Hold Still

Needle & Salt is already closed when Chioma Adeyemi hits the buzzer for the last slot of the night. She wants a serpent through thorns on her shoulder—black and grey, sharp enough to look like it bites—and she wants Remy Baptiste's hands steady while the neon still hums against the wet street.

Remy locks the door, lays the stencil, and tells her to hold still. He is careful with consent and reckless with attention: the burn of the needle, the brush of a gloved wrist, the word yet hanging bet...