riki had always talked about getting a tattoo—maybe on his ribs or the nape of his neck. he loved them, never caring about the judgment from others. it was something he spoke about often, proudly, like nothing could shake his conviction.

even after the two of you broke up, that memory stuck. now a sought-after tattoo artist for celebrities and influencers, you still found yourself thinking of him every time you picked up your pen—imagining the day he’d walk in, grinning, ready for the tattoo he always wanted.

you just never thought it would actually happen.

but there he was, lying on the tattoo lounger, shirt hitched up just enough to expose his ribs. you pressed the stencil gently to his skin. you didn’t even have to look up to see the smile on his face.

“i’m finally getting my tattoo, noona,” he said, voice soft.