Jack fidgets nervously, playing with the hem of his blue jumper in front of the crystal door. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and looks up at the neon letters above the shop ("Berk Ink") with a trembling breath. He palms his wallet through the denim fabric of his jeans, where the drawing, the money and his false ID card are tugged carefully inside, and for a moment he feels like he's totally sure of what he's doing. He remembers North's words and his knuckles go white with angriness.
Jack is an average seventeen boy: he has good grades in school, he doesn't do drugs and he usually keeps himself away from the trouble. He has recently dyed his hair white and sometimes his father must tell him to lower the music when he's in his room, but excepting that, he's a pretty normal teenager. And that's precisely why he doesn't understand why North wouldn't let him have a tattoo for his birthday.
And so he finds himself in front of the best of the three tattoo shops in Berk, the tiny town where it snows half of the year and he lives in, doubting like a fucking three years old whether he should enter and get this done or not.
He finally lets out a last nervous sigh and pushes the door open with the best smile he can put right now. The entrance of the tattoo studio is mostly white and smells of disinfectant an something metallic; he can hear the light buzz of a machine somewhere in the back and for a moment he wants to run through the door.
He also hears a voice, and he looks at the man at the counter that's addressing him with a mix of amusement and curious concern in his green eyes.
"Sorry, what?"
"I was asking if I can help you with something?" He tries to keep his voice steady, but Jack can appreciate a bit of a laugh under his soft tone.
He has electric blue hair styled in short, wavy spikes, and Jack stares amazed for a second at his tattooed arms; a bunch of beautifully detailed and colored figures decorating slightly bulking muscles. He's intimidating, but that doesn't stop Jack from taking the creased paper from his jeans' pocket and handing it to the other man with a hopeful amiable smile.
"Oh", he seems surprised for a second, and Jack's cheeks turn red, "it's very cool mate. I'm Aster, but everybody calls me Bunny". The man offers his hand over the counter still looking at the design and Jack catches it a little more sure of himself. "Did you draw it?"
"Um, yes." He looks mildly proud at his drawing: the head of an artic wolf, with piercing eyes blue as the night sky.
"You wanted it done, yes?" He's still appreciating the design, not really paying Jack that much attention while he tries to soften the creases on the paper.
"In my back, yes. At that exact size." Jack turns more and more sure of himself as seconds pass by, and this time he offers a satisfied grin that shows all of his pearly white teeth, but the smile only lasts until Aster –Bunny, he reminds himself– asks for his ID.
He takes the card from his black leather wallet and hands it to him, trying to appear calm. It's an old ID from his father, one in which he's like twenty years old and he's remarkably more skinny than now, and Jack honestly thinks they look really alike.
Aster doesn't, though, or so it seems as his gaze jumps between Jack and the photography with a dubious glance. Jack's smile falters a bit and his palms become sweaty. Aster clears his throat a bit. "So, your name is North Frost?" Jack barely nods and gulps lightly. "Um, okay, wait a minute here," his voice comes doubtful but Jack says nothing. "Hey, Hiccup!"
Aster leaves the counter with his ID and the design in hand and disappears through a curtain leaving Jack planted there with his heart beating in his ears at a madly pace. He notices absently that the buzzing of the unidentified machine has stopped and he's so nervous he wants to throw up.
Suddenly another man enters the room through the curtain that Aster has just passed, and he's the most beautiful thing Jack has ever seen in his whole and short life: messy chestnut hair, almost reddish, long to the chin with two beaded braids peaking next to his right ear; gorgeous forest green eyes with dark lashes; thin, lightly chapped lips; freckled and soft-looking creamy skin; and best of all, a long arm covered in black tattoos, geometrical designs mostly, and what looks like some kind of arms-shield with a fanged face on it.
Jack sucks on some air and he's sure he must be looking pretty dumb right now with his wide framed glasses, his stupid-two-sizes-bigger-Christmas-sweater and, on top of that, an open mouth in a perfect 'O', but he just feels so lightheaded right now he doesn't really care.
But when he looks at his face again, he has his brow furrowed and doesn't seem very happy. Uh-oh.
"So, North Frost?" Jack would have been delighted by his also hot, mildly rough voice if it wasn't because he seemed fucking angry at him for some reason. He was more intimidating than Aster and he wasn't half as muscled as the other man.
