Gemotions

The humid air of the gallery pressed against Elias as he surveyed the crowd. He hadn't been to a showing in years, not since... well, since the fire. He rubbed the scar on his wrist, the ghost of a burn that still ached on particularly damp days. The buzzing of conversation faded as his gaze landed on it, a familiar curve on the back of a woman’s hand, a perfect replica of his “Wandering Willow” print.

He found himself drifting toward her, the sound of his shoes on the polished floor unusually loud. The woman laughed at something someone had said, the sunlight catching the delicate lines of ink. His heart gave a funny little jump. He remembered the smell of the ink, the way he'd held his breath as he etched the lines.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice sounding rusty. The woman turned, and he saw the surprised flicker in her eyes. "Did you...did you choose that?" he managed, gesturing towards the tattoo.