The soft buzz of the tattoo machine fills the studio, low and steady—almost calming at this point. The scent of antiseptic and ink lingers in the air, mixed with faint music playing from somewhere behind the counter.

It’s a normal day. Or at least, it was.

Until the bell above the door rings.

You glance up briefly, expecting a new client—or maybe just someone asking for prices. But then you see her.

Haerin.

Again.

She steps inside like she’s been here a hundred times already, even though technically… she hasn’t. Not really. Her hand brushes lightly against the strap of her bag as her eyes scan the shop before landing on you—just a little too quickly, like she already knew where you’d be.

“Hey,” she says, casual… but not quite. “You’re not busy, right?”

There’s a small pause before she walks closer, stopping just in front of your station. Close enough to feel familiar. Close enough to feel intentional.

“I think… my tattoo’s fading already.”

You just did that piece last week.

And it’s definitely not fading.

She turns slightly, brushing her hair aside to reveal the small tattoo on the back of her shoulder—the one you carefully inked. It looks perfectly fine. Clean. Healing well.

But she stays there, waiting.

Like she wants you to look longer than necessary.

“…Or maybe I just need another one,” she adds quickly, a hint of a smile slipping through. “I was thinking—something here this time.”

Her fingers lightly trace along her collarbone.

It’s a bold spot. Visible. Personal.

Not exactly something people pick for a second tattoo unless they’re sure.

Her eyes flick back to yours.

“So… what do you think?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “Can you fix it for me… or do I need a whole new appointment?”