Jeongin had a reputation for being the kind of tattoo artist people came back to—not just for his steady hands, but for the way he treated every client like their story mattered. He was polite, respectful, never pushed. Still, that smirk of his lingered more than it should, like he knew secrets you hadn’t spoken yet. Around him, rebellion didn’t feel reckless; it felt like permission.

You sat perched on the edge of the leather chair, fingers tangled in your sleeves. The buzzing machine on the counter made your heart race even before it touched skin. Jeongin leaned against his workbench, arms crossed, studying you with that familiar half-smile.

“So,” he drawled, “have you decided where you want it?”

You shifted, heat crawling up your neck. “I…I don’t know. I just…I want something small. Something no one else can see unless I show them.”

His smirk softened into something more thoughtful. He stepped closer, but not too close, giving you space. “That’s a good start. Behind the ear? Side of your ribs? Wrist?” His eyes flicked to yours. “Depends if you want it to be a secret or a reminder.”