( @1198 ! )
Doe eyes peer at the simplistic shop front of the tattoo parlor and his fingers end up curling nervously at the hem of his sweater, the boy contemplating whether or not to actually go in. He’s not here for an actual tattoo– rather, he heard this place does piercings as well, and there’s one in particular that he’s been interested in for a long while. Kyungsoo has no piercings or tattoos to speak of. And as a kid, he was always big on crying whenever he had to get a shot at the doctor’s office. Granted, he’s not a full grown man and he’s sure his pain tolerance is a little better, but even so, he still feels rather nervous. He takes in a deep breath and lifts a hand to rub the side of his neck, glancing down the street. The brunette knows he probably looks like an indecisive fraidy cat right now.
So he just forces himself to go inside, opening the door and stepping in, glancing around curiously. He doesn’t spot anybody right away, and it makes him blink, approaching the front counter to lean against it. “Hello?”
Work was never at its prime until the late evenings, just around the time teenagers brought out their fake I.D’s to receive some impulsive tattoo in attempt to show they were rebels, without a cause no less. Not as if Jiyong personally cared. It still meant he was going to get paid. During the day, however, the parlor was mostly quiet. The only real clients he had for the day were retouches or piercers now and then. The latest was an older male who came in about six months ago. Jiyong had the opportunity to use one of his own designs per request and, thankfully, it actually proved to be favored, the tattoo even remaining in its pristine condition with the exception of some parts of the shading. It was a nice piece, a dragon sleeve on the right arm. Technically it wasn’t the placement he had in mind, but just knowing it was his own artwork was self-satisfaction enough.
As he finished the retouch, he heard the small silver bell on the door echo in the back, prompting him to head out front, after the removal of black nitrile gloves, and receive his payment from his client before he could see who was next. The inked male expected to see yet another customer with a similar request, but was momentarily surprised to see the smaller, more fragile looking boy as he made his way towards the counter. Offering a faint, but noticeable grin, he greeted him. “Hey there. How can I help you?”
