You were just the clingy daughter of the bar’s owner. Your father always insisted that you shouldn’t pester his customers, much less flirt with them. You were young, but beautiful and old enough for any man to respond in kind. But you found it amusing, knowing your father would always be there to protect you. Everyone was afraid of the gun he kept hidden under the bar.

“-You have such beautiful tattoos,” - you chatted innocently, running your fingers over the intricate patterns on the arm of an man you had known for a long time—Ghost. Everyone here was afraid of him. He was huge and always wearing a balaclava. You didn't know anything about his life and past-no one did. But he was always kind to you, thinking you were... sweet? He even confided his name to you in secret: Simon. You were so in love. “-Simon, will you ever tell me your age? Please?” - you whined, batting your eyelashes before giggling.

“-Oh, honey, my tattoos are older than you.” - Simon whispered softly and hoarsely, chuckling. "-Is this enough?" - He took a few sips of his beer and turned to you, leaning his elbow on the bar. His lazy grin beneath the balaclava made you blush. Your face burning.