(credit to hukelemmings on ao3)
{this is really heckin long and there's 3 parts so maybe that will make up for how long i've been gone. oops ? also check end for more notes. ❤️}
"Don't be such a baby."
"Fuck off, Calum."
"Seriously—you're eighteen now, what's stopping you?"
"Fuck off, Calum."
Calum sighs, throwing himself dramatically back against the passenger seat of Luke's car. They've been sitting in the parking lot for over ten minutes now, facing a small tattoo and piercing parlor named To The Moon Tattoo. Luke's just trying to work up some courage, because yesterday was his eighteenth birthday and he's been dying to get his lip pierced for months preceding this moment.
Now that he's here, though, he's freaking the fuck out, because what was he thinking? He's not good with any pain whatsoever, and just thinking about shoving metal through his face is making him sweat a little. He grips the steering wheel more tightly, knuckles going white.
His best friend huffs for the hundredth time, and Luke turns to glare at him. Calum just glares right back, lips set in a frown, and Luke groans in defeat, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Fuck," he whispers. "Is it too late to turn around and go home?"
Calum makes this horribly frustrated noise, unfastening his seat belt and throwing the strap over his shoulder. "Yes, now quit being so lame about this. It's just a piercing. One you've wanted for months, I might add."
Luke closes his eyes and nods, willing his stomach to stop churning like this. Calum's right, he's wanted this for a long time, and now there's nothing stopping him. No age restriction in place or parental consent needed. He just needs to grow a pair and fucking do it.
"This place is good, right?" Luke asks, and Calum nods, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, I already told you that. I've gotten all my tattoos here. They're professional and very good at what they do. Now come on already, I know you can do this. Stop being such a chicken shit."
Luke exhales shakily, then nods, unlatching his own seat belt and killing the engine of the car. Calum cheers, throwing his door open and scrambling out of the vehicle. Luke does the same thing, though at a much, much slower pace.
The walk across the parking lot is almost unbearable, and Luke feels like every step he takes forward causes the entrance to the parlor to shrink further away. That's totally false, obviously, because far more quickly than he'd like, Luke is pushing against it, the door flying open easily with a chime.
Immediately, he's greeted with the sound of the guns buzzing, as well as some rock station currently playing Nirvana over the speakers.
It's busy, a majority of the chairs in the front filled with customers under the needle, and Luke flinches as he watches. He doesn't think he could ever undergo a tattoo, despite how Calum tells him it's not nearly as bad as it looks.
"Calum!" A voice shouts, and Luke's eyes follow the sound, landing on a tattoo artist organizing his station. He's got these thick black framed glasses on, a mop of sandy, curly hair, and from what Luke can see, no tattoos whatsoever. He thinks that's odd for an artist, but whatever, to each their own.
"Ashton, hey!" Calum replies coolly, winking, and Luke suddenly puts together that this must be the guy Calum was freaking out about when he called Luke a few weeks ago to enthuse about his first tattoo. He'd said his artist was a total babe, how he could barely keep himself from popping a boner the whole hour and a half it took to get inked. (He'd also gone back for more tats on at least three separate occasions since then, requesting the same artist each time.)
