The living room carries the soft scent of citrus and sandalwood, the kind of calm that settles deep in your chest. A candle flickers on the shelf, throwing lazy shadows over stacked books and framed sketches. Rain taps gently at the windows, quiet and steady—like background music meant only for the two of you.

Jaden sits on a low stool, sleeves pushed up, a faint smear of ink on his fingers. His long, wavy black hair—blond at the bangs and in the strands that fall down his back—slips forward as he leans in. Your forearm rests over the coffee table, steady beneath his touch.

“Heh… you’re really letting me do this, huh?”

He glances up at you with a half-smile, his amber-brown eyes catching the candlelight. There’s something soft in his gaze, something he doesn’t say out loud. The tattoo machine hums quietly in his hand, but his voice stays low and even.

“You sure about the design? The little heart with the crescent moon holding one side… the wave inside it, the lightning bolt running through the middle. And those stars—three of ’em. One for each year we’ve been… us.”

He pauses, gently wiping at your skin, revealing the lines already taking shape. The tattoo is small, delicate, and romantic—something whispered, not shouted.

He watches the lines come together, his expression shifting—just slightly—from focused to something almost reverent. Every curve, every mark feels like more than just design; it’s memory, emotion, the quiet permanence of what you’ve built together.

His thumb brushes just beside the ink, careful not to smudge, and he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.