Chapter Text
The constant noise of moderately thick New York traffic echoes throughout the small town’s streets and alleyways on a late Thursday evening. With the fog finally clearing after a late afternoon shower, the cars were smoothly driving through the town’s main streets with a bit more speed and a little less aggravation, though with the occasional heavy honking from a few impatient drivers. Normally, it isn’t that cramped around No End Tattoo Parlor; usually the traffic flows pretty well and there aren’t all that many accidents — surprisingly, really, for being just out of the big city’s walls. Small yet thriving businesses line the sidewalks of the town, No End included, and then bigger buildings and hotels sit behind those small businesses. At first glance, the town looks straight out of a movie (both old and present-day); there are cute, clean, and modern coffee shops, art galleries, candy stores, and scattered clothing boutiques. Pretty much everything you need is in walking distance, which is a big perk for days when the streets do get crowded.
When Emily first moved to New York, she arrived full of nerves because of both the new location and a belief that she wouldn’t accomplish what she wanted to do. Actually, truth be told, she had no idea what she wanted to do; she only had a general idea: get situated at school, do well in school, finish school, move on. What was she going for, exactly? She had no idea. At first, Emily wanted to be a vet. Next, she thought about studying astronomy and dedicating her life to the stars. Nothing really came out of either of those ideas aside from the fact that she can now point at the stars and list the different constellations thanks to the times she decided to skim through a few small astronomy books, but that’s not something she could put on her eventual resume.
Thankfully, after a year off of school, she had moved to New York with one of her best friends: Hanna Marin. During high school, Hanna and Emily had vowed to travel together no matter what, especially if the two other members of their group — Aria and Spencer — couldn’t tag along to keep them company. Following a whole school-less year, Hanna and Emily had agreed on moving to New York; they compromised pretty easily, surpassing Emily’s argument that she wanted to live somewhere less crowded. Like Hanna had always planned, she wanted to start going to school to work towards getting a degree relating to something in the fashion industry — Emily couldn’t keep up with the specific job title since Hanna had changed her mind a number of times, although she’s 90% sure that Hanna is now working towards being a “fashion forecaster.”
On their way to the new, much-bigger-than-home city, the outspoken blonde had made over a million jokes about anything and everything that they had seen on the side of the road; it was blatantly obvious that she was nervous as well but held much more hope than Emily had, therefore she was clearly trying to make light of the situation. When they finally made it into New York, they visited Hanna’s school, Parsons School of Design, located in NYC, before making their way over to the decent-sized apartment where they’d be living together. Their apartment — a two bedroom and one bath home industrial-looking space — rested above an array of small shops including a modern yet rustic cafe and public gym. When their low-ball offer for the apartment was quickly accepted, Emily was pretty skeptical and felt a strong desire to search the internet for complaints from former tenants, however Hanna eventually coerced her into realizing that the landlords probably didn’t feel like throwing numbers back and forth. In the end, it worked out great — well, aside from a few of Hanna’s obnoxious living tendencies.
One huge bonus of having Hanna as a best friend is that she isn’t afraid of trying new things and dragging you out to new places. She’s convinced Emily to go to plenty of new places since they’ve arrived in New York. Shopping malls, small hole-in-the-wall restaurants, bars (obviously), and even parks. It’s fun, especially since Emily never goes out much on her own; she loves to try new things but never really knows where to venture to. This “trial by Hanna” method is exactly how Emily got to where she is now. One night, her blonde friend had dragged her to No End (to which, when Emily heard the name, she replied, “This night has no end” ), begging Emily to help her pick out a nice tattoo; “I want something bold but not too bold where I lose my attractiveness, you know?” she had said on the way over. Emily had just continued to side-eye her rambling best friend, hoping that the artist would refuse to work on her simply because she couldn’t sit still. Once they walked into the back room with the artist, Hanna had chosen a few designs and asked Emily her opinion, earning a few suggestions from Emily that the artist commended the brunette for. Eventually, Hanna had decided on a piece that wraps around the upper thigh area: a detailed, lace-looking “garter” with a bow, uncolored.
