Love Sought is Good But Given Unsought is Better
The tinkling bell above the door to the tattoo parlor summoned the young artist as Greg Goyle stepped inside. The artist was short and slender, the top of his head barely reaching the middle of Greg’s chest. His arms were covered in magical and regular tattoos, and despite his Muggle jeans, oversized t-shirt, and jauntily tilted fedora, he had an ethereal look about him that made Greg think of fairies.
“Oh hello. May I help you?” His voice was clear and high. He was lovely, and everything about him made Greg feel hulking and slow.
“Uhm…yeah, could you cover—” Greg held out his arm, heat rising in his cheeks as the artist grabbed his arm and moved it around, examining the hideous dark mark.
He looked up at Greg after a moment. Or an eternity.
“You don’t like it anymore?”
“I…no…” Greg’s voice trailed off.
“Only the unkind are truly deformed.” The artist’s blue eyes burned a hole through Greg’s soul, seeing every unkind thing he’d ever done. “Sometimes nargles can confuse you so you forget to be kind. But yes, I can cover this.”
Using a mix of magic and Muggle inks he set about changing Greg’s nasty mark into blooming black and blue flowers.
Greg hadn’t thought he was gay. But in the following months, he realized he no longer cared either way. Unable to stay away, he kept finding his way back to the tattoo shop. Through the window, he watched the artist bite his full lower lip while creating gorgeous art on people’s skin, hitting people with his fucking gorgeous smile. Never had Greg longed more to be well-spoken like Malfoy or Nott than he did in those moments, aching to go inside and say something, but knowing his stupid brain would fail at composing anything remotely clever.
Yet, he kept returning, wanting things he didn’t deserve.
One afternoon, the artist stepped outside.
“Gregory, you’re back. Again.”
The guy who hadn’t left Greg’s thoughts since he first saw him months ago was standing close enough that Greg could see specks of silver in his blue irises.
A breath, then he stepped closer and let his hands trail up Greg’s arms. Rising up on his toes, he slowly pressed soft lips against Greg’s mouth. It was terrifying and exhilarating, and Greg’s body responded more eloquently than his words ever had, his mouth chasing the offered kisses.
Warm breath and a whispered invitation in Greg’s ear, and Greg nodded mutely, hating himself for never knowing what to say.
Pulling back, those eyes seeing Greg like no one had before, he shook his head. “Don’t put yourself down. You’re wonderful just the way you are.”
A warm hand pulled him inside the shop.
Eventually, Greg’s hands found long hair under the hat, curves under baggy clothes, but by then it didn’t matter. Greg was already lost and found in the perfection of it all; greatness thrust upon him by the wide-eyed artist who stole his entire foolish heart.