π¬ππ¨πππ€π£π pt. 1
how matt and mikayla met !
the tattoo shop was always too loud. buzzing needles, low rock music, someone laughing in the back room like they werenβt about to permanently mark skin for life. mikayla prescott liked it that wayβloud meant no one could hear her think too much.
she sat in the chair anyway, sleeves pushed up, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it had answers.
βstill good?β the artist asked, hovering the tattoo pen over her skin.
βyeah,β she said automatically.
the needle touched down again and the front door to the shop quietly closed. it was like a calm wave of energy floated through the air. mikayla didnβt look at first. she didnβt care who walked into a tattoo shop at one in the afternoon. inked people, broken people, loud peopleβit all blended together.
until the feeling in the room shifted. not from sound or a light, but from attention.
βyo,β a voice said, low and rough like it had been dragged through smoke. βyou got a chair open or nah?β
the artist working on her paused for half a second.
a soft chuckle. βunfortunately.β
that made the receptionist laugh behind the counter. mikayla frowned slightly, still staring at the ceiling, pretending she wasnβt curious now. then she made the mistake of looking.
he was leaning against the front counter like he owned the place. black rings on his fingers tapping once against the wood. silver chains catching the light when he moved. dark hair a little messy, like he hadnβt bothered fixing it because he didnβt have to.
and tattoosβtoo many to be accidental. too intentional to be anything but chosen.
he wasnβt looking at her. not yet. he didn't even know she was there at first. he was talking, half-grinning at the receptionist, like whatever world he lived in had room for him to joke his way through it.
βcome on,β he said. βyou're telling me I gotta wait? i'm a regular.β
βyouβre a nuisance,β the receptionist shot back.
he laughedβquick, easy. then his eyes shifted. and they landed on mikayla.
it wasnβt instant magic. not fireworks. not sparks. not anything oh so dramatic like in movies. it was just stillness. like he forgot what he was about to say. as if his next sentence slipped from his mind.
mikayla didnβt look away first. that was the problem.
his gaze dragged over her like he was trying not to be obvious about it, failing a little. she hated that she knew that he had noticed.
finally, he smirkedβnot fully, not confident yet but testing.
βdidnβt know they started hiring distractions in here,β he said lightly.
the receptionist groaned as he spoke. almost as if he was getting scolded. "matt."
mikayla blinked once. slow.
βexcuse me?β she said.
there was that kickstart.
βnothing,β he said, but he didnβt look away. βjust thinking out loud.β
the artist pressed the needle down again and mikayla flinched slightly, breaking eye contact.
βstay still,β the artist murmured.
but she could feel him still looking like heβd decided she was interesting.
βyou, sit over there,β the receptionist finally told him, pointing toward a couch. βyou're next after her appointment.β
βher appointment?β he repeated, like he was offended the world didnβt revolve around him. βwhat's she getting?β
mikayla didnβt answer. she didnβt owe him that. but of course, he walked over anyway.
he stopped near the chair, hands in his pockets now, head tilted slightly.
βso,β he said, voice softer than before. βwhat's the plan? something badass? or something likeβ¦ i regret this in two weeks?β
mikayla finally turned her head just enough to look at him again. up close, it was worse. the chains werenβt just aesthetic. the tattoos werenβt just random. everything about him looked like a decision made without asking for permission.
βi donβt remember asking for commentary,β she said.
his eyebrows lifted like he liked that answer.
βfair,β he said. βbut i'm bored.β
βthat sounds like a you problem.β
that made him actually laugh again. it was short but it sounded real.
βyeah,β he admitted. βprobably.β
silence stretched between them, but it wasnβt empty. it was aware. like both of them knew the other was thinking too much now.
the artist started shading again, and mikayla focused forward, jaw tightening slightly.
matt leaned back against the counter nearby instead of leaving.
he didnβt ask permission. he just stayed.
βyou always this serious?β he asked after a moment.
βi'm getting stabbed repeatedly with a needle,β she said flatly. βwhat do you want from me?β
βa smile would be nice.β
βthat's unfortunate.β
he nodded like he accepted the loss. βnoted.β
he paused. he spoke softerβalmost like he didnβt mean to say it out loud,
she glanced at him again, just briefly.
something shifted in his expression at that, like the name landed heavier than it shouldβve.
βmikayla,β he repeated, slower this time. testing it. βyeah. that fits.β
βthat makes no sense.β
βit does in my head.β
she rolled her eyes slightly, but it wasnβt as sharp as before. he noticed. of course he did.
βyou come here a lot?β he asked.
βliar,β he said immediately.
that finally made her look at him fully again.
he was smiling now, but it wasnβt cocky anymore. it was curious. like heβd stopped performing for everyone else and started paying attention to her instead.
βi literally just met you,β she said.
βand i already know youβre not telling the truth,β he replied.
the artist sighed. βmatt, go sit down before I throw you out.β
βyeah, yeah,β he said, but he didnβt move right away.
instead, he looked at mikayla one more time. longer than necessary. as if he was memorizing something he didnβt have permission to keep. he finally pushed off the counter.
but before he walked away, he reached over the front desk, grabbed a blank receipt, and snatched a pen like he owned that too.
βhey,β the receptionist snapped. βthatβs notββ
βrelax,β he said, already scribbling.
his handwriting was quick, messy, confidentβlike everything else about him. he walked back over, leaned just close enough to her chair to get on her nerves, and held the folded receipt out toward her.
mikayla looked at the receipt, then at him.
βi donβt take random things from strangers,β she said.
βgood thing iβm not random,β he shot back, a hint of ego slipping back in. βand weβre not strangers anymore.β
she stared at him for a second longer, then took itβbarely.
βthis better not be weird,β she muttered.
βdepends,β he said. βyou gonna use it or just keep pretending you donβt care?β
she didnβt open it. not in front of him.
he smirked like he knew exactly what she was thinking.
βthatβs my number,β he added, tapping the receipt once. βin case you decide you actually like talking to me.β
βi donβt,β she said instantly.
βyeah,β he nodded. βyou will.β
there it was. the ego. easy. certain. annoying. and somehow not entirely wrong.
the artist groaned again. βmatt.β
βiβm going,β he said, backing up finally. βdonβt miss me too much, mikayla.β
βi think iβll survive.β
then he turned, heading toward the door this time.
βnice to meet you, mikayla.β
βtry not to disappear before i get my turn.β
then he left her alone. the door shut behind him a few minutes later when someone else walked in.
the shop got loud again. but mikayla stayed still for a second too long, the folded receipt now sitting in her hand.
she didnβt open it. not yet. she didn't like him, she just had to tolerate him until he left. but instead, mikayla stared at the tiny wishbone on her wrist for a second too long before looking away. because for some reason she couldnβt explainβ the room didnβt feel the same anymore.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: ahhh i finally started! ive been trying to work on this first intro and fix my sleep schedule at the same time. i'm working on a few things for this week that will definitely be interesting π let me know if yall like this!
if you see a divider that you have made, please let me know so i can tag you! i lost the @'s.
tag list ! @courta13 | @amandapanda2 |