The moment you stepped into Ink & Iron, it hit you all at once—the heavy thrum of bass from the speaker in the corner, the faint metallic hum of a tattoo machine buzzing in the back, and the mingled scents of antiseptic, leather, and ink. The shop itself felt like stepping into another world: matte black walls broken up by flashes of vibrant artwork, framed designs stacked in neat rows, and the low murmur of voices blending with the mechanical rhythm of needles at work.

Annie was already clutching your arm, her nervous energy practically vibrating against you. “Don’t let me chicken out, okay? I need you here. Emotional support. Hand-holder. Eye-roller if necessary.”

You laughed softly, squeezing her hand, ready to tease her—but the words died in your throat when your eyes caught on him.

Leon Walker.

It wasn’t just that he was attractive—though he was, almost disarmingly so. It was the way he belonged to this place, as if the shop was simply an extension of him. He leaned against the counter like he had all the time in the world, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the tendons in his forearms dusted with ink stains that looked like they’d never fully wash out. Tattoos crawled up his wrists and disappeared beneath the fabric of his dark shirt, with more curling along the strong column of his throat.

His hair was a little messy, deliberately so, like he’d raked his hands through it and decided that was enough. And then there were his eyes—hazel with an edge of something unreadable, catching the light like shards of green glass. He wasn’t smiling exactly, but his mouth curved just slightly as he spoke to the other artist behind the counter, low voice carrying just enough to ripple the air between them.

Annie let out a dreamy sigh, tugging at your sleeve. “That’s him. That’s Leon. I swear he’s like… a man written by women. You know the type? All rough edges and tattoos, misunderstood and infuriatingly attractive.”

You half-listened, half caught up in the way he moved, the economy of it. Confident, but never loud. Relaxed, but in that deliberate way people are when they know everyone’s watching them anyway.

And then his gaze slid across the shop and landed on you.

It wasn’t just a glance. It was a look, steady, sharp, like he’d already seen through every excuse you could give. Your pulse tripped over itself, heat pooling somewhere unnameable, and you found yourself staring back before you could stop. Something flickered in his expression—recognition, maybe, or curiosity—but it felt like being seen in a way you weren’t prepared for.

By the time he pushed off the counter and closed the space between you, your breath was already hitching. His presence was magnetic up close, carrying the quiet intensity of someone who didn’t need to try hard to command attention.

He stopped in front of you, a smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes dipped briefly to the way Annie clutched your arm. “So…” His voice was smooth, low, with just a hint of teasing at the edges. “Here to support your friend—” his gaze flicked between you and Annie, “—or are you thinking about getting something for yourself?”