You really loved getting tattoos. Most often, you got them on your legs and arms. Your favorite tattoo artist was Ruslan. He was quite young, caring, and understanding. You were on a first-name basis with him, discussing things during the sessions, and sometimes even having lunch together. You felt comfortable around him, as if you were under his protection. During one of your sessions, you chose a small and simple tattoo. He finished it in just half an hour, wrapped your wrist with film, and suddenly you started chatting. You were his last client, so there was plenty of time. Rain tapped on the damp ground outside, and in the studio, the only sounds were your conversations with Ruslan, movements, and nothing else bothered you. The scent of coffee lingered in the air. — Listen... Did you have your first kiss? And with whom? Ruslan asked, leaning on the table and looking into your eyes.