When Kyungsoo had opened the Black Pearl Tattoo Parlor, he’d immediately put a sign in the window. Help Wanted. He liked quiet, but he didn’t want to be alone in a place like this, where anyone could walk in and rob him or worse. He wasn’t afraid, per say. Wary was a better word for what he felt. So up the sign went. The criteria for a job at his parlor were simple: know your way around a needle and be able to toss a troublemaker or two out.

That day, Park Chanyeol, a student with dyed red hair and a perpetual smile came bouncing into the shop. He towered over Kyungsoo enough that he was given the job on the spot. A week later, Oh Sehun sauntered in, slapping a resume down on the counter and taking a louder sip of bubble tea with each line that Kyungsoo read. He nearly matched Chanyeol in height, had tattoos (that were skillfully done, in Kyungsoo’s opinion) running all the way up his arms, and had the resting face of an axe murderer. He was hired quickly enough.

It had been almost four months since he opened his doors, and he already had his fair share of customers (steady or not) and – unfortunately – pests. One such problem was being escorted out by both Chanyeol and Sehun, due to his burly size. Kyungsoo’s brow furrowed and he resisted the urge to repeat the profanities that were being thrown at him and the other two, who returned. Sehun firmly shut the door. “Lock it,” Kyungsoo sighed. “It’s almost closing time, anyway. Go home and get some rest.” Sehun practically threw himself out the door, yelling his goodbyes. Chanyeol gave Kyungsoo his nightly hug, which the smaller man begrudgingly returned, and grabbed his own coat and Sehun’s before bidding him a good evening, running out and calling for Sehun to wait for him with promises of meat.

Kyungsoo locked the door that Sehun had forgotten. He could understand. It had been a long day, and Sehun had been frantically poring over schoolbooks when there were no customers to assist. He made a mental note to buy Sehun and Chanyeol a meal sometime, to thank them for their hard work.

Movement outside the door made him pause and push aside the dark curtains on the windows to look more closely. Someone was moving outside, standing in front of the parlor and shuffling around before running off and then repeating the cycle all over again. Kyungsoo’s breath caught in his throat. He reached for the baseball bat hidden behind the couch and unlocked the door. Of course the punk had to hang around the shop to cause more trouble. He should’ve kept Chanyeol and Sehun back for just a little longer. He coughed and hummed a bit, trying to lower his voice, and cracked open the door to shout gruffly, “We’re closed! Go before I call the cops!”

The person outside squeaked and stumbled away. Kyungsoo waited, watching. Sure enough, after a couple minutes, the silhouette of a person crept towards the parlor again. They came closer this time, close enough for Kyungsoo to tell that they were smaller than the jerk from before. He opened the door a bit wider, letting cold air nip at his nose, but clutched the bat tightly, just in case. “Sorry,” he called. “I thought you were someone else. Can I help you?”

“I thought…you were closed,” the person said softly, coming up to the door.

Kyungsoo opened it fully. “Officially, yes, but it’s not closing time just yet. I can help you for a short time.”

With hunched shoulders and a cautious stare at the baseball bat in Kyungsoo’s hand, the person stepped into the lit front room of the tattoo parlor and waited as Kyungsoo relocked the door. Kyungsoo glanced over the customer quickly. He looked like he was Sehun’s age, probably a student. His nose was tipped with cherry red, evidence that it was colder outside than Kyungsoo had thought. His plush lips were bitten almost raw closer to the inside, and even as Kyungsoo noticed that, the bottom lip was quickly worried between white teeth. If there had been any sort of confidence in his posture or actions, Kyungsoo would’ve assumed that he wanted the name of a girlfriend on his arm, but he’d been surprised by requests before. “What can I do for you?” he asked politely.

“Ahh…it’s kind of late. What I was thinking might take a while,” the customer said.

“I can at least hear what it would be, and plan it out for tomorrow,” Kyungsoo offered. “Here, sit down.” He motioned toward the couch and hurried behind the front counter. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the customer responded, but he didn’t seem as nervous as he’d been outside when he sat on the couch, letting his long legs stretch out a little.

Kyungsoo grabbed a water bottle for himself, anyway, and sat on a chair across from the man. “My name’s Do Kyungsoo. I’m the owner of this parlor.”

“Kim Jongin,” was the meek reply. He dug into his pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out and handing it to Kyungsoo with both hands. “I brought a reference.”

One look at the paper had Kyungsoo struggling not to laugh. The drawing was almost silly with how child-like it looked, but he could understand the basic idea. Bird wings, stretched across the upper back and down the arms. The sketch was probably supposed to resemble Jongin, but it had come off looking more like a preschooler’s artwork of their father. “Did you draw this?” Kyungsoo asked, unfolding the worn corners.

“My friend did.”

“Tell your friend not to look into art as a profession,” Kyungsoo told him. “But I think I get the general idea. I can redraw this, if you’d like.”

