A/N: Hey, guys! I was actually inspired to write this by the fact that tomorrow is the official end of To Write Love On Her Arms week. For those that don't know, TWLOHA is a non-profit organization that is "dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide."
So, I got to thinking: Worth's a(n ex?) cutter. And even if Lamont is desensitized to all the crazy shit that goes down, some stuff should be bugging him. What better way to deal?
With that said, Lamont might be slightly OOC. It's very, very short.
Lamont never told Worth - how could he? Between the nights where they drank until they couldn't see straight, to the nights where he had to make sure that Worth didn't cut too deeply, he was pretty sure that the last thing he could do was draw up his sleeves and show off his own artwork.
He'd started a few months ago; he'd been picking up some new clothing, since his last jacket had been torn in his last delivery, when his eyes came across a shirt that boldly declared "TWLOHA", although the 'o' was actually a heart. Intrigued, he went home and looked it up.
Imagine his surprise when he saw the first result, claiming itself as 'the official site for To Write Love On Her Arms'. Thinking that it was some kind of cheap emo band, he clicked on it. At first, he thought nothing of it, shrugging and going off to check for any new shipment request after reading the story behind it.
To be honest, he forgot about it for a while. But there came a night where he was making a speedy drive to that dark alley after getting a call from Worth. It turned out that the pseudo-doctor had gone on a rune binge and cut himself a little too deeply; nothing that couldn't be fixed with some gauze and pressure. But as he was making his way home, he thought back to that little website, that simple little acronym. And without a second thought, he turned right instead of left, found a cheap tattoo parlor, and made an appointment.
He knew that Worth would just laugh if he saw a simple, four-letter word written in blocky script across Lamont's inner forearm, but he never really planned on mentioning it. "By the way, I got the word 'love' tattooed on my arm because it makes me think of you" wasn't exactly something you could mention in conversation. So he hid it under the sleeves of his jacket, only remembering it was there when he was undressing for bed. And behind the bandage over his cheek, he smiled.
There were times he regretted getting the tattoo; when his eye got so swollen that he could barely see out of it from a punch, when the cut on his eye was re-opened with so much severity that he contemplated going to the hospital. But in the end, it was worth it, because those nights where he had to make sure Worth didn't cut too deeply started becoming less frequent (which he assumed was because Hanna hadn't been paying him, for whatever reason). It was most likely coincidence, but it was nice; nice to not have to worry as much. Because he did worry, even if he wouldn't admit it.