Gemotions

He’d seen the image plastered across social media. His own canvas, his own work, now permanently affixed to the sweaty back of some gym rat. Every muscle in his jaw clenched. He’d poured himself into that piece, the swirling blues and greens of a deep-sea creature.

He messaged the guy, a polite enquiry disguised as simple curiosity. They met at a coffee shop, the air thick with the smell of burnt beans. He kept his voice low, measured. He learned the tattoo artist's name and address.

Later that week, he was there. The artist, a cocky kid with too much ink of his own, had a new, impromptu client, one that he hadn't planned. The new tattoo would be an exact copy of the gym rat's, inked across the same place, and then the canvas would need another layer, a matching piece to go over the top.