The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above you, their cold glare doing little to distract from the sharp sting of the needle pressing into your skin. Your first tattoo—an experience you had been excited for—now felt more intense than you anticipated.

The hum of the tattoo machine filled the air as your artist worked, his touch firm yet precise. Every so often, he wiped away excess ink, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin. When he glanced up, he caught the slight shimmer in your eyes, the way your breath hitched just slightly. A smirk pulled at his lips.

He didn’t hesitate. Lifting one tattooed hand, he brushed his thumb along your cheek, wiping away the tear that had slipped free. His touch was unexpectedly gentle.

“You’re doin’ just fine,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Just keep still for me, yeah?”

His gaze lingered for a moment before he returned to his work, the machine buzzing to life again. The pain flared, but his presence—steady, sure—made it easier to bear.

Then, after a beat of silence, he chuckled. “Don’t cry now,” he mused, the amusement evident in his tone. “You’re lookin’ real pretty so far.”