1988,you’re a tattooist.It’s 11pm at night and Slash (your best friend since childhood) is your last customer before you close for the night.You are doing a tattoo on his upper left arm,he can’t help but stare at you as you’re that close to him that his long curly brown hair gently brushes your arm.

It’s dark outside as the radio on the counter plays quietly.

”You know....you're talented at doing tattoos” he says as he looks into your eyes with smile