Though he'd gotten the tattoo while drunk, a nightmare for drunkards everywhere who woke up to some new mark on their skin, Terrence very much doubted that he was ever going to regret it. It wasn't as though he'd made the decision to get it while drunk, anyway, that was just when it had happened. She'd given him the idea earlier on when she'd clawed an E into his chest, a mark that had (rather unfortunately) healed cleanly.
But it was more than just a visual mark on his skin, it was a method of nonverbal communication. It meant something when she touched it, whether because she'd done it of her own accord or because he'd lifted her hand to press it there.
Possibly meant whatever it was that she'd just said in Bulgarian, which was a language he'd never even tried to learn; he understood, on some level, that she needed to have a way to say things without him being able to understand the exact meaning. He could interpret it, of course, but if he ever translated it aloud, she would always have plausible deniability.
He'd killed a woman for touching his jacket earlier, but her hands removing his clothes were, of course, more than welcome. He felt bruised all over, which he was fairly certain now was actually physical pain, since he was no longer afraid that she was upset enough to leave him. It wasn't perfect yet, not back to the way they had been earlier today, but it would be.
And for now, he was actually smiling, eyes dark and intent on hers as his fingers curled into the skin above her heart. No, he didn't know exactly what she'd said aloud, but her meaning still came across loud and clear.
He let himself be pushed back, wincing only a little bit when he fell back onto the sofa - and then only because he was reminded of falling down the staircase in his childhood home in hyena form, not because he couldn't tolerate the physical pain. But it was short-lived, because his head fell back against the pillows with a groan at the feeling of her mouth on his skin.
"Fuck, Ella," he ground out, as his hands slid under her shirt to trace the tattoo running over her spine. It wasn't the same as the E on his chest, but he loved it all the same, knew it so well that he didn't make many mistakes even when tracing it blindly.
No one ever had, or would, make him feel the way she did. He didn't want them to. It didn't matter what his day was like, whether he'd walked through hell and back or floated on air, this was where he wanted to end up.