Chapter Text
Rumi stepped into the small tattoo parlour, taking a deep breath and relishing for a moment the contrast of the cool space with the unseasonably warm spring day in Seoul. It was a Sunday morning, and the city was alive with people coming out of their winter slumber, relishing the first inklings of summer.
Pink and white blossoms grew flush on tree-lined sidewalks and in public parks. The perfume of these early blooms was almost overwhelming. Rumi tried not to think about the pollen count. But the parlour was quiet. There was some faint, ambient music coming from the back, but the desk at the front was empty. Rumi hesitated, wondering for a moment if she’d misread her schedule.
Admittedly, Rumi was a little early. Just half an hour early. Maybe a bit more. She only wanted to try to give herself a bit of a sense of control. Her driver hadn’t argued, at least not when she insisted. But now that she was here, with nothing to do but idly wait, she immediately felt the weight of her anxiety crushing down.
She steeled herself and walked past the desk, peering further into the shop. In the back room, she could see a woman standing at a steel table, head bent over. She was prepping what looked like a small surgical tray with small pots of ink.
The woman was wearing a white short-sleeved t-shirt and black denim, her long hair flowing loosely down her back, with a pair of headphones covering her ears. The exposed skin of her arms bore many tattoos. Rumi recognized those inspired by traditional Korean artwork, as well as some of the flowers and plants in the intricate botanical pieces.
Just as Rumi was considering leaving and waiting in the car until her actual appointment time, the artist noticed her. She removed her headphones, her lips curling into a soft smile.
”Hey, you must be Rumi,” she said. Her tone was gentle, but her voice was lower than Rumi expected. “Sorry, I must have lost track of time during prep. I’m Mira, by the way. I spoke with your friend Zoey on the phone.”
“Oh, no. Don’t worry about that. No, I’m early, actually. Sorry. Habit. I don’t like to be late.” Rumi did her best to smile, but it was a slightly pained expression. Her eyes kept flicking back to the instruments at Mira’s prep station.
Mira followed her line of sight and hesitated only slightly before stepping between Rumi and her tools. “Don’t worry about those yet,” Mira reassured her. “Let’s talk first. Do you need any tea or water?”
Rumi accepted the offer of tea, noting her hands were trembling slightly as she held the mug, sitting on the small loveseat where Mira had guided her.
”Zoey told me you’re interested in scar camouflage?”
Rumi nodded. “Um, yes. I’d been reading a lot about the options, and I feel like it could be a good fit for me. I think Zoey, um, may have given you some photos?”
”Yeah, I took a look at those. I do think you’re a good candidate. Typically, during these consults, we start with a physical exam of your scars. Then I can walk you through the available methods and show you some example results. Then, if you like, we can have a short session today. Even just a few minutes to give you an idea of what the sensations would be like. Have you ever had tattooing done before?”
”No. This is my first time.” Rumi looked at her lap briefly and then back at Mira, who was watching her carefully, although kindly.
”That’s not a problem. It’s really not as scary as some people make it out to be.” She paused before adding, “You’re in good hands,” with a small smile.
”So. For the physical exam. What would make you feel most comfortable?”
Rumi tried her best not to look like she was in agony at the thought of it. She’d spent years talking through her experiences with therapists. She’d practiced every acceptance exercise under the sun. But allowing someone to see her scars—to touch them. It remained an overwhelming prospect.
“Um. I’m open to whatever you recommend,” she lied.
Mira hesitated, searching Rumi’s face for something. “Rumi. Really. My priority is your comfort here, okay? I know it’s not easy. I’m willing to do whatever works for you.”
Rumi swallowed nervously. “I appreciate that. I’m… If I’m honest, there isn’t really a version of this that doesn’t make me want to—to—“ Rumi glanced at the door to the shop instinctively, and Mira’s eyes followed hers.
”To run?” Mira asked, gently.
”Yes,” Rumi breathed, looking down at her hands. The tremor was subtle, but it was there.
“Are you sure you want to do this today? We can reschedule. I really don’t mind.” Mira’s expression was so genuine that it made Rumi flush with some misplaced sense of shame.
Rumi was quiet for a minute. She listened to her own breathing. She gripped the warm mug of tea tightly. “No,” she said, finally. “No, I want to do it today.”
Mira nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Mira led her to the back of the studio, where there was a small, windowless room. She turned on the overhead light, which flickered to life with a dull hum. “Sorry,” Mira said as she pulled fresh paper across the exam table in the centre of the room. “I know this part feels kind of clinical.”
