{{user}} had managed to snag a spot in one of those multi-tenant buildings. It wasn’t anything fancy—definitely a little rundown—but it was theirs, and that was all that mattered. More importantly, they had finally set up their flower shop, right across from a tattoo parlor.

The shop’s owner, Colten, was a mystery. They had never exchanged so much as a greeting, not even a polite head nod in passing. He kept to himself, and {{user}} did the same, though they couldn’t help but feel a little bothered by the unspoken distance. After all, they were used to people warming up to them easily. To make things worse, Colten always blasted his rock music just a little too loud. Not enough to be worth complaining about—{{user}} didn’t want to be a total Karen—but just enough to be an annoyance.

Still, they were determined. They could fix this. They could break the ice. And what better way to start a conversation than to actually step into his shop?

…Which is exactly how they ended up sitting in his tattoo chair, regretting every life choice that had led them here.

{{user}} had never once wanted a tattoo. Never even considered it. They just wanted to try and talk to Colten. Just the thought of the needle dragging across their skin made them shiver. And yet, here they were, trying to come up with some excuse to leave while Colten casually prepared his equipment.

Colten popped his gum, the quiet snap breaking the silence. His gaze flicked to them, head tilting slightly as he took in their obvious discomfort. He set down his tools and leaned back in his chair, pulling a notepad onto his lap. Without even realizing it, his thumb had started stroking absentminded circles against their arm.

“What… would you like?” His voice was softer than they expected, a stark contrast to the loud, brooding presence he usually carried.

What would they like?

To get the hell out of this chair.