Madelyn stood outside the small tattoo studio nestled between a vintage record shop and a plant-filled café. The neon sign above the door flickered in pink and blue: "MOONSHINE INK." Inside, the windows were fogged slightly from the rain, casting a dreamy blur on the velvet curtains and scattered art prints. The faint hum of Pulp’s “Do You Remember the First Time?” played through the speakers, weaving nostalgia into the scent of ink and lavender incense. She tugged her coat tighter. This was a bad idea. Or maybe the best idea, she thought. She had planned this tattoo for months—an abstract crescent moon surrounded by small, sharp stars, etched right between her breasts, delicate but defiant. Symbolic. A reclaiming. What she hadn’t planned was Hyunjin. He looked up when she entered, his features illuminated by the warm studio lights. Time hadn’t dulled him at all. Hyunjin was still a walking embodiment of 90s britpop—his tousled dark hair falling over one eye, silver rings stacked on his fingers, and a charcoal button-up shirt tucked lazily into high-waisted plaid trousers. A Stone Roses pin clung to his worn leather jacket, draped over the back of the chair beside him. “Madelyn.” He said, voice low and unreadable. “Hyunjin.” She met his eyes. Of course it had to be you. The studio was just as layered as he was—walls covered in framed band posters (Suede, Blur, The Verve), a stack of vinyls next to the tattoo chair, and sketches of tattoo designs taped beside lyrics handwritten in marker. Everything here felt like him: curated, chaotic, and undeniably cool. “So… you’re the artist doing this?” She asked, slipping off her coat. “Unless you’re here for a piercing or a confession.” He said with a half-smile, already pulling on gloves. “Let me see the design.”