Jack simply nods, because he knows if he tries to speak he will say something stupid. Their eyes connect for a minute and Jack notices how the other man's expression softens little by little. "Look kiddo, this ID is okay, but I know you're not North Frost." Jack tries to speak then, but the other boy lifts a hand and he shuts his mouth. "My father is the Police Chief; I know your father, so I don't think we have to call him to verify this, right?" Jack eyes grow bigger in fear as he nods negatively as fast as he can, and the other boy sighs –in pity? Defeat?– and soon enough he's throwing himself over the counter. "What is this? Your father says you can't get a tattoo, you steal him an old ID and try to do it on your own? Believe me, you're not the first one, and it's never a good idea."
Jack bits his bottom lip and moves his gaze to his feet. He's so ashamed of being caught that he really wants to cry, but he holds his tears back. "I'm sorry", he trembles a little and takes a huge breath before continuing, "I-I'm turning eighteen in two months and I wanted a tattoo for my birthday but my father wouldn't hear a thing about it, and I was just so angry that..."
"Hey, calm down kiddo, it's not like I'm not gonna call your parents or something", the other man offers him a soft smile.
"B-but, you said your father-"
"Exactly, my father", he laughs and points at himself. "Do I look like a policeman?" Jack moves his head negatively and the other man laughs again, but he looks at him intently. "Look kiddo, I'm sorry if I scared you, but if I tattooed a minor without his tutors' permission I would have quite a bunch of problems," he points with his thumb at a sign that reads 'Under Age Policy' and Jack doesn't know what to say. "The design is pretty neat, though".
He says it holding his drawing and Jack feels all the blood in his body flooding to his cheeks suddenly. 'Um, th-thank you."
"Do you take classes?" Jack shakes his head once. "What do you do, do you go to school?"
"High-school, in fact," the other man chuckles at his huffed expression but nods appreciatively.
"Okay kiddo, you have two options here," he speaks in a hush over the counter and Jack approaches him curiously. His green eyes scan his face briefly and he offers a lopsided smile, "first, you can take your drawing, exit that door and try to get you tattoo done at the two other shops in this town with probably the same result as here, or..."
"Or...?"
"Or, you could work here."
Jack shots a disbelieving face at him. Then, he seems surprised. Then, his smile is as huge and bright as the moon that can be seen through the crystal door of the tattoo shop. "Seriously?"
"Do you think I offer this kind of thing to everyone that crosses that door?" He hands him the drawing back and blinks a green eye at him. "You're very talented. I'm good with geometrical designs and Aster with coloring, but you have a totally different style. I like it, and it would be nice to have someone to help us with the shop."
"Yes", he shouts too excitedly and the other man laughs, "I-I would love to. It would be amazing" he whispers embarrassedly this time, but a goofy smile is still plastered in his pale face.
"God kiddo, you're such a dork," he ruffles his white hair and Jack is too happy to take the comment to heart. "Okay, this is what we'll do: you can come tomorrow after your classes at school and Aster and I will explain you a pair of things. Then you can start."
"That sounds great, th-thank you for everything."
"But you have to promise something to me first," he seems very serious about whatever he's going to say, so Jack tries to look as confident as possible. "You won't try to get any other tattoo done before you're old enough. Deal?"
Jack looks at his offering hand over the counter, the freckled skin and strong tattooed fingers seeming inviting and even too good to be true, but he takes his hand firmly with his own pale own and gives it a dry shake. "Deal."
The guy looks at him almost proudly and gives him another warm smile, and Jack takes that as his cue to leave. He puts the still creased paper inside his jeans and makes it for the door, stopping in his tracks in the last second and turning his head to the man still over the counter. "Sorry boss, what's your name?"
A mischievous smile blooms over the freckled boy's face and Jack feels his mouth go dry. "Everybody calls me Hiccup."
"I'm Jack", he says nervously and opens the door. "See you tomorrow then, Hiccup."
"See you tomorrow, Jackie."
When Jack arrives at home twenty minutes later, he takes the steps two at a time and throws himself on his bed to cry out his excitement in his pillow while his father cooks dinner downstairs.