Once the artist gathered all of his equipment and properly sterilized the area — which Emily, though impressed, wasn’t aware would take that long — Hanna grew nervous and began repeatedly asking Emily if she should go through with it. “That’s up to you, Han. We’ve done this before, remember?” Emily had pointedly reminded her friend whilst motioning to her foot. Ultimately, Hanna nodded her head and declared, “Let’s do this,” which earned a replying head nod from Brixton, the artist, who started to clean the area of her skin where she wanted the tattoo. He then took the stencil and carefully wrapped it around her upper thigh, smoothing the paper gradually to make sure no pockets or folds formed. After removing the paper, he instructed both Hanna and Emily to take a look, to which Hanna clapped her hands in excitement and Emily gawked at the details. As he periodically pressed his foot on the pedal to start the machine, Brixton dipped the small cluster of needles into the ink before wiping Hanna’s skin with a paper towel once again. Soon enough, he began to draw intricate lines along her thigh, beginning the outline.
At first, Hanna scrunched her face up in new-found burning sensation and slight pain before she let out a shaky laugh and scolded Emily for snorting at her reaction. “I really should be taking a video of this. Aria and Spencer would love it,” earned the response, “You weren’t much better when you got your tiny tattoo, Miss Fields.” As Brixton paid close attention to where and what he was tattooing, Emily began to grow interested in what he was doing as well. Whenever he took a break to re-dip the needles in the ink, Emily would ask him a question about the art of tattooing. She wanted to know more about it. She found it interesting how much care and concentration took place in order to make a beautiful piece and, from the looks of the artwork on the walls, it also took skill. Emily had gotten pretty good at drawing towards the end of high school; she had always had an artistic edge — in fact, that’s what advanced her from preschool to kindergarten, Emily’s parents had told her — but she really began to grow into her own artistic perceptions and skill. Sadly, she never paid much attention to it since she was busy trying to figure out what she should do with the rest of her life; being an artist doesn’t pay much, she was told.
A few hours and a tear or two later, Hanna’s thigh was wrapped up and they were heading home with a care sheet.
“You’re going to have to help me wash this, you know,”
“Hanna, you can reach your thigh just fine.”
“Fine. But if it gets infected, it’ll be your problem.”
As the weeks went by, Emily constantly stopped by No End just to look through the idea books in the lounging area of the parlor and practice her own drawing. She became good friends with Brixton along with the few other artists. Eventually, Brixton had suggested that she bring in her portfolio of drawings so he could help her out. She was nervous, that’s a definite, because she hates being critiqued, but she was also excited to show someone her work — someone who had actually asked to see it. “Stop being so nervous, Emily,” Brixton had said in a monotonous tone without looking up, concentrating on her work. After a few suggestions and a bunch of “I’m impressed” head nods, Brixton had asked if she knew of their apprenticeship position and then proposed the idea that Emily should give it a go which, without giving it any second thoughts, she did.
The apprenticeship started off slow; Emily would come in, Brixton would give her a task to do (or an object to draw), and she’d follow directions based on previous suggestions that he had given her. After a bit of time, the pace picked up and she started tattooing on fake skin or whatever Brixton had given her at the time — she didn’t even want to ask. As she learned to keep the handheld machine steady — with the tradeoff being that holding a pencil became strenuous — her lines began to flow more and her blending became ten times more pristine. After a year and a half, Emily was given a permanent, well-paying job at No End. Brixton had remarked that she learned the craft super quick and he was proud of her, to which Emily beamed and thanked him for introducing her to this new world. Over time, she grew fond of the clients that came in: some regulars and some new-comers, including timid teenagers and even elderly folk. Additionally, Emily’s co-workers became her new family, including Hanna who consistently stopped by the shop in order to drop off some coffee or lunch. For once in her life, Emily feels completely in-place; like she’s supposed to be where she finally is.
Emily counts the register’s contents as the night starts to come to a close — it’s nearing 10:30 P.M., which means only thirty more minutes until the shop closes; No End stays open later than most parlors nearby, as per public demand. Unfortunately, although the public demands it, no one usually shows after 9:45 P.M. aside from those who were given a dare to get something obscene inked on some random body part.
As she continues to count today’s earnings, Brixton walks out from the backroom, making his way towards the front door.
“Hey, Emily, can you go through tomorrow’s consultations and appointments to make sure everything is… orderly? Before you lock up, I mean.”
“Of course,” she replies after looking up from the cash register.
She shifts her position so she’s on the opposite end of the shop’s front desk, sitting right in front of the laptop. She says her goodbyes to Brixton as he puts on his old, olive green hat and walks out of the shop. After going through a few margins of clients, she hears the bell above the door chime, signifying that they have a customer. As she looks up, she comes face to face with a new blonde who is slightly leaning over the counter, displaying a determined look with glossed-over eyes. The girl looks down towards the desk for a split second, biting her cheek as if wondering why she even came into the shop in the first place.
