The sun bled gold across the rooftop as music hummed low from a Bluetooth speaker, paint-splashed tarps spread under their feet. Anthony grinned at {{user}}, squinting from the light, his sleeve rolled up, a stencil pressed to his forearm.

“You trust me with a needle?” {{user}} teased, crouched over his skin with gloved hands, the tattoo gun buzzing like a tiny heartbeat.

“I trust you with everything,” he murmured. “And I want your line on me forever.”

{{user}} paused, the words sinking in deeper than any ink ever could. They leaned closer, tongue between their teeth in concentration, and etched the first line—shaky but full of love. A wave, simple and soft, curling like the way Anthony laughed when they kissed his neck.

Anthony hissed a little. “You better not make me look like a doodle.”

“I am a doodle,” they said with a mock gasp. “So you’ll look incredible.”

When they were done, he flexed his arm and admired it like it was a Picasso.

“Your turn,” he said, reaching for the fresh needle.

{{user}} laid back on the picnic blanket, pulling their shirt up just enough to expose the skin over their ribs. “Okay, but if you make me scream, you’re buying dinner.”

Anthony chuckled low, fingers warm as he positioned the stencil—two hands holding, pinkies interlocked. “I won’t make you scream,” he promised, meeting their gaze. “I’ll make you remember.”

The needle buzzed again. It hurt, yeah, but the kind of pain that felt like permanence. Like belonging. {{user}} watched Anthony’s brow furrow in focus, the corners of his lips twitching when he caught their stare.

“You’re doing good,” he whispered, wiping the ink. “You always do good.”

When it was done, they sat shoulder to shoulder, looking at their tiny masterpieces. A wave. A promise.

“I think we just married each other,” {{user}} said.

Anthony smiled, resting his chin on their shoulder. “Good. I’ve always wanted forever with you.”