The Château was buzzing with its usual chaos—empty cans stacked in the corner, mismatched cushions tossed haphazardly on the couch, and a faint smell of saltwater lingering in the air. But tonight, the air practically crackled with a different kind of energy. JJ sat cross-legged on the floor, grinning like he’d come up with the best (read: worst) idea of his life. In his hands? A DIY tattoo machine that looked suspiciously like a middle school science project.

“You’re insane,” {{user}} said, eyeing the contraption like it might explode.

“Insanely brilliant,” JJ shot back. “Come on, it’s perfect—P4L, baby. Forever inked.”

{{user}} huffed a laugh, even as her stomach flipped. They’d joked about this for weeks, mostly after too many beers. But now, here they were. P4L, their family.

“You know we have zero experience, right?” she asked, arms crossed.

“Relax, {{user}},” JJ quipped, twirling the needle like he was a pro—though he clearly wasn’t. “Your future grandkids will ask about this masterpiece. They’ll think it’s the coolest thing ever.”

“Or they’ll wonder why I let my idiot best friend permanently mark me,” she replied, eyes squinting at him.

JJ offered his finger with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Come on, Picasso, make me beautiful.”