The tattoo parlour was small, cramped and had the familiar scent of alcohol lingering in the corners of the dog-eared wallpaper, that was spray-painted to give it a darker, more artistic feel. The tattooist’s chair across from the cluttered desk was empty, but on the table beside it, a book of designs was open, giving the impression a customer had been there recently.

“You've not got an appointment,” muttered the tattooist rudely, chewing gum noisily and leaning against the desk, studying Taemin intensely with two large eyes. His bare arms were covered in intricate tattoos, that hid his wiry muscles behind distracting sleeves. His vest top was rather off-putting, and if Taemin had not grown so confident in the past few months, he knew he would've felt nervous alone in an establishment with such a suspicious looking man.

“I'm not here for a tattoo,” Taemin pointed out, eyes scanning the dirty wooden floorboards. This was by all means a backdoor establishment – Taemin doubted it was even legal.

“Well, then, what?”

“I'm here to ask about a customer.”

The man raised an eyebrow, and removed his gum, sticking it beneath the desk.

“A customer?”

“Yeah.”

“You aren’t the police, so I ain't telling a ing thing. You've got no right to poke arou-"

“I've every right.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If you don’t tell me, I'll c​all the police.”

This earned a large burst of laughter.

“Well,” Taemin shrugged, “this place doesn’t look like a very legal business. I'm sure there's some kind of sordid scandal the police could uncover here. So answer my questions.”

Taemin felt his heart thud in his chest – never before had he been so threateningly forward with anyone, and it was causing him to clench and unclench his fists, fear prickling his rigid spine.

The man, however, had turned oddly ashen, and looked agitated. Though Taemin had originally feared the man could react violently to such a threat, the fear dissipated as soon as he understood the character of this man; he wasn’t violent, nor was he tough. The tattoos hid his fear and his life hung with this lowly business. He wouldn't hurt Taemin, he'd simply help him.

“Recently,” Taemin began carefully, trying to keep his tough façade prominent, “did you have a customer asking for a tattoo, behind his ear?”

The man shrugged a shoulder, and muttered, “Bit vague.”

“What?”

"Well, more