Jongin nodded. “Yifan wouldn’t be happy.”

Kyungsoo assumed that was the friend. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he grinned, going back to the counter to grab his sketchpad and a pencil.

The parlor was quiet except for the scratching of lead against paper. Kyungsoo gave full attention to the page – mostly. Jongin kept leaning into his view, trying to see what Kyungsoo was drawing, and his expression was so nervous and excited that Kyungsoo couldn’t help but look at his face. He was pretty, Kyungsoo decided. Maybe a model. “What do you do,” he asked as casually as possible.

“I’m a student,” Jongin answered, leaning closer. Kyungsoo almost dropped the sketchpad when Jongin fell off the couch. He patted the seat next to him and Jongin sheepishly moved to sit there. “And I dance…though you probably couldn’t tell with that little stunt.”

Kyungsoo looked at him in the corner of his eye. Long limbs, taut, slim muscles, and a delicate posture visually confirmed the idea of Jongin being a dancer for Kyungsoo. “What kind of dance?”

“I prefer ballet,” Jongin said shyly. He gasped, and his face lit up as he stared at the sketchpad. “You’re really good at drawing!”

Embarrassment heated Kyungsoo’s cheeks and he ducked his head, trying to concentrate on the sketch and mentally smacking himself. He’d been complimented before on his work, but he’d never reacted this way. “So, how long down the arms?”

“An inch or so above the elbow.” Jongin pointed at the left arm Kyungsoo had drawn. “I think that looks good.”

“It does,” Kyungsoo agreed. They sat in silence for a while, Kyungsoo sketching a lightly muscled back, wondering if it looked anything like Jongin’s back looked. He cleared his throat, and Jongin immediately handed him the forgotten water bottle. “So,” he said after swallowing, “why wings?” Almost every person had a different reason for wanting wings, no matter where they were on their body. One of his favorite regulars, a model named Zitao, had gotten wings done on his ankles, to help him ‘walk like a god on the runway.’ Later, when Zitao had come back for a set of stars up his inner thigh, Kyungsoo had asked him if they’d worked. Zitao had smiled mysteriously and replied that he had walked like a god because Kyungsoo had the hands and needles of a god.

Jongin ducked his head and vaguely waved his hand around. “Just…dancing. So I can dance better. Like a good omen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Kyungsoo said honestly. “Have you had a tattoo before?”

“No. I almost didn’t get this one, but my friend Luhan persuaded me.” Jongin chuckled. “He wanted to come with and watch, but I convinced him to let me do this myself.”

“You must have nice friends, if they’re so supportive of you,” Kyungsoo commented, touching up on the bottom feathers.

“I’m glad I met them,” Jongin said, a pensive smile passing over his lips.

Kyungsoo handed the finished sketchbook to Jongin. His hands busied themselves with tapping the pencil against his leg as he waited for Jongin to finish looking over the reference.

Jongin’s eyes were wide, the dark brown irises appearing almost liquid, when he looked back up. “This is amazing,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“I’m not done yet.” Kyungsoo stood and went to the counter. “With a tattoo that big, we’ll have to do it in pieces. It might take a few weeks. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes,” Jongin said instantly, moving to stand on the other side of the counter and leaning on the edge. “I don’t have a lot of time during the day, though.”

Kyungsoo glanced at his calendar briefly. The next week and a half was going to be busy, but he didn’t want Jongin to have to wait too long. He looked at the clock: 11:48. It wasn’t that late. “Can you come in during the evening, like you did tonight? I won’t have any other customers to work with, so I can focus on you.”

Jongin blushed, which caused Kyungsoo’s cheeks to mimic the pink tint on Jongin’s golden skin. Curse this boy for being so cute. “Yeah, that’ll work,” he replied, turning to look at the front door. “I should, um, probably go now, then.” He bowed, and when his body righted itself, his brunet bangs hang into his eyes – maybe on purpose. “Thank you again.”

“Have a good night!” Kyungsoo called after his retreating figure, which turned and gave a tiny wave before vanishing into the shadows that dotted the street.

}{}{

Kyungsoo wasn’t late the next morning, despite the fact that he’d gotten less sleep than usual. He was, however, behind Chanyeol and Sehun, which never happened. The two brats made sure he knew that.

“What happened?” Chanyeol asked repeatedly. “Are you ill? Is something wrong?” It was out of concern that he asked so much, Kyungsoo knew, but he’d already said “Nothing” and “No.” There was no need for him to ask eighty times over the span of three hours.

Sehun, however, had an infuriatingly knowing smirk on his face. “Was it a club or a bar you met him at, boss?” he simpered, and didn’t stop with the insinuations until Kyungsoo brought out the trusty baseball bat. Sehun knew how to appease him, unfortunately, and disappeared for ten minutes, coming back with enough chicken and bubble tea to feed six people. Kyungsoo gave him a light smack upside the head but accepted the food, and at noon the three of them went on lunch break and ate Sehun’s roundabout apology.

