It was through a haze of inebriation that Erik stumbled into the tiny tattoo parlor, grimacing at the sound of a too-cheerful bell that hung from the door's handle. His foot caught on the threshold, and if it weren't for years of finely-honed instinctual reactions, he'd have found himself kissing the stained-concrete floor. As it was, he caught himself with a quick two-step and straightened to his full height to compensate for the clumsiness. He swayed only slightly before prowling forward into the shop.

In the background, Bach's Concerto for Two Violins was playing softly. Focused as he was on his purpose, his only thought as he gripped his sketch was that this was an odd music selection for a tattoo shop.

Reaching the counter, Erik smacked his paper down onto the surface with a thud, distantly registering that he'd been more forceful than necessary. The girl behind the counter jumped, startled.

As his palm began to throb, Erik tore his gaze away from his spindly fingers (DRAT he'd forgotten his gloves) and found himself staring into the sweetest forget-me-not blue eyes that he'd ever beheld. They were framed by long (real!) eyelashes, complemented by precisely-applied winged eyeliner and glitter eyeshadow in pink and silver. The face these eyes belonged to was exquisite, delicate… and turned up to meet his own.

He was suddenly aware that the girl whom he was ogling was looking him full in the face, her eyes bright, wide, and taking him in.

Erik gulped. Had he partaken of a little less liquid courage within the last two hours, he'd have pivoted on his shiny black dress-shoes and been out the door in three strides. As it was, his mind buzzed franticly in time with the violins, seeking the appropriate words to begin this interaction.

She beat him to it.

"Hey… welcome to Palais Tattoos. What can I do for you?"

He had to work up more saliva in order to answer her, for his mouth had suddenly gone dry as a desert. The young woman's voice was a crystalline soprano, soft and musical… and completely entrancing.

"I want a tattoo." As much as he mentally berated himself for his odiously obvious and ineloquent response, he took comfort in the fact that his speech retained its crispness– thankfully, he was not to the point of slurring words.

The woman nodded slowly, still not breaking eye contact. Hesitantly, she tugged at the paper beneath his clenched fist, and he pulled his hand back to his side as if he'd touched molten lava (but without the expletives such a situation would have warranted). "Is this the design you want?"

All he could do was nod. He realized that his staring was quite probably becoming unnerving to the poor girl, but he found it difficult to look away. His amber eyes gazed down at her as she studied his drawing, holding it closer to her face for a better look at the details. She had quite a few tasteful piercings, and though Erik had never been fond of the idea of a metal stud in his face, he found them terribly attractive in hers.

She smiled and nodded again, gaining enthusiasm. "This is very good– did you design this?"

"Ehhm… yes." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes, I did."

"It's beautiful." Now she was smiling at him, not the paper. "Do you want to modify it, or is this exactly what you want? I just finished with my last scheduled appointment for the day, so if you want it today, we can get right to it!"

"That would be marvelous," Erik said, surprised that he meant it. When had he ever used the word 'marvelous' outside of a sarcastic comment?

"Great! I'm Christine!" She held out her hand for a handshake.

"Erik," he replied. It took a moment for him to muster up the bravery to take it, but Christine didn't seem phased. Perhaps she didn't even notice… if she did, she took it in stride.

Erik had never actually felt his heart flutter before, but with the way he felt right now, he wouldn't have been surprised if a doctor diagnosed him with forty-two species of butterfly trapped in his chest cavity.

"Nice to meet you, Erik. Let me get a few things ready, and then we can get started."

The next few minutes would remain ever-blurry in Erik's mind. He must have signed waivers, chosen colors, and made small-talk, but after Christine asked him where he wanted his tattoo, everything else faded from the forefront of his mind.

She was going to give him a tattoo. The most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on was going to touch his bare skin and give him a tattoo. The cocktail of terror, excitement, and sheer vulnerability clouded his mind more than the drinks had done, and the next thing Erik knew, he was lying in a red-cushioned reclining chair, baring the pale flesh of his right hip and praying to whatever god would listen that he would stay calm and not make a fool of himself.

Oddly, it never occurred to him to stand up and leave. Somehow, flight was not an option. He was spellbound as he watched Christine's expressive face and shy eyes as she prepped his flank for permanent inking. While he'd have sworn she'd been nervous about his mask and abrupt manner, she chattered easily to him as she made a stencil of his drawing, finding something in his responses to laugh at and keep the conversation going. How could one person contain so many genuine smiles and kindness?

It wasn't until she'd begun transferring the design to his skin that she asked him a question that he'd been too dazed to dread. "So… Ayesha. It's beautiful. Is that your girlfriend's name?"

Erik blinked, hard. He'd forgotten what he was actually having tattooed onto his skin. Damn. He hesitated, but only for a second. "Yes." She couldn't know. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that it was the name of his cat.

She made a little sound of knowingness. Was it just him, or did she sound a little… sad? No, not sad. Disappointed? No matter. He wasn't thinking clearly, obviously. He tried to focus on the lie at hand.

Christine winked playfully at him. "She's a lucky woman, to have a man who'll get a tattoo for her."

He tried to look dignified rather than flustered. "Ah, yes… well."

"It's a unique name… Ayesha," Christine continued as she opened a new needle.

"Yes. It's Persian. It means "life.'" Good lord, was he incapable of changing the subject?

Another small sound of acknowledgement from Christine, then silence.

"So… she likes cats, then?"

Erik's heart rate went up, and his mouth dropped open in surprse. Christine waited for him to reply, but when she saw his apparent confusion, she gestured at the design on his hip… oh. Oh.

Erik suddenly saw the image in his mind– "Ayesha" in flowing, elegant script, distinctly arabesque and embellished with roses… and her whiskered, haughty profile just below it.

The scene from hours earlier flashed before his eyes: him, sketching frantically in his basement, chasing drink after drink down his throat to stave off a bout of intense loneliness, fueled by sleep-deprivation and dedication to the one creature that never let him down, while said creature sat on his lap, purring.

Erik cleared his throat and tried to look Christine in the eyes. He failed, and looked down at the feline face on his hip instead.

"On second thought…. let's leave the cat out."

"Oh– are you sure?"

He'd never been so freaking sure.

As she put the needle to his skin, Erik wanted to die.

As he walked out of the tattoo parlor bearing a stinging new tattoo and the number of the prettiest woman he'd ever met written on his wrist in her own ballpoint pen, Erik had never been so terrified excited to be alive.

Yes, he'd lied.

She thought he had a girlfriend, and that he was surprising her with a thoughtful tattoo. The idea was not only patently ridiculous, but the worst twist of fate he'd ever experienced. Yet, to his amazement, he felt gleefully optimistic. Hope was not lost! He'd find a way to come out on top… somehow.

He wasn't completely sure what he'd been thinking when Christine had offered him a business card and he'd demurred in favor of writing her business information on his hand in pen. He had the vague idea that he'd been trying to impress her, and the much-less-vague impression that he hadn't quite accomplished that. But still. He'd find a way out of the worst lie he'd ever told and get a date somehow, even if it meant stalking, blackmail…

Erik shook his head and blinked. He should probably sober up before making any definite plans.

As he strode down the sidewalk of the downtown area, avoiding the light of the streetlamps out of habit, he felt only one pang of regret– that when Christine inevitably came over to his place (because come hell or high water, she would eventually find herself at his place), she would find out the truth– and laugh herself silly to realize that he'd gotten the name of his cat tattooed on his loin.