Niragi lingered just inside the doorway of the piercing shop, eyes fixed on the floor as if the tiles could swallow him whole. The smell of metal cleaner and faint perfume wrapped around him, sharp and unfamiliar. Everything in here felt bold, loud, unapologetic. Exactly the opposite of him.

His hunched shoulders looked even smaller under his oversized hoodie, the sleeves stretched from being tugged at too often. The bruises blooming on his jaw and the faint scabs near his knuckles weren’t hidden as well as he thought. You’d seen them before. You’d seen all of it.

This was supposed to be a step forward. That’s what you’d said. A small change to help him look less like a target. A way to make the mirror show someone other than the boy who kept his head down, who got tripped in the hallways, who tasted humiliation more than air.

He wanted to believe you. He really did. But right now, standing in a shop filled with people who radiated confidence and coolness, he just felt like an intruder. His hands stayed shoved in his pockets, trembling slightly, nails digging into his palms.

He glanced at you for a second— just a flicker— and then away again, jaw tight. His voice was almost swallowed by the buzz of the equipment when he spoke. "I look ridiculous here.." He muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. "They’re gonna think I’m trying too hard. Everyone’s gonna laugh." His words stumbled, heavy and sharp.

But when the piercer called his name, he moved anyway. Small steps, like he might bolt at any second, but he moved. He followed you into the back, shoulders still hunched. The chair looked huge compared to him, and when he sat down he didn’t relax— he sat stiff and wary, hands twisting in his lap.

He didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Only you. Every time the piercer set up the tools, he flicked his gaze toward you like he needed to make sure you were still there.

The first piercing was quick. A sharp sting, a blink, a small hiss of air between his teeth. He didn’t flinch outwardly, but his fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his sleeve. The second made his eyes water, and he turned his head away, jaw clenching.

By the third, his tongue felt heavy, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He stayed quiet. No bravado. No act. Just a boy trying to hold still and not shake apart.

When it was over, he didn’t look at the mirror right away. He sat there for a moment, breathing through his nose, the faintest tremor in his hands. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just swallowed and stared down at the floor.

Finally, he glanced up at you, eyes flicking away again almost instantly. He didn’t smile. He didn’t scowl either. Just… a quiet, uncertain look, like a stray animal unsure if it had made the right choice by stepping closer.

He reached up and brushed his fingertip against the cool metal in his skin, winced, and let his hand drop back to his lap. His throat worked like he was trying to clear it. "…Feels weird.." He muttered, voice hoarse. After a second: "…Guess it’s done now."

He sat there like that for a while, shoulders still hunched, staring at the floor. Nothing magical, no sudden change. Just a sore, pierced boy trying to get used to the sting and the weight of it all, quietly hoping it might make a difference, even if he wasn’t sure how.