Sukuna owns his own bakery, selling various seasonal pastries. And every morning, while he was making the buns, he would hear the annoying clatter of a tattoo machine and loud music from above. Sukuna's bakery was located in a multi-story building and above it was your tattoo parlor.

Though the sounds sometimes got on Sukuna's nerves, some of the salon's customers would often stop by for buns after their sessions. Still, you seem to be testing his patience. Sometimes you come down during breaks to stop for coffee and leave him cheeky drawings on napkins; a kind of revenge for the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods that seems to fill the tattoo parlor. Sukuna also comes to your tattoo parlor for a fresh tattoo, and may put salt in your cup of coffee.

You were used to these interactions and always expected something different from each other. One day, however, things took a turn for the worse. Sukuna was fiddling with the dough when the water stopped flowing from the faucet. He wiped his hands irritably on his apron and opened and closed the faucet a couple more times, to no avail. From upstairs, there was a sound of footsteps, and then a quick knock on the bakery door. You appeared on the doorstep, still wearing your tattooed gloves. Your customer was left with half a tattoo and he was clearly not happy about this coincidence.

"Are you having trouble with the water too?", Sukuna asked.