BTS ONE SHOTS

TATTOO | P.JM

"Forget about him. You have me now."

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"Welcome."

A soft, silky voice is the first thing I hear as I walk in the tattoo shop, the door closing behind me with a click. When I look towards the sound, I see a man with his hair shaded a warm brown.

He's smiling at me, and I can't help but feel that his angelic face is out of place with the tattoos inked on his arms, a dark gray against skin like snow.

"How can I help you?"

"I— I'm just looking around." I say, trying to look at the designs filling the walls. "I'm not sure if I'm even going to get one, honestly."

"I see."

"Take your time." The small cross carved beside his right eye catches my eye as he turns, returning back to whatever he'd been doing before I'd come in.

Swallowing at the tense air, I stare at a carefully drawn design of tangled flowers and thorns. Next to it is a swirl of clouds and flakes of ice, and I reach up to touch it when the voice comes again.

"Like that one?"

"No!" I exclaim, not meaning to be so sharp. I thought he'd been drawing, not watching me like a hawk. "I mean— sorry, not that one."

He smiles, a soft, crooked grin that pulls at the left tip of his full lips.

"Okay, then."

Feeling a bit unsettled and struggling not to look over in his direction, I scan over the pictures when my eyes stop at a small piece of paper tucked into the edge of the wall.

It's barely noticeable, but I can't tear my attention off the elegant design.

"This one." I say, tracing the moonlit crescent, a single rose resting on its ridge. "Is it possible?"

There's no reply, and I look back to see his face stunned. His amused eyes had widened with surprise, his hands pressed against the counter.

"That one?"

"Yeah." I confirm, tilting my head in confusion at his sudden shift in emotion. "Is there a problem with it?"

"N-No, of course not." He says, the slightest stutter showing as he takes down the picture and leads me to a chair. "Come."

He still looks shocked.

"Where do you want it?" He asks, his eyes flickering rapidly from the design and to me. "I'd suggest your wrist— it won't hurt as much."

"Okay." I say, holding out my wrist as he starts the gun. His fingers feel cold and warm at the same time as they wrap around my upper arm.

Then the ink soaks into my skin.

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I don't know why.

But I can't think of anything else other than that tattoo artist.

Ever since I'd left the shop with a beautiful crescent, I couldn't stop thinking. Every time I closed my eyes to sleep or sat down to eat, his breathy voice would echo in my mind with the same words over and over again.

"Come again, please."

Watching the lucky people who'd found their soulmates laugh and smile together from my window, I retreat back into the darkness of my apartment and run my hands along the tattoo until I'm afraid it'll fade.