“Welcome to No End. Do you—” Emily begins to speak before getting interrupted.
The blonde shakes her head rather impatiently. “I want to get a tattoo,” she states before inhaling deeply.
The brunette behind the desk notes the other girl’s posture, attitude, and appearance; she’s clearly been drinking. Emily looks around the parlor before facing the girl again. If she asks the girl if she’s been drinking, she’ll most likely deny it. On the other hand, if she simply accuses the girl of being drunk… well, what if—
“ Hello? ” the blonde reaches over and pokes Emily’s hand that’s resting on the desk.
As a reaction, Emily snaps out of her thoughts a little too quickly and ends up saying, “We don’t tattoo people who aren’t sober.”
“What makes you think I’m not sober?”
“Well, do you always look like you’ve stayed up for the last forty-eight hours?
At this, the blonde rolls her eyes and walks away from the counter. Emily scopes out the girl’s outfit: she’s wearing tight, black jeans with a long, royal blue blouse, also accompanied by some nice-looking flats. Clearly the blonde had gone somewhere before coming into No End. Emily casually watches the other girl look at the simple tattoo flash sheets that adorn the lounge area’s walls. Soon, the girl starts to pace back and forth, slightly concerning Emily. Right when she’s about to ask the other girl if everything’s alright, the blonde girl’s phone rings, earning a grunt as she answers it.
“Yes, I did call,” she partially hisses into the phone.
“Can you get me a few more nights in the hotel?”
“No. I’m not going to try to make it work with him. I thought you wanted me to be happy?” she says in a mocking tone.
“When will the new place be ready?”
“Thank you,” she breathes out a sigh of… relief?
Emily carefully goes about her work, however struggling due to trying to understand what the blonde and the person on the other line are talking about. She goes through a few more clients before she hears the blonde groaning at the person on the other line again.
“Do you pay attention to anything I say, Mom? He cheated on me. Cheated .”
As she shakes her head, she quietly says, “Whatever. Thanks for the room again. Goodnight.”
Emily watches the blonde stand near the doorway, motionless, before speaking again.
“You can stay here until I clock out, if you’d like.”
At the brunette’s voice, the other girl looks up with glossier eyes, nodding a small “thank you” before sitting on the old leather couch resting against one of the large windows. As she grasps the small purse in her lap, she watches a few cars go by and takes in the neighborhood’s surroundings. She had walked (and partly stumbled) from a nearby bar, deciding that a tattoo sounded like a good idea. Truthfully, if you asked her what the hell she was doing, she’d say that she has no idea anymore; she’d say that she goes wherever the wind (or alcohol) pushes her.
“You seem like you’re lost in deep thought,” Emily says as she rounds the desk, gently sitting down next to the other girl.
“Something like that,” the blonde says without looking back towards Emily.
“What’s your name?”
“Alison,” she replies, still watching the cars outside the window.
When the blonde girl — now known as Alison — continues to show no interest in talking to her, Emily begins to get up, causing Alison to snap back into reality.
“I’m sorry. I’m having a rough day. What’s your name?” she apologizes, hoping that the other girl will sit back down.
“I’m Emily,” the brunette says as she reclaims her previous position on the couch. “What’s going on?”
When Alison hesitates, Emily immediately cuts in again, “You don’t need to tell me. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” Alison answers in a small and comforting voice. “I just don’t know how to answer without unloading years of problems on you,” she smiles sadly.
“I have time.”
“I don’t.”
Emily chuckles. “Fine. Just tell me what brought you into the shop tonight.”
“I was engaged to this guy named Elliott for a few months. We had been together for a little over a year beforehand,” she stares at the floor as she continues, “honestly, I don’t even know why we were together for so long. I didn’t feel that much when I was with him. Anyway… a couple of days ago, I found out that he’s been seeing someone else. He has been for a while, apparently.” She pauses for a moment before softly laughing and finishing, “Even though I wasn’t the happiest, it still hurts when someone you thought you knew cheats on you.”
As Emily looks at her with sympathy, the blonde inhales deeply once again and lets out a laugh.
“So, I came here to get something in order to commemorate my freedom,” she declares. “Something like “ 4/25 ” maybe, but... ” Alison looks at Emily pointedly, “ somebody won’t let me do that.”
Emily raises her hands in surrender with wide eyes. “Well maybe if you didn’t smell like Smirnoff’s campaign girl…”
At the statement, Alison rolls her eyes and dismisses the conversation, now turning the spotlight on Emily. “Aren’t tattoo artists supposed to have tattoos themselves?” she raises an eyebrow.
