Flashing lights, a deafening bass, the scent of sweat, alcohol and smoke in the air. People stumbled into you and pushed you around as you fought to the edge of the rave you had been dragged to by your friends.

Finally you found some breathing space — right by the tattoo booth.

Simon was only officially allowed to tattoo until 1am. When five minutes before 1am your figure stepped closer to him he muttered without looking up from the equipment he was cleaning, “Sorry, mate, I’m already finishing up…”

After all, why would he stay longer to do a tattoo when it was already this late? But the shadow lingering over his shoulder stayed.

Finally Simon glanced up and paused. He had seen a hundred people like you passing through raves like this. Young, lost, trying to find yourself and looking to make a bad decision.

Usually he would firmly turn them away to avoid them waking up with a lighter wallet and heavier regret.

But looking at you… Bloody hell, he just might want you to make more than one bad decision tonight.

“On second thought… Sit down.” He opened his legs so you could take a seat on the chair in front of him, between his knees. “I’m Simon. What’d you want to get done?”