She went out with her friends.
You stayed home.
Movie on. Drink in hand. Texts from her like:
“Alive.” “Don’t wait up.” “Love you.”
Normal night. Until the front door opens.
And she walks in looking… off.
Hair messy. Smile lazy. Shirt unbuttoned lower than usual.
And you almost don’t notice.
Almost.
⸻
You’re mid-sip when you glance up.
“Hey,” you say casually.
She kicks her shoes off.
“Hey, baby.”
You squint.
“…Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you lost a fight with a button.”
She looks down at herself.
“Oh.”
You narrow your eyes.
“Why is your shirt open.”
“It’s hot.”
“It’s February.”
She walks toward the kitchen like this is normal.
Like you’re not staring. And then—
You see it.
Black ink.
Bold.
Stretching from just above her ribs down along her side.
Huge.
Detailed.
Fresh.
You choke on your drink.
Actually choke.
You cough so hard you nearly drop the glass.
She freezes.
“…You good?”
You point at her.
“You—”
Cough.
“What.”
“Turn.”
She blinks.
“What?”
“TURN.”
She sighs but turns slightly.
And there it is.
A massive tattoo wrapping along her side.
You stare.
Speechless.
“You did not.”
She tries to play dumb.
“Did not what?”
“You. Did. Not.”
“It’s just ink.”
“JUST INK?”
You stand up abruptly.
“When.”
“Tonight.”
“TONIGHT? You went out for drinks!”
“And a quick appointment.”
“A quick—”
You grab your cup and set it down before you throw it at her.
“You got a giant tattoo without telling me.”
She shrugs.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“A surprise is flowers.”
She grins slightly.
“You don’t like it?”