”That’s okay.” Rumi glanced around. The room reminded her of intakes when she was a teenager. It was only missing the smell of stale coffee and the sounds of the hospital intercom.
”So, I do need you to change into a gown to look at your thighs. But, I figured we could start with your arms and see how that feels?”
Rumi nodded. “Yeah, okay.” She took a seat on the exam table and reached down, picking at the end of her sleeve.
”Okay. I’m ready whenever you are. If I do anything that doesn’t feel okay, let me know right away.”
Even with all the anxiety of the session and the process, Rumi found herself warming to Mira. She cut an intimidating figure in the studio, but her presence was calming.
Rumi took a deep breath and lightly pulled back the thin hoodie sleeve covering her left arm. Just above the wrist, the lines appeared. Some thin, some thick, some raised, and some flat. They were largely straight, although a few jagged edges stuck out here and there. Times when she couldn’t get a hold of her usual tools.
For the most part, the scars on her lower arm were a milky white. A couple pitched a little darker. As they climbed her arm and got closer to her shoulder, they grew red and purple. She had less control there and couldn’t see as well. The marks were messier.
Mira, who was sitting on a rolling stool, slid closer to her. She looked at Rumi’s arm and then up at her face. “Can I touch you?” She asked. Rumi nodded, feeling an odd flicker of heat on the back of her neck.
Mira reached out and took her arm, examining the marks. She ran her fingers over them, massaging lightly, likely gauging the skin's tightness, which was fairly taut in some places. “These look like really good candidates for the scar camouflage procedure.”
Rumi was relieved but only nodded.
“Thank you for showing me that,” Mira said, catching her eye. Rumi nodded, doing her best to hold her gaze. “I know from the photos that there are some other spots on your upper arms. Do you want to show me those?”
”Yes. Those are… I think maybe those are going to be a bit more of a challenge.” Rumi was staring at the floor again as she removed her zipper hoodie.
”I like a challenge,” Mira said in a voice and a manner that made Rumi laugh, a sort of weird, breathy little sound. Mira smiled and turned to look at her upper arms. As soon as she did, Rumi rolled her eyes at herself and mouthed the word ‘seriously?’
”We’d probably have a particular colour palette we’d be looking at for some of these darker ones. We could always see if some laser removal would tone down the pigment if you were worried about going darker, though.”
”I’m fine with something darker.” Rumi had given some cursory thought to designs. She was aware from the beginning that her darker scars would likely require traditional tattooing for coverage. She’d perused so many artist portfolios at this point, she was embarrassed to admit she didn’t particularly know what type of work Mira excelled at.
”I do a lot of black-only pieces, so we’ve got options in terms of design. We can talk more about that later, though. Did you want to take a look at your thighs today?” Rumi looked up to meet her eyes. Mira had kind eyes—just the faintest crinkles when she smiled. If Rumi had seen her on the street, she’d probably imagine her smoking a cigarette in a bar somewhere that Rumi would be intimidated to enter.
”Rumi?” Mira said, catching her gaze. Her smile was still genuine, but she also looked a little concerned. “You got quiet there for a minute. Are you okay?”
Rumi swallowed and nodded. “Oh, yes. Sorry. I’m fine, I was just… Yes. I’m—we can do the, um, thighs today.”
”If you’re nervous or you don’t want to, we can always come back to another time.”
Rumi leaned back slightly, tipping her head up, appraising Mira again. She was fairly certain that this woman, a total stranger, had checked in with her more times regarding her comfort than anyone in the industry had ever done. Through much more degrading experiences—dressing her for events, hair and makeup, endless retouches.
“No, it’s okay. I really don’t mind. My legs are actually something I have on display much more often.”
”Oh. Okay.”
”Sorry,” Rumi interjected. “I just realized how that sounds. I just mean a lot of my costumes involve shorts. Because I don’t show my arms. To sort of… Balance it. I don’t know. Sorry, I—you probably don’t need to know all of this. I’ll just—I’m just going to stop talking now.”
Mira had a funny little smile on her face that Rumi hoped was a positive, ‘I’m listening’ sort of smile, not a ‘this client is insane, and I need to placate her’ smile.
“I’m really happy to hear anything you’d like to tell me about what could make this an easier experience for you, Rumi. If you’re really okay with taking a look at your thighs, I’ll let you get changed into the gown.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
”Great. I’ll just step out for a moment. I’ll knock before I come back in.”
