Gemotions

"Just a little longer," Leo muttered, his voice strained. He stood outside the tattoo parlor, arms crossed, watching the clock. He had been waiting for two hours, and the air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and anticipation. He needed to get this settled. His hands fidgeted, picking at the loose threads of his worn jeans.

Finally, the door opened. A woman emerged, beaming. Leo's breath hitched. He squinted as she walked past, revealing the back of her neck. He recognized the intricate design immediately. It was a replica of his painting, "Whispers of the Wind," down to the last feathered detail. His face flushed with a sudden, all-consuming heat.