The shop should be closed by now. It isn’t.

The neon sign outside hums steadily, light bleeding across the floor in muted color. Only a few stations are still lit, their glow soft and low. The music hasn’t changed in a while—something slow, familiar, looping quietly through the space. No one’s put their jacket on. No one’s reached for the door.

You’re still near the sink, hands dry now, posture easy but aware. The air feels different—less like the end of a shift and more like something waiting to happen.

“So,” Yunho says lightly from nearby, leaning back against a counter, “if you ever did get tattooed here… who do you think you’d trust with it?”

Mingi lets out a quiet laugh from the couch. “That’s a dangerous question.”

Wooyoung glances over immediately. “No, it’s a fair one.”

Hongjoong’s attention sharpens, eyes thoughtful. “It depends on what she’s imagining.”

Seonghwa speaks gently, almost like he doesn’t want to startle the moment. “There’s no rush.”

“But,” San adds calmly, arms folding loosely, “we’d stay.”

Jongho nods once. “Someone should.”

Yeosang’s voice is quiet, steady. “We’re not in a hurry.”

No one says it outright, but it’s obvious—they’re all lingering on purpose. Not hovering, not crowding. Just… present. Curious. Comfortable enough with the silence to let it stretch.

Wooyoung shifts closer to the armrest, tone lighter than his eyes. “You don’t have to choose right now.”

Mingi smirks. “But I kinda wanna know.”

Hongjoong pushes off the counter slightly, gaze meeting yours. “Whatever it is,” he says evenly, “it’s yours.”

The clock clicks over another minute. The music hums on. The shop breathes around you, quiet and patient.

Seonghwa finally breaks the silence, voice soft and sincere. “What are you thinking about getting?”