Kieran yawned, stretching out his arms and arching his back like a feline, a collection of tears crinkling in the corners of his eyes. It had been a long day, despite most of his long days just consisting of showing up on time and trying not to trip on his skates and remembering if someone wanted hot fudge on their brownie sundae or not. It was not by any means a "real" job or a stable career by his parent's standards...or anyone's really, just way for him to cover rent and use whatever's left to buy weed. ("Cobain never went to college either and Hemingway was always drunk and poor too, dad. People suffer for their art." "What art, Kieran? You just sit around in your underwear all day playing Halo")
There was something so momentous about getting a tattoo—yet so completely frightening at the same time. Frankly, all of that commitment scared the shit out of him. Kieran couldn't be bothered to make plans two weeks in advance, always shrugging people off with a "I don't know" or "Maybe" or "I'll see" but somehow he was willing to get Kanye's face permanently inked on his body.
"Peyton, Peyton, Peyton..." he shook his head solemnly. "How long have we known each other? When have I ever really thought about anything?" he grinned, reaching over to smudge the taco grease across her cheek with his thumb. "I don't regret, okay. I just look back fondly at all the good times and try to remember them, because nine times out of ten I usually don't. Even if his left eye looks like a fucked up or you can't get his beard exactly right, it'll still be the sickest tat ever." he said with a small grin.
Kieran sat up, helping her ease his shirt off which in itself was a completely commonplace and reoccurring event when it came to Peyton. "Even better," he laughed. "Could Kanye be breathing fire too?"
