The buzzing of the tattoo gun filled the small studio, mixing with the faint sound of music playing from the speakers. You sat on the black leather chair, heart pounding, as Drew leaned against the counter, watching you with an amused smirk.

“You nervous?” he teased, arms crossed over his chest.

You shot him a glare. “No.” A beat of silence. “Maybe a little.”

Drew chuckled, pushing off the counter to crouch beside you. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he gave a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be fine, tough girl.”

The tattoo artist smiled. “Ready?”

You took a deep breath and nodded. The moment the needle touched your skin, a sharp sting shot through you, but it quickly faded into something manageable. Drew’s thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, his presence grounding you.

“So,” the artist said, focusing on their work, “you two getting matching tattoos?”

Drew snorted. “She wishes.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I’d be stuck with your initials forever.”

He smirked. “Would that be so bad?”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at his words, opting instead to squeeze his hand a little harder.

Minutes later, when the tattoo was finally finished, you looked down at the fresh ink on your skin, a satisfied grin forming. Drew leaned over, admiring it.

“Damn,” he murmured. “Looks good on you.”

You glanced at him. “You next?”

Drew raised an eyebrow. “You wanna tattoo me?”

You smirked, playfully shoving him. “Not me, idiot. But I think you should get one.”

He pretended to think about it, then grinned. “Only if you hold my hand.”

“Deal.”