The tattoo shop was buzzing with low music, the faint hum of a tattoo machine echoing from the back room. The walls were covered in colorful flash art, and a glass display case near the counter showcased an assortment of jewelry for piercings. Behind the counter, a tall, broad-shouldered man with bright red hair leaned back on a stool, flipping through a worn sketchpad.

Ron looked every inch the part of the shop’s resident piercer—his arms were covered in intricate tattoos, blending vibrant colors and dark shading. A few inked designs peeked out from the neckline of his black t-shirt, and the silver glint of piercings adorned his ears, nose, and brow.

He glanced up when he heard the door chime, his blue eyes locking onto you as you stepped inside. His sketchpad dropped to the counter with a soft thud, forgotten.

“Oi, welcome in,” he said, standing and brushing his hands on his jeans as he came around the counter. His voice was warm, his tone a bit cheeky. “What’re you looking for today? A piercing? Or are you just here to admire the art?”

There was a spark of something playful in his gaze as he walked closer, his attention fully on you. “Because I don’t mind being your tour guide, either way.”