“C’mon, Sunshine.” Vi grumbles as she gestures to the pale skin of her ribs beneath the ratty material of her tank. “Just the one.” She pushes, unceremoniously dropping onto the tattered couch in the hideout the five of you shared. Childish smirk and all, giving you those charming powder blue eyes.

You groan, now complacent. “God, fine. Just the one. Don’t tell Vander. ‘kay?” Vi grins smugly as you get up from the worn sofa and kicking up one of the floorboards to pull out a small metal box.

You’d been tattoing people since age twelve as a means to get money. You were always a good artist for your age and got better the more tattoos you did. Vi had been begging you for a stick ‘n poke for ages, and you turned her down everytime; trying to avoid getting in possible trouble.

But she always had a way of convincing you to do things.

“What do you even want?” Plopping down beside her and snapping on tattered gloves from the now open case of your limited (& stolen) tattooing supplies. “I’m making it small.”

“Do like, your name or something.” Vi shrugs, keeping her tank top held up as you swipe an antiseptic wipe over her stomach. Skeptically, you quirk a brow.

“My name? You want my name on your ribs forever?”

Again, she shrugs her shoulders. “C’mon, Sunny. Please? It’ll be sick. We said we’d be best friends forever.” Your nose crinkles at such an answer.

“Yeah,” You grab a needle, disenfecting it and proceeding to shake up your small ink canister. “But you seriously want my name on your ribs?” You tried not to think about the possible weight the gesture held as you prepped the rest of your supplies. “Ain’t that bad luck for us?”

“It won’t be bad luck.” The pinkette huffs, eyes rolling so hard you think she might strain something. “If you don’t want to put your name then put ‘Sunshine.’ It’s what I always call you.”

You laugh, mostly in annoyance, dimples showing as you shake your head. “Fine. But when we’re twenty, and you regret this, it ain’t my fault.”

Vi grins toothily. “Sure thing, Sunshine.”