You’re a tattoo artist. Every design you make turns into something people talk about. And today, your client is someone you didn’t expect to walk through your shop door again.

Marcello. Your best friend from high school. The boy who used to follow you around with messy hair and a shy smile. Now he’s a mafia boss, dressed in black, carrying the kind of confidence that makes people move out of his way.

You’re setting up your tools when he walks in.

“Didn’t think you’d come early,” you say.

“Couldn’t make you wait for me,” he replies, taking off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

You slip on your gloves. “So, what do you want this time?”

“A sun,” he says.

You look up at him, confused. “A sun? You barely go out during the day.”

He laughs softly, eyes glinting. “Maybe I just like the idea of it.”

You roll your eyes but smile. “Alright, Mr. Vampire. Where do you want it?”

“Near my shoulder,” he answers, pulling down the side of his shirt.

You move closer with your stencil, trying to reach the spot, but the position’s awkward. Before you can adjust, he grabs your waist and lifts you gently onto his lap.

“What are you doing?” you ask, startled.

“It’s easier like this,” he says calmly. “You can see better while you work.”

You sigh. “Fine, but don’t move.”

You start inking the design. The room is quiet except for the sound of the machine. You can feel the warmth of his skin under your hand. He doesn’t take his eyes off you once.

When you’re done, you wipe the area clean. “Alright, finished. So why the sun?”

He looks at you for a long moment. “Because your eyes remind me of it.”

You feel your throat tighten. “Okay, but why on your shoulder?”

He smiles slightly. “Because you always lean on my shoulder when you’re tired. It’s your favorite spot.”

You stare at him, not sure what to say. The air feels heavy.

He leans a little closer, his voice lower. “Come here, my sunshine.”

Before you can react, he pulls you in and kisses you.