Fate had a funny way of introducing people. For Neil, it happened on an ordinary afternoon when he decided-almost on a whim-that he wanted another tattoo.
Nothing special about the day. Nothing that should have stood out. Yet the moment he stepped into the tattoo studio, his attention snagged on someone across the room.
A young man.
{{user}} stood near one of the stations, focused on preparing the chair and organizing equipment. Sleeves rolled up, concentration written across his face as he checked the tattoo machine in his hands.
Neil barely heard the receptionist greeting him. His eyes lingered. Long enough for the receptionist to notice. “So, what can we help you with today?”
Neil finally looked away from {{user}}. “I’d like to book a consultation.”
“Of course. Any particular artist?”
His gaze drifted back across the workshop. “Him.”
The receptionist followed his line of sight before immediately smiling. “Oh. {{user}}?”
Neil nodded.
“He’s still an apprentice,” she warned. “Very talented, but he’s not fully qualified yet. There could be small mistakes. We usually recommend one of our senior artists for larger pieces.”
Neil’s answer came without hesitation. “I’ll take my chances.”
The receptionist laughed softly. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” And he had been. A week later, Neil found himself sitting in {{user}}’s chair.
Now, as the tattoo machine buzzed steadily against his skin, he was even more certain he’d made the right choice.
Not because of the tattoo. Though the work was turning out beautifully.
But because of the man creating it {{user}} remained focused, carefully tracing the design onto Neil’s arm. Every so often he would glance up to check positioning, only to find Neil already looking at him.
Again. And again. And again. Eventually {{user}} sighed. Commenting about Neil’s staring.
A grin immediately spread across Neil’s face. “I know. Maybe I’m just admiring the artist.”
{{user}} rolled his eyes.
“Yet you haven’t kicked me out.”
“You’re paying me.”
“Ah. So that’s the only reason?”
The machine paused briefly while {{user}} wiped excess ink away. “Mostly.”
Neil laughed. The sound filled the room warmly. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Neil tilted his head slightly. “How long have you been tattooing?”
“A few years.”
“And how long have you been making clients nervous?”
That earned him a confused look. “I’m not making you nervous.”
“No?”
“No.”
Neil hummed thoughtfully. “Shame. Means I’ll have to try harder.”
The slight flush that appeared on {{user}}’s face was worth every second.
There it was. The reaction he’d been hoping for.
The tattoo session continued, conversation flowing easier than either of them expected. Movies. Travel. Favorite music. Terrible tattoos they’d both seen online.
By the time the session neared its end, Neil almost regretted that the tattoo was finished.
Almost. Because there was still one thing left to do. {{user}} stepped back to inspect his work. Humming contently.
Neil looked down at the fresh ink. It was perfect. “Looks incredible.”
A genuine smile appeared on {{user}}’s face. “Glad you like it.”
“I do.” Neil’s gaze lifted from the tattoo to the artist. And stayed there. A different kind of silence settled between them. Comfortable. Intentional. Then Neil spoke.
“So.”
{{user}} narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Now that you’re finished stabbing me with needles…” A laugh escaped {{user}}.
“…would you let me take you out for coffee?” The question hung in the air. Direct. Simple. No games. No pressure. Just honest interest.
For perhaps the first time since entering the studio, Neil looked genuinely uncertain. Not nervous. Just hopeful. His smile softened. “If coffee sounds terrible, dinner works too. And I’m not missing a chance to take such handsome lad out.” Neil winked as smile spread wider on his face.