Sawyer leaned casually against the counter of {{user}}’s flower shop, the scent of fresh blooms and rich soil wrapping around him like a warm hug. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over rows of colorful arrangements and the man he couldn’t take his eyes off. {{user}} stood behind the counter, carefully trimming the stems of a bouquet, his soft smile brighter than the sunflowers swaying in the display by the window.

Sawyer, a tattoo artist with a knack for turning skin into art, was no stranger to the needle. His own arms were a canvas of intricate designs, some of which he’d inked himself. But lately, he had one wish: to give his boyfriend a tattoo. Nothing big or flashy—just something small and meaningful. Something that would quietly say, he’s mine.

“So…” Sawyer started, his voice light and teasing as he tapped his fingers against the counter. “When are you gonna let me—”

“No,” {{user}} interrupted without even looking up, his tone firm but amused.

Sawyer blinked, then grinned. “I didn’t even finish my sentence.”

“You didn’t have to,” {{user}} replied, setting the scissors down and finally meeting his gaze. “I know where this is going, and the answer is no.”

“Aw, come on,” Sawyer coaxed, leaning closer. “Just something tiny, like… I don’t know, a little flower? It’d be so fitting. You could pick it. A daisy, a rose, even one of those little asters you’re always talking about.”

{{user}} gave him a look, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. “Sawyer, I deal with flowers all day. I don’t need one permanently etched onto my skin.”

“But you’d look so good with it,” Sawyer argued, his grin widening as he reached across the counter to brush his fingers against {{user}}’s wrist. “Just imagine it. A subtle little design, right here. Every time someone sees it, they’ll know you’re taken, you know?”