Page 162 of Body and Soul

I traced the edges of his tattoos with my tongue, following the colorful swirls and lines down his sternum, over the curve of his ribs. I knew every inch of his ink by heart, had mapped it with hands and mouth a hundred times, but I never got tired of tasting his skin, feeling him quiver under my touch.

My hands roamed lower, fingers dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of Eli's sweatpants. He bucked against me with a needy whine, his own hands scrabbling at my shoulders, my back, anywhere he could reach.

I pulled back to look up at him in wonder. Eli's face was flushed, his lips kiss-swollen and parted around each ragged breath. His pale eyes were blown black with need, glassy and unfocused. Strands of hair clung to his damp forehead. He looked utterly wrecked and so goddamn beautiful it made my chest ache.

I swallowed thickly, my throat suddenly dry as I took in the sight of Eli above me. “God, you're so beautiful, Eli. I can't believe you're mine.”

Eli's lips curved into a smile, sweet and a little shy. He ducked his head, peering at me through his lashes. “Yours,” he agreed softly. “Always.”

He leaned down to brush a tender kiss over my lips before pulling back, his expression turning almost... nervous? “Actually, there's something I want to show you.”

I quirked a brow, curiosity piqued even as my body protested the loss of contact. “Oh?”

Eli climbed off my lap and held out a hand, a silent beckoning. I let him tug me to my feet and followed as he led me down the hall toward the bedrooms. I expected him to turn into the guest room he'd been using, but to my surprise, he guided me to the door of the master bedroom instead.

My bedroom.

Eli pushed the door open and went straight to the night stand. I frowned, taking in the changes all around the room. It was subtle, but I immediately noticed the little signs that Eli had moved into the room—his battered sketchbook on the nightstand, a stack of his graphic novels on the dresser, hisfavorite hoodie draped over the back of the armchair in the corner.

“I know you said we should sleep separately,” he said as he came back, his sketchbook clutched to his chest. “But Keres kind of insisted on the opposite. Besides, Dani needed a place to sleep, and it felt wrong to put her on the couch so—”

I silenced Eli's nervous rambling with a kiss, my hand coming up to cup his jaw as I swallowed his words. He melted against me instantly, a soft sigh escaping him as the tension drained from his body.

“It's okay,” I murmured against his lips when we parted. “I'm glad you moved in here. It feels right, having you in my space. In my bed.”

Eli's answering smile was radiant, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way I adored. “You're not mad?”

I huffed a laugh, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. “How could I be mad? I love the idea of falling asleep with you every night and waking up to this gorgeous face every morning.”

A pretty pink blush stained Eli's cheeks and he ducked his head, peeking up at me through his lashes. I would never get over how he could still be shy sometimes, even after everything we'd been through. Everything we'd done. It was endearing as hell.

“I just... I know you like your space,” he said, worrying his lip ring in that nervous tell of his. “And I didn't want to assume...”

I tipped his chin up with a finger until pale blue eyes met mine. “You're not an assumption, Eli. You're a fact. A certainty. I want you here, in every part of my life. Always.”

Eli's eyes went wide and soft at my words, a sheen of moisture making them glitter in the low light. He pressed his lips together, clearly fighting a smile as he clutched his sketchbook tighter to his chest.

“Actually, that's kind of what I wanted to show you,” he said, a hint of nerves creeping into his voice. He held out the sketchbook to me, worrying his lip ring between his teeth. “I've been working on something. For you.”

Curious, I took the book from his hands, the leather worn and supple beneath my fingers. I flipped it open, slowly turning the pages filled with Eli's artwork. As always, I was blown away by his talent, each sketch a little glimpse into that brilliant, beautiful mind of his.

But it was the last page that made me pause, my breath catching in my throat. I stared down at the sketch in my hands, my heart hammering against my ribs as I took in every intricate detail. It was a tattoo design, a full sleeve that would cover my entire arm from shoulder to wrist. And it was perfect.

The centerpiece was a series of Russian nesting dolls, each one unique and yet part of a cohesive whole. The largest doll at the top held a human brain—a clear nod to my role as a psychiatrist, the face I showed the world. Peeking out from behind that doll was a slightly smaller one, this one dressed all in black, complete with black gloves. That was clearly meant to be Keres.

Beside the Keres doll was another, this one with a lazy grin and a bowl of noodles. Bryce, the part of me that still clung to the simple joys and comforts of life, like junk food and bad puns. Below that was a doll holding a rosary, wings curling protectively around the smallest and final doll, one with a dinosaur on its shirt. Azreal and Dex. We were all right there.

The details woven into the design took my breath away. Delicate clockwork gears and machinery connected each doll, symbolizing how we were all part of the same system, the same mind. Threads of sparking neurons snaked between them, a visual representation of the wiring in my head. And behind it all, providing a backdrop, were the shadows of great unfurling wings.

I swallowed around the lump that had formed in my throat, blinking against the sudden sting in my eyes. This tattoo, this work of art...it was more than ink on skin. It was a portrait of my soul, laid bare in bold lines and intricate details. It showed every facet of me, every part that made up the complicated, fractured whole. And somehow, impossibly, it made that patchwork psyche look... beautiful.

Reverently, I traced my fingertips over the design, following the swirling lines and feeling the raised edges of the heavy paper. I could almost imagine how it would feel on my skin, a permanent testament to all that I was. All that Eli saw in me.

Fuck, this boy...

I looked up to find Eli watching me anxiously, his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to leave indents. His eyes were wide and vulnerable with a silent question. He was awaiting my approval, my acceptance of this most intimate of gifts.

“It’s a tattoo design,” he said nervously. “I thought… Well, I’ve been thinking… I mean, you can say no, but… I’d like to tattoo you. My way of marking you, I guess.”

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