You really aren’t sure what you were thinking. Everyone does dumb things in their teenage years, sure, but you’d always liked to think of yourself as being better than that. You were never rebellious, never a troublemaker—but it was just one sleepover at your friends house with ink and a needle—and ever since that night, you’ve been living with a stick-and-poke tattoo on your wrist.

You’ve been desperately trying to hide it—your parents will kill you if they ever see it—but unfortunately, your guard is down today. You’re holding his hand as the two of you walk, happily chattering away to him about something that had happened in your class without him. He happens to glance down at your wrist, just by chance, and notices the way your sleeve is rolled up just a little.

What really grabs his attention, however, is the little ‘V’ etched into your skin. It’s tiny, barely noticeable, but it’s there. He’s seen it. There’s no going back. He abruptly stops as the two of you walk, which makes you yelp a little bit and stare at him confusedly. He grabs your arm and lifts it up, so your wrist is in front of your face, and turns your arm so that the tattoo is right in front of your eyes.

He watches the way your cheeks flush pink, and your eyes widen in sheer embarrassment. He almost wants to laugh at you, as he raises his eyebrow. “Well,” He mutters. “Should I ask? Or are you going to tell me?”