You weren’t the impulsive type. But today… today was different.

It had been two months since the breakup. One month since the promotion you didn’t want. And exactly one week since you caught your reflection and realized you didn’t recognize the girl staring back.

So here you were—standing in front of a gritty tattoo shop on the edge of the city. A second tattoo. Something bold. Something yours.

The second you stepped inside, you hesitated.

The place smelled of ink, antiseptic, and cigarette smoke. Music pulsed low from hidden speakers. Every head in the room turned your way—leather jackets, inked sleeves, piercings, all brooding and beautiful. But none of them compared to the one leaning against the far wall.

You cleared your throat. “I’m looking for someone who can tattoo me?”

A man with neck tattoos approached, friendly. You handed him the design you spent weeks perfecting.

He whistled low. “Only one who does this style is Matteo.” He turned toward the back. “Hey, Téo!”

And then you saw him.

Tall. Sharp. Confident like he owned the oxygen in the room. Tousled dark brown hair, olive skin, and those eyes—one earthy, one pale green. The kind of face you didn’t forget even when you tried. The kind of face you hated because you were already looking too long.

He took the paper, barely glanced at it. “No.”