his suspicion. I knew I was funny. Matteo just didn’t understand his dry sense of humor. It was certainly not for everybody, especially his customers, who only offered him blank stares in return for his generous donations of verbal humor. They could be such boring people when he inked their skin. Friends would gossip to one another or reminisce about the last party they attended. Careers would discuss training regimens. Arsen was always silent in his work, but his ears were open and keen. He could focus and ink simultaneously, and he was pretty sure most customers didn’t realize it. That was probably why they never bothered to include him. The nice customers, at least.

The rude ones could fuck off. He would snap at them like an angry turtle until they shut their mouths. Inking their tattoos was the worst. Tension in the air was discomfort, and any discomfort forced into his shop was not welcome. This was supposed to be his sanctuary.

Theo was an intruder to this sanctuary, but Arsen didn’t know what to think of him yet. Obnoxious yes, but with pure intentions. He wasn’t trying to fuck up anybody’s day or get in his way. Loitering was an annoying habit customers often engaged in, but Theo wasn’t technically a customer yet. He probably would be soon, if not today. Arsen could persuade him.

”Maybe something stupid, like me,” he suggested, and it was slightly confusing. Did he mean a tattoo of himself would be stupid, or that he himself was stupid? Because it was stupid. The idea, at least. He hated tattooing actual people onto somebody’s skin, it was creepy. He once had to create a portrait of Cricket Antoinette on some rabid fan’s chest. It was an experience he would rather not repeat.

”I don’t know who Nik is,” he said in between two crunches of peanuts. He wasn’t at all implying that he cared, but he wasn’t about to discuss some random stranger unless Theo explained himself. Even then, he probably wouldn’t care. Licking the edge of his gums, he held out his hand and offered Theo his bag of peanuts. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so generous. First a joke, and now he was willing to share his peanuts? And allowing him to stay in the parlor? Matteo would be genuinely surprised at his behavior. He was surprised at himself. Theo couldn’t be all that special, so it must’ve been his mood. He had to be in a better mood. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but that was the reason.

Constellations, he said. He could do that. ”We have a book of all the constellations,” he started, pointing to the back storage room. The door was propped open because his coworker was inside, probably hiding. ”We have a lot of books with designs in them. Most of them are mine.” He was proud to say it, but nothing in his tone indicated such. He was all monotone all the time. He hardly noticed these days. ”Want to see some?”

[/presto]