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Edited on 23/5/20.

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friday evenings were always busy for workers; especially when you worked in a tattoo parlour.

all of harry's five workers were busy doing extravagant tattoos, harry himself working on a matching set for a very giddy couple who already started planning the tattoo they'd get after this one.

the little bell ringed to signify a next customer that would have to wait on the black and gold waiting chairs.

the tattoo parlour wasn't a big one, but it was the only one for miles with good customer service and affordable prices, making harry's venue the most popular one by default.

"hi mister."

harry's head shot up, his dull green eyes scanning the area before setting on a boy who barely reached his shoulders in a sweater, socks and shorts. His face was smoothe and childlike and his eyes a deep blue.

underage.

this boy was underage.

"what are you doing here, kid?" harry asked continuing the intricate star tattoo the female of the straight couple had opted for in comparison to her boyfriend's moon.

the boy looked around at the designs laying on the wall in gold against the black- the overall theme of the tattoo parlour.

"i want a tattoo. where do i queue in?"

this triggered a reaction from zayn, harry's best friend and his second best tattoo artist.

"get lost, we don't tattoo children," he snapped before going back to work, "and we're busy with serious inquiries as you can see."

maybe zayn didn't give the best costumer service.

"i am serious!" he argued settling zayn with a glare of his own while simultaneously pouting, looking all to much like an unhappy puppy.

"listen up," harry started before zayn can retort, "come back in a few years when you're legal and i'll personally do your tattoo- what are you? fifteen- thirteen?"

the boy choked a bewildered gasp out, "i am seventeen!"

"tough. luck. it's eighteen and older, so you can't get one" zayn mocked, the male was even more agitated today than usual due to, well, due to being zayn and just having the worst attitudes for no specific reason.

"what do you mean i can't get one?" the boy stomped his feet, his anger showing in his thinned lips and by the way his perfectly plucked brows furrowed.

"listen up," harry raised his voice, getting quite fed up of the scene the tiny boy was making, "either you leave and come back with a parent, or you stop complaining and wait a few years."

harry was met with a fierce pout before the kid stomped his way back out.

a little jingle signifying his exit to the other tattoo artists that hadn't looked up during the ordeal.

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"stay hydrated." -Mom.