“Not every tattoo artist has to be covered in tattoos.”
“Well, shouldn't they? To… promote their work, in a way?” she giggles.
“I have tattoos,” Emily replies. “You just can’t see them right now.”
“Are you hinting that they’re private tattoos?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Emily smirks at the seemingly curious girl next to her.
Before Alison could formulate a response, Emily’s phone began to chime, reminding her that her shift officially ended five minutes ago. Alison looks around the shop, admiring the artwork, various decor, and intricate inspirational sculptures. Eventually, she faces Emily who is now checking the notifications on her phone.
“So I guess I’m not getting a tattoo tonight,” Alison half assumes, half asks.
Emily simply looks up and gives her an “I told you I can’t” look before going back to check her notifications. Soon enough, the brunette gets up from the couch and stares Alison who is still looking around.
“Did you walk here?”
“I did,” she confirms.
“I’m going to walk you home or… wherever,” Emily mentally smacks herself for revealing that she was listening to the phonecall. She was trying to act confident and declarative, but...
“Were you eavesdropping, Emily?” Alison catches on and teases.
When Emily opens and closes her mouth without answering, Alison continues, “I’d like some company. Thank you.”
Alison gets up and walks towards the door while Emily grabs her belongings and the shop’s keys. After shutting off the lights, they step out onto the sidewalk while Emily locks the building and shoves the keys into her bag. The two begin walking down the street, enjoying the small night breeze that bounces off of the buildings that line the sidewalks. Most of their lights are off aside from the required security lights and a few neon window signs. Much less cars are passing now that it’s nearing 11:10 P.M., though a number of people are still walking down the street, flowing from bar to bar or to the late-night cafes. As they walk, turning corners every now and then, their shoulders occasionally brush against each other, neither one of them caring.
“Are you feeling any better?” Emily is first to break the silence.
“Are you asking if I’m less drunk than I was earlier?” the other girl smirks as she side-eyes the brunette beside her.
“I guess you could put it like that,” Emily snorts at Alison’s bluntness.
“I am. Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You kept me company, so thank you,” Alison replies in a soft tone as she turns her head to look at Emily.
Though Alison still felt the effects of the night’s “coping,” she wasn’t lying when she thanked the other girl for keeping her company. Spending time with someone actually kept her mind off of everything — not just her ex-fiance. Currently, she’s in a much better mood than she was when she first walked into No End. And, seemingly, she came out of it with a new friend.
“Where are we even going?” Emily questions when she realizes that she has no idea where Alison is staying for the night.
After turning one more corner, a large, fancy hotel comes into full view, towards which Alison motions and says, “There.”
“ Fancy ,” Emily awes with a head nod. “I’m guessing Mom and Dad have money.”
“Yeah,” comes the curt reply. Emily guesses that she struck a nerve when Alison stops at the hotel’s front doors and says, “You don’t need to come in. I can make it to my room.”
When Emily looks at the tall doors and doesn’t respond, Alison chuckles. “You want to see the inside, don’t you?” she assumes.
“Look, I’m not a fancy person, but even I can appreciate some nice architecture,” she blinks at the judging blonde before walking through the doors.
The hotel’s lobby has shiny marble floors accompanied by sleek furnishings with gold accessories. A few chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, making the room look impossibly bigger. Every step announces a sharp echo, most likely due to the small amount of occupants currently in the lobby. The front desk (backed by a small water fountain) is stationed across from the front doors — revolving doors, actually — with soft couches filling the space in between. A large fireplace is inserted into the room’s west wall, adorned with statues and a historical information postcard. Both far corners of the lobby branch off in opposing directions, containing indents in the wall for stairwells and silver elevators, as well as hallways that deepen — presumably leading to a cluster of hotel rooms or rooms used for recreation.
Alison watches the other girl take in the oversized room, admiring her as she seemingly found something new every second. Who knew that someone could be that excited over expensive decor and bellhops pushing luggage across the floor. It’s cute, Alison decides, so she waits a few more minutes before reminding Emily that it’s growing closer to midnight.
“Having a good time, Cinderella?” she teases again.
“Are you suggesting that I never get to enjoy nice things?”
Alison shrugs in response. She doesn’t know, truthfully.
“You’d be correct,” Emily confirms before nodding towards the elevators.
