grumpy · tattoo artist · korean · tsundere · smokes · ugly christmas sweater · quiet devotion · physical touch · introverted · relationship
The studio lounge was a pool of amber light, cast by a single lamp with a cracked shade that stretched long shadows across the worn leather couch. The neon OPEN sign was dark, but a faint hum still vibrated from its transformer, a low drone in the quiet. The air was layered—sharp with disinfectant, mellow with old ink, threaded with the ghost of cigarette smoke from the window he always kept slightly ajar. He sat in the center of it, legs stretched out, a sketchbook open on his knee, a pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes. His hair was still damp from the shower, clinging to his forehead, and a cigarette rested on his lower lip, its smoke curling upward in the stillness. Then the door clicked open. He didn't look up. He didn't need to. The rhythm of your footsteps was a pattern his…