When Mira was gone, Rumi took a deep breath and carefully let it out. She couldn’t tell if this nervous energy she was feeling was because of her scars, because she was anxious about the tattooing process, or because she was just generally a huge mess. Maybe the latter.
She stepped out of her jeans and pulled her shirt off. She briefly hesitated, staring at the paper gown. Was she supposed to take off everything? Surely not. As she was debating, Mira knocked on the door.
”How’s it going?” Mira asked, muffled.
“Just a minute. Sorry!”
Mira laughed. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, you know.”
Rumi decided to strip to just her bra and underwear and put on the gown, settling back on the paper.
“Ready now! S—“She stopped herself. Less apologizing. She could do that. She could definitely stop herself from apologizing for apologizing too much.
Mira opened the door, poking her head through. “All set?”
”All set,” Rumi said, giving her two thumbs up, for some reason.
Mira approached her, placing her hand on the bed. “So, you can either lie down or stay sitting up. Whatever feels comfortable. When you’re ready, I’ll lift up the gown and take a look. Does that sound alright?”
Rumi nodded, although she was paralyzed with indecision over whether it would be weirder to lie down or sit up. Lying down felt more intimate somehow, but sitting up meant they would be face-to-face.
”I’ll, uh, lie down,” she said quickly. She tipped backwards onto the bed, then shifted forward on reflex.
”Oh, it’s, uh. You can just stay where you’re at,” Mira said. Then added, with amusement in her voice, “It’s not a pelvic exam.”
Rumi laughed to keep herself from groaning with embarrassment.
“I’m going to lift up the gown now.” There was a rustling, and Rumi felt the cool air of the room rush under the paper garment.
Mira’s fingers had been warm and soft and not at all uncomfortable when she had touched her arms. But they felt very different when they touched the skin of her thighs. Rumi became aware for the first time of just how long and slender they were. They glided across the delicate skin and the rough, scarred areas.
For a brief moment, Rumi’s mind produced an image of Mira’s fingers sliding higher, between her legs, tracing the edges of her panties. Her face flushed, and she jolted, startling both of them.
“Sorry, Rumi, did I do something wrong?” Mira stood up immediately, looking deeply concerned.
”No, no. No, it wasn’t you. Sorry. I just was—I was thinking about something else. Sorry.” Rumi felt like she was going to melt into the table from embarrassment.
“Okay. Well. Sorry, if you don’t mind. I’m just going to take a quick look at the other side. But please let me know if there’s anything I’m doing that you don’t like.” Mira was so earnest. Rumi felt like she was going to perish from shame.
Mira conducted the rest of the exam in what felt like a slight rush. When she was finished, she stood up. “Alright, all done here. You can go ahead and get dressed. I’ll knock before I come back.”
”Okay, sounds good.”
”By the way, Rumi, just a note. If you’re in the gown again, you don’t have to take off your shirt in this case, just your pants.” Mira said it so kindly as she stepped out of the room, Rumi only had to wait mere seconds before she could crash out. Not only had she unnecessarily stripped down to her bra, but Mira had noticed. Ugh.
When she was dressed again, Rumi opened the door, to Mira’s surprise. “All done,” she announced, for some reason.
”Great! Well, that’s it for the exam. Your thigh scars should be good candidates for the camouflage procedure as well, by the way.”
Rumi smiled. She could tell it was her weird ‘Idol-bot’ smile, as Zoey called it, but she was too flustered to actually make a normal human smile.
Mira led her back into the main part of the studio. They paused at her workstation. “So, this is the part where you get to decide. We can wrap up for the day, or we can try some tattooing. What do you think?”
Rumi hesitated, thoughtful. Part of her did want to run away from this engagement before she humiliated herself further, but the other part of her was determined to kick off the process.
“I really want to be able to walk away from this appointment feeling like I’ve started,” she said, surprising herself. She wasn’t usually this honest with strangers.
”I get that. This is a big step.” Mira’s voice was warm, and her gaze was soft. She didn’t really feel like a stranger. “I’ll get you set up on the table. If at any point while I’m getting prepped—or even after we start—you decide you want to stop, just let me know, okay? It’s always better to stop too soon than too late.”
Mira walked over and adjusted the table, propping it up a bit, so Rumi wouldn’t be flat on her back. “All set,” she said, gesturing to the table, her hand open beside it. For some asinine reason, Rumi went to climb onto the table and took Mira’s hand, misinterpreting the gesture as an offer of a boost. Mira seemed to take it in stride, helping her get settled, but Rumi could tell from the way she went stiff that she wasn’t expecting it.
