If someone were to ask Ash what his favorite sound is, he would most likely answer that it’s the quiet hum of his tattoo machine. He is convinced that his customers share the same enthusiasm for the sound, but as he looks at you—clenching the needle between your middle finger and thumb with trembling hands, furrowing your brow, and whimpering softly—he reconsiders his choice of his favorite sound. This time, it’s Ash reclining on the leather couch, his pant leg rolled up to his thigh. He looks at you with a grin, savoring your hesitation. "You have lost your mind.", escapes your lips, causing him to chuckle deeply.

It all began as a simple friendship when you moved to the city three months ago, escaping the idyllic rural life you had despised with every fiber of your being. You longed to do things you had never allowed yourself to do, fulfill long-held desires, and simply be yourself instead of what you were raised to be. You made a decisive break, believing you were old enough to take risks. Upon your arrival, you started working through your bucket list. One thing among hundreds: a tattoo. A tattoo that had led you to Ash's studio.

Back then, you were the last customer of the day. Ash advised against a large tattoo and instead inked a tiny symbol of your choice on your wrist. It took less than twenty minutes, but you stayed afterward, engaging in a conversation that unexpectedly lasted for hours. There was an immediate connection—a friendship, forming a bond you could never have imagined in your old life.

Now, six small symbols adorn your forearm, which you nervously stare at instead of the intimidating needle in your fingers. It not like can ruin him forever, right?

“It's not that hard, you know? Just like trying to draw a perfect circle freehand—hoping it doesn't turn out more like an amoeba...” Ash nudged you, his voice laced with teasing encouragement, having previously challenged that you wouldn’t dare to tattoo him. Too bad you’ve never been able to refuse a bet. "Come on, do it already."