They found the shop by accident—or at least, that's what it looked like.
Tucked between two shuttered cafés in a narrow alley, it pulsed under the glow of a flickering neon sign: INK in blue cursive, half the letters sputtering like a dying heartbeat. The brick walls surrounding it felt damp with summer air, the whole place humming like it existed outside of time.
Jasmine paused in front of the door, the acid still dancing behind her pupils. "What do you think?" she asked, her voice light. Casual.
But Cameron heard the weight in it. It wasn't a question.
It was a command, wrapped in charm.
She nodded, dazed. Her brain felt like it was underwater, but her focus remained clear—laser-locked on Jasmine's profile, the glint in her eyes, the curl of her lip.
"Anything you want," Cameron said, and her voice was small. Like she'd already given herself up.
Jasmine smirked, the corner of her mouth tilting just enough to cut. "You're such a good friend to me."
The word "friend" should've stung. Should've made her pause.
But instead, it warmed Cameron like sunlight through a stained-glass window. Warped. Beautiful. Holy.
Inside, the shop was quiet. No harsh buzzing, no loud music. Just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the faint smell of antiseptic and ink. It felt personal. Private. Like it was there just for them.
Jasmine spoke to the artist like she had done this before—charming, clear, decisive. Cameron stood beside her, swaying slightly, her pulse erratic, her mind hazy.
When Jasmine turned to her and said, "We should get each other's signs," Cameron's heart stopped.
Not names. Not hearts. Zodiac signs.
It was ridiculous and intimate and perfect.
"Yeah," she breathed. "Sure."
The hum of the needle started.
Cameron sat beside Jasmine, the heat of her body just inches away. As the needle met skin, Cameron winced—but didn't look down. Her eyes stayed locked on Jasmine.
The way her brows furrowed slightly with the first sting. The way her lips parted just a little. The way she exhaled through her nose, steady and calm, like she was born to handle pain.
She's beautiful.
She's unreal.
When the artist finished, Cameron finally looked down.
A Gemini symbol on her ring finger. Clean, black, tiny. But it buzzed with importance.
On Jasmine's finger, reversed and mirrored: a Cancer.
The connection felt carved into her bones.
Permanent.
Something about that made her dizzy—not from the ink, not from the drugs, but from the fact that Jasmine would carry a part of her now.
Even if it was just a symbol.
Even if it meant more to Cameron than it ever would to her.
Outside, the air was cool and sticky. Jasmine lit a cigarette, her eyes glittering beneath the streetlamp.
"Stay with me tonight," she said suddenly, her voice low, like a spell.
Cameron blinked.
"My boyfriend's not coming home," Jasmine added, tone smooth, coaxing. "I don't want the night to end yet."
Cameron's gut twisted.
She hated staying at other people's places. The smell of someone else's soap. The quiet unfamiliarity of it all.
But this was Jasmine. Jasmine wasn't "someone else." Jasmine was… everything.
"Okay," she said. "I'll stay."
The walk to Jasmine's apartment felt surreal.
The acid was still in her system, but Jasmine kept her grounded—tethered her to something real. Cameron watched her silhouette under the dim lights, mesmerized by the way she moved, how fluid and unbothered she seemed. The world around them bent, blurred, softened. Jasmine remained sharp, vivid, in-focus.
Inside, they sank into the couch.
Their bodies were close. Not touching. But not far.
They talked. About nothing. The kind of nothing that felt like everything.
Cameron barely spoke. She didn't want to ruin it. Just listened. Nodded. Watched Jasmine's mouth move. Her fingers. The gentle arc of her voice.
The silence between their words was comfortable… until it wasn't.
Cameron's phone buzzed. She glanced down.
Rosalie.
The name hit her like a slap.
Jasmine tensed beside her.
Even before Cameron looked up, she could feel it—the storm gathering. The temperature of the room changed.
"That's her, isn't it?" Jasmine's voice was calm. But it wasn't the soft kind of calm.
It was the kind of calm before something shattered.
Cameron didn't answer. She didn't have to.
Jasmine's eyes were on the phone. Her jaw was tight. Her mouth pressed into a thin line.
"You know," she said, too gently, "I don't like sharing you."
The words didn't feel romantic.
They felt possessive.
Cameron's lungs stilled. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jasmine was already leaning closer.
Her hands cupped Cameron's face—tender, but firm.
Before Cameron could say a word, Jasmine kissed her.
Hard.
It wasn't sweet.
It wasn't soft.
It was a claim.
Cameron froze.
For a second, her body forgot what to do.
Then her hands lifted, automatically, helplessly, finding Jasmine's waist, anchoring herself to something real as the world tilted.
Jasmine pulled back, just barely. Her breath was warm against Cameron's lips. Her eyes are dark, stormy, unreadable.
Cameron's mind was blank.
She didn't know if this meant anything—or if it meant everything.
But Jasmine didn't wait for her to figure it out.
She pulled her back in, harder this time. And Cameron followed, her body giving in before her brain could catch up.
In the blur that followed, Cameron didn't know if she was surrendering or surviving.
All she knew was that Jasmine's hands were fire. That her lips were a siren's call. That Rosalie's name faded from her screen, unread and unanswered, as Jasmine's arms wound tighter around her.
And somewhere in the dizzy silence of it all, Cameron thought:
This must be love.
Even if it hurt.
Even if it destroyed her.
Because Jasmine had chosen her.
And that was the only proof she needed.