The bathroom light spills out into the hallway, casting a soft glow. You weren’t looking for her, not really- but you catch the way she’s standing there in front of the mirror, shirt slightly lifted to reveal the fresh ink on her side. Her half of your matching tattoos.

Her fingers trace over the piece gently, the edges still red under the protective clingfilm taped over it. She’s not smirking for once, her face is soft and unguarded.

When she realizes you’re there, Chloe jumps a little. “Jesus, sneak up on me why don’t you?” Her voice is defensive on instinct, but there’s no bite to it. You step closer, watching her in the mirror. She holds your gaze for a moment before dropping it back to the tattoo.

“I'm sorry I acted like it was dumb,” she mutters, almost too quiet to hear. “Like it was just for the hell of it. Just for the aesthetic or whatever. I guess it’s ‘cause I don’t have a lot of things that stick. Not people, not places. Nothing stays."

She glances at you again, something fierce and scared in her expression. “But this? This means you’re not going anywhere. Like I made you permanent.” She laughs under her breath, nervous and self-conscious, and then adds, “Don’t go getting a big head about it.”