Mature. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth...
"Hey boy, I really wanna see if you can go downtown with a girl like me..." ♫ What's my Name? By Rihanna.
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"A tattoo, hm? Sì, venite da questa parte, prego. Come."
As the charming, witty, and jaw dropping Italian man before us dipped behind the invite only curtain of his tattoo parlor, Harlow and I took one look at each other and collectively let out a breath of relief.
Because for the past five minutes, we'd been holding our breaths in the presence of this stranger's charisma.
"What just happened...?" I held eye contact with Harlow and a chill went down my spine just from the mere' thought of Damiano's accent.
"Cher, I gotta be real with you," Harlow blinked, "That man could break my back like a fuckin glowstick."
"So, we're thinking the same thing!?" I hissed.
"Oh my god, are you crazy? Of course we are! He's like... Italian me, and I--you know how much I love me?!" He hissed back, glancing at the curtain.
He slipped his hand into mine, "Let's go. And be bloody cool. If you embarrass me like you did in front of Rhi, I'm dumpin your ass."
"You think jus' because you got a kiss you can call her Rhi? Boy, she doesn't even know you!--"
"Let me live in fantasy land! C'mon," He whispered.
Harlow dragged me through the curtain that Damiano passed through and we came face to face with the man himself waiting at a small counter similar to the one out front.
He pulled out papers and then slid them in our direction with another sexy ass smile that made my throat feel like it could close up, "Why don't you give me your ID and tell me what kind of tattoo you're looking for tonight?"
"Uh," Harlow reached for his wallet and we wandered our way closer. He slid his ID onto the counter, "I was sort of hoping you could tattoo the lipstick print on my face...?"
Damiano slowly took his ID and slowly raised his eyebrows at the weird request, "We don't do job stoppers..."
Harlow panicked, gasping slightly, "Oh, no, no, no. Not on my face! On my neck. It's uh, it's Rihanna's lips. She kissed me at this club we were at, so we ran here 'cause I wanted to get it tattooed. I'm not like crazy for anything, I just wanna remember it. I don't really know why I mentioned that, but I don't want you to think I'm like an obsessed, weirdo stalker fan because that'd be weird and gross and pervy and-- I should really stop talking." He gulped.
Dumbass.
"Oddio, sei carino..." Damiano laughed and held onto Harlow's ID tight while he walked around the counter to our side, flirtatiousness in his step or seemingly so, "And how can I be sure you're not a weirdo, stalker fan?"