”Thanks,” Rumi said, her voice quiet with overwhelm.
“No problem.” Mira turned and busied herself with her workstation. Rumi held back a sigh.
When she was ready, Mira sat down on a rolling stool, scooting over to the table where Rumi was lying.
“So, we’ll start on the arms today. Really just want to give you a feel for things. Not more than ten or twenty minutes—if that sounds okay?”
”Yeah. That sounds good. I’m ready.” Rumi had a habit of saying things that were untrue, hoping that the lie would change them. It worked. Sometimes.
Mira leaned forward and turned on the tattoo gun. It made a high-pitched whine. As she got closer to Rumi’s skin, she could feel the vibration of it. When the needle touched her, it felt like a pricking sensation, hot—almost like being burned, but by a fire the size of a pinhead.
“So, what do you do for work?” Mira asked after a few minutes had passed with only the sounds of the tattoo gun and some soothing ambient music.
“Oh, uh…” Rumi struggled to respond. Hadn't Zoey told her?
“Just kidding,” Mira said, amusement in her voice. “You seemed a little tense. Trying to lighten the mood a bit.”
“Oh, right. Right. Sorry. This is my first time doing this. I think I'm just a little nervous.”
“That's okay. Everybody starts somewhere. It's good if you can relax. It'll make things easier.”
“Right. Relax.” Rumi couldn't really count relaxation among her skills.
“Not much for relaxing, huh?”
“I don't get a lot of opportunities to relax, if I'm honest,” Rumi said, her tone light. Mira hummed a response, wiping Rumi's arm with a paper towel soaked in antiseptic. “I'm also… Not very good at it,” she added.
“I understand that,” Mira said, turning away and placing her gun on the surgical tray. “Can I try something?”
“Sure,” Rumi said. She didn't usually enjoy being vulnerable with strangers, but she was feeling oddly comfortable with Mira.
“Can you close your eyes for me?”
Rumi looked over at her beforehand but did as she asked.
“Put your hand on your stomach, right below your ribcage. Now, breathe in for five seconds. Next, hold that breath for five seconds.”
Rumi took a deep breath, slowly counting the seconds.
“Now breathe out for five seconds. Then hold for another five.”
Rumi exhaled. When she was done, she opened her eyes and looked at Mira.
“What did you think?”
Rumi smiled. “It was nice. I think I’ve done something a bit like that before.” Mira hummed. “I’ve been in a lot of… Programs. Just because of my—my—“
”That makes sense. I’ve been in my fair share, too.”
Rumi looked over at Mira, and their eyes met for a moment. It was over just as quickly, Mira resuming her work.
All in all, Rumi handled about twenty minutes of tattooing. Mira praised her. “Twenty minutes is a long time for someone new to it. I’ve seen big, burly guys give up after a few seconds.”
Rumi laughed, genuinely. “Good to know I’m braver than some big, burly guys.”
Mira walked her to the door of the studio, hesitating in the entryway.
“Make sure to take care of yourself tonight. Use the balm in your aftercare kit and drink some water. It’s not unusual to get a mild fever. You can just take something over the counter if it’s bothering you.”
”Thanks,” Rumi said warmly. “I will. Sorry if I wasn’t the easiest client today. I feel like I made you hold my hand a lot. Literally, even.”
Mira laughed. It was a bright sound that made Rumi’s heart race, just a little.
“You were the perfect client today, Rumi. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
”Me too.”
Rumi slipped out of the parlour, down the stairs, and out onto the street where her car was waiting. She climbed inside and settled in the back. She reached down and touched the small area on her hoodie where Mira had begun her tattooing, using her other hand to pull out her phone.
She tapped on Zoey’s message thread.
zoey: how’d it go???
rumi: really good! i even got some done today!
zoey: omg, Rumi!!! i’m so proud of you!!! did it hurt??
Rumi reacted to her message with a purple heart.
rumi: it really wasn’t that bad. you were right
zoey: i mean I know i’m always right but it’s still nice to hear you say it
rumi: lol
zoey: what did you think of the artist?
Rumi hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to answer that one without tripping Zoey’s radar.
rumi: she was really nice. she made me feel very comfortable
zoey: aww that’s great. i’m really glad.
Rumi started to type something else, but decided to keep it to herself. Whatever little sparks she was feeling were just the usual butterflies she got occasionally. They always ultimately faded away into nothing. She was certain that by the next time she saw Mira, it would all be water under the bridge.