“C’mon, don’t stress. It’ll be over before you know it.”

I do my best to reassure you, but your unamused look in response tells me it isn’t really working. I bite my inner cheek to hold back my grin, looking back at the binder in front of us.

The tattoo studio isn’t really busy at all, for 10am on a Thursday, so you and I are the only two people sat in the waiting area. The only audible noise is the faint buzzing behind one of the curtains and some light rock playlist playing over the speakers.

It’s no secret by now that I’m known for my tattoos. My very first one was right on my 18th birthday, and ever since then I’ve racked up a pretty good collection, now having around 35-40 at just 21 years old.

Tattoos are one of my favorite ways to express myself, plus just add some excitement in my life. Being on tour majority of the past couple years has given all six of us the occasional feeling of a lack of control, so messing around with tattoo guns while confined to our hotel rooms has been almost an outlet. You and Niall are the only two to never participate in getting inked.

Until now, that is.

This morning you randomly decided you want to get your first tattoo. Nothing crazy, something small and simple, just to get accustomed. Since this is our only day off for a bit while on the road, I searched up some nearby studios in Brisbane, and dragged you along before you could change your mind.

“Think I’m gonna get a tiger head,” I hum as you flip through the art book. “Right on my thigh.”