he walks into a tattoo parlor, knowing he's only 5 months shy of being legally allowed his first tattoo. he looks through the books, deciding what he wants where. he has four ideas fully developed in his head. firstly, an inverted pink triangle behind his left ear, followed by either a tattoo or brandification of Orion the hunter on his left shoulderblade. then a broken heart with wings held together by a corset on the inside of his right wrist. lastly, a scattering of stars along the right side of his ribcage. some other ideas have crossed his mind, but nothing else seems like a complete idea yet. he settles for a pair of pink zebra print swirls in 0g as incentive to start taping his ears up to a 0g. he promises himself he'll be back soon to get his industrial done. reluctantly, he lets the door close behind him.
one night sitting in a place he called his second home for year, seeing it completely changed like all his time there didn't matter, he starts to feel like he understands he's going into grade 12. he feels old. the memories seem so long ago, another lifetime. in reality they were a mere 1-4 years ago. it drives him fucking crazy how he doesn't have somewhere to just belong anymore; he misses hanging out and knowing that at least he had somewhere to get the fuck away from his mother for awhile.
the teachers gave 72hour strike notice. he's starting to panic. he is somewhat terrified of change in large quantities, even a lot of small changes. not having school for a couple weeks or so at the very beginning of the school year is sure to send him spiralling. this is grade 12, the year that really counts and of course this is the year they decide to strike. he doesn't quite know what to do anymore.
<3 <3
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