They get in the enclosed space and the doors gently close. Once Alison hits the button with the number “ 17 ” engraved in it, they both relax, causing Emily to finally smell Alison’s perfume. When the blonde first walked into No End, Emily initially smelt a hint of vanilla, however assumed that it was a nearby cafe. Gradually, she began to solely smell alcohol — not a powerful scent, but enough to pick up on. Now, after nearly an hour and some fresh air, Emily faintly smells something other than alcohol on the blonde next to her and, honestly, she kind of enjoys it. Actually, she enjoys Alison’s presence in general. Although Emily is constantly meeting new people through work, she normally doesn’t meet anyone new out of work and, even though it’s quickly nearing midnight, she’s happy that Alison accepted her offer — or demand — to walk her to the hotel.
The elevator slightly bounces and then dings, followed by the doors opening. Alison steps out before Emily who is now admiring the freshly vacuumed carpet and light-colored walls.
Without looking back, Alison throws her voice over her shoulder. “The doors are going to close with you in there, you know.”
This causes Emily to scurry out of the confined space just before the doors close. Emily’s brows furrow at the elevator doors, almost as if she’s angry that she could’ve been crushed. As she turns, she sees Alison still walking down the hallway, further away than she anticipated, however Emily catches herself staring at Alison a little too long. The brunette gently blinks and mentally reminds herself to focus before speed-walking in order to catch up to Alison who had rounded the corner a few moments ago.
She turns the same corner and abruptly comes face to face with Alison who had stopped just behind the corner so Emily could catch up. For a split second, Emily’s breath catches in her throat, both from the shock and the proximity of their faces, however she recovers and motions towards the end of the hall so Alison will continue to walk.
“Try to keep up,” Alison raises an eyebrow before walking again.
They walk down the hallway lined with doors on one side and large windows on the other, displaying a beautiful view of some distanced city lights. Emily tries not to get sucked into the cityscape as they pass a few more doors. Suddenly, Alison stops and pulls the key out of her purse before straightening it out and inserting it into the keyhole.
“Don’t they have automatic key cards now?” Emily nods towards the door.
“Some people feel more official with old, metal keys,” the blonde challenges.
“Are you one of those people?”
“I am one of those people,” she giggles.
Alison pushes the door open to reveal the large space decorated similar to the hotel’s lobby. Next to the room’s front door is a small coat closet, connected to a short hallway leading to the space’s living room. Two couches rest in the middle of the room atop a soft-looking carpet, one facing the windows that look down at the hotel’s garden, and the other facing the wall-mounted television. The lights are dimmed until Alison uses the dial next to the door to make it a bit brighter.
Emily stands in the hallway, staring ahead, completely absorbed by the new sight.
“Do you want to come in?” Alison asks in a confused tone.
“I wish I could,” Emily bites her lip before checking her phone for the time. “It’s pretty late though and I should get home,” she explains, “and you should get some rest.”
Alison jokingly rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “So now you’re a tattoo artist and a life coach?”
“Mm, sadly I don’t get paid to care.”
“So you care on your own time?”
“I do,” Emily confirms in all seriousness. She reaches for her bag and takes out a sticky note and a pen, scribbling on the light green paper. “Here,” she gives it to Alison. “I know you said that you’re feeling better, but call or message me if that changes.”
Alison raises an eyebrow. “I can’t call or message you otherwise?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know. Thank you, Emily,” the blonde says before Emily, reluctantly, tears herself away from the girl she met just a few hours prior.
She walks a few paces back towards the elevators before she hears Alison saying her name again, still standing in the doorway.
“Yes?” Emily turns around to see Alison looking a bit more reserved, a softer expression replacing her previously joking demeanor.
“Thank you for not letting me get a tattoo tonight. It wouldn’t have ended up good.”
“Are you suggesting that I do bad work?” Emily teases.
“You know what I mean,” Alison mimics from the doorway.
“I know,” Emily smirks before turning away once again and continuing to walk to the elevators.
She gets in and presses the starred button in order to get back to the lobby. While the elevator descends to the destination, Emily leans her head back against the cool elevator wall and closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath and pulls her phone out of her pocket so she can check the time: midnight. As she puts the device back in its former place, the elevator doors open and she walks through the lobby towards the front doors where a couple of taxis are parked.
Emily opens the vehicle’s door and slides into the seat, informing the driver of her apartment’s address. The middle-aged man nods his head and the car starts to move. As the taxi navigates through the streets, Emily feels her body relaxing more and more while her mind continues to wander and revel in the last ninety minutes. Tonight was good, she decides.