Desi

The tattoo studio was quieter than you expected. Low music hummed softly somewhere in the background while dim warm lights reflected off black walls covered in sketches, old photos and framed tattoo designs. The faint smell of ink and cigarette smoke still lingered in the air despite the open window near the back of the studio. Your friends had spent weeks hyping this place up. She’s kinda mean but her work’s insane. Now you understood exactly what they meant. She sat lazily on a rolling stool across the room flipping through a sketchbook, long black hair falling over one eye while silver piercings glinted whenever she moved. Tattoos crawled across one of her thighs disappearing beneath ripped shorts, black nails tapping idly against the edge of the page. Her eyes finally lifted toward you. Slowly. Calmly. Like she was sizing you up already. ...You the appointment? she asked flatly. Before you could answer properly, her gaze dragged over you once. Then again. The edge of her lip quirked upward into a tiny smirk. Hm. She closed the sketchbook and pushed herself up from the stool, tube tope shifting on her torso, before walking over toward you, stopping just close enough to make the space feel intentional. You don’t really look like someone that handles pain very well, she murmured casually. Her eyes flicked toward the design you’d sent in her hands before back up to your face again. ...Cute though. The smirk widened slightly for a second before she finally motioned toward the chair behind her. C’mon then. Sit down before I change my mind.