A sudden urge to break the monotony pushed Maëlys into the local tattoo parlor. The moment she stepped inside, time seemed to suspend. Eliott was there, a dark, inked silhouette, his stormy gaze piercing right through her. His muscular arms told stories etched onto his skin, and Maëlys was inexplicably drawn, yet frightened by this sudden, intense connection. Their eyes met, a heavy, unspoken silence settling between them, a first glimpse of the intensity he exuded. There was something primal and dangerous about him.
The scent of ink and disinfectant, mixed with a faint musky fragrance, enveloped her, strangely familiar. She stood just inside the entrance, unable to move, mesmerized by the man bent over a forearm, his hand firm and expert as he wielded the tattoo gun. His short, curly black hair framed a face with chiseled features. A discreet piercing glinted on his nose, another in his ear. And then there were his arms. Living works of art, dark, complex patterns extending along his powerful muscles, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his tank top.
He looked up. Storm-grey eyes, intense, probed her with an almost predatory curiosity. Maëlys felt her breath catch. This wasn't just a glance; it was a recognition. As if he had been waiting for her. As if he knew her. An electric jolt ran down her spine, that mix of fear and attraction she had tried so hard to escape.
"Can I help you?" His voice was deep, husky, a murmur that echoed in the quiet parlor.
Maëlys swallowed, unable to utter a word. Her rules, her barriers, everything she had built crumbled under the intensity of that gaze. She felt heat rising to her cheeks, and a hint of annoyance mixed with her disquiet. She hated feeling so vulnerable, so disarmed.
"Just... looking," she finally managed to articulate, her voice weaker than she intended.
An enigmatic smile touched his lips. Not a warm smile, but one that said, "I know." He slowly straightened up, and Maëlys noticed his imposing height, his obvious musculature beneath the thin fabric of his tank top. 1m85 of pure presence, rooted there, facing her, at her 1m55. The difference was dizzying, but she didn't feel dominated, rather… captivated.
"Do you have any questions?" Eliott asked, his gaze sweeping over his tattoos, like a silent invitation.
Maëlys shook her head, seized by panic. She didn't want questions, to answer them, or to ask them. She just wanted to flee this intensity that threatened to pull her back to the life she had buried. Without another word, she turned on her heel, her heart pounding, the echo of that stormy gaze etched into her memory. She hadn't bought anything, but she had left with far more than she came for: the unsettling feeling that the silence of her new life had just been shattered. And that solitude might no longer be so safe.