“Really, though,” Chanyeol said around a mouth of chicken. “What did keep you up last night, if anything?” He shot a glare at Sehun. “Maybe he’s just extra tired from keeping you in line.”

“Chew and swallow,” Kyungsoo ordered as Sehun childishly stuck out his tongue. “There was a customer that needed help.”

Sehun snorted his bubble tea out his nose. “That late?” he exclaimed, reaching for a tissue.

“You are disgusting, you know that?” Chanyeol said.

“Either you two shut up now or I’ll fire you. How many arguments can two people have? You two are the most immature little morons I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet,” Kyungsoo grumbled as he went to the tiny restroom to wash his hands. When he returned, still muttering about their bickering, Chanyeol had taken the tissue and was wiping Sehun’s nose for him, gently chiding him to hold still. Kyungsoo sighed as he went to the front of the parlor. Those two were children, plain and simple, and he had to act as a part-time mother. It wasn’t all bad, though. He did get free food, but that would probably lessen with time. The amount of junk food those boys shoved into their stomachs would have to be replaced with something more healthy, and Kyungsoo would be the one to do it.

Surprisingly, there was still chicken left after Chanyeol and Sehun got through with it. Kyungsoo put it in a plastic container, which then went in the mini-fridge for later. Maybe it could be their lunch tomorrow, as well.

Nine customers later – three for Kyungsoo, four for Sehun, and two for Chanyeol – the light outside had dimmed considerably and Kyungsoo had flipped the OPEN sign to say CLOSED. Chanyeol and Sehun, however, refused to leave until they’d seen Jongin. So the three of them waited; the two younger ones sprawled out across the furniture while Kyungsoo prepared his work space. His stomach kept twisting and uncurling. He supposed he was hoping that neither of his employees scared Jongin away, even though that was technically half their job description.

“Hey, I think he’s here!” Sehun shouted. Kyungsoo ran out, shushing him, and unlocked the door, letting in a flurry of snowflakes and a bundled-up Jongin. His heart clenched softly at the sight of him, and he swallowed carefully, not wanting to choke on his own saliva in front of Jongin. Chanyeol ran to the back to get some hot coffee, while Kyungsoo helped Jongin out of his puffy coat. Jongin bowed his head in thanks, once for Kyungsoo and once more when Chanyeol carefully brought him a steaming Styrofoam cup.

Introductions took a while, because Chanyeol and Sehun had a lot of questions for both Jongin and Kyungsoo, and Jongin was clearly shy, slowly moving so he was partially hidden behind Kyungsoo. The latter had no idea how he was of any help in protecting him – Jongin was almost as tall as Chanyeol and Sehun, much taller than Kyungsoo himself.

“This is Sehun and Chanyeol. They’re my employees,” Kyungsoo explained.

Chanyeol pouted. “I thought we were your friends.”

“And sometimes they act as friends,” Kyungsoo amended. He turned to them and motioned toward the boy behind him. “This is Jongin. He’ll be visiting over the next few weeks to get his first tattoo.”

“Must be big,” Sehun commented. “Hi, Jongin. What’s the plan for the tat?”

Jongin slid out from behind Kyungsoo. “Hello,” he said, bowing respectfully. “The idea is wings.”

Kyungsoo brought out his sketchpad again and opened it to the page with the sketch of Jongin’s tattoo. Chanyeol and Sehun hummed and nodded over it. “Okay,” Chanyeol said. “Who do you want to do it?”

There was a pause as Jongin looked among the other three. He bit his full bottom lip and bashfully pointed at Kyungsoo. “Let’s get to work quickly then,” Kyungsoo said and ushered Sehun and Chanyeol out, throwing their coats at them. They said swift goodbyes to Jongin. Sehun was even being nice enough to give him a non-suggestive “Have fun.”

“Don’t freeze,” Kyungsoo commanded and shut the door behind them, cutting off the frigid air that swept inside the room. He led Jongin to the back, where he had a long table set up and all the necessary equipment out. “Take your shirt off and lie down on your stomach,” he told Jongin, who complied readily, shifting on the table to get comfortable. “Tell me immediately if you feel any pain at all. Rate it on this.” He pointed to a chart on the wall that looked like it came straight out of a pediatrician’s office, with round faces that depicted a range of emotions. Jongin smiled at it, his eyes slitting into happy crescents.

Kyungsoo wiped Jongin’s back down with alcohol, cleansing his soft skin, and brought out the tattoo machine. Jongin stiffened under Kyungsoo’s hand. “It’s okay,” Kyungsoo automatically soothed, as he’d done with dozens of people before. “You’re all right. It won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Jongin said, and his back relaxed, but his eyes squeezed shut as the machine dipped down toward his skin.

For a long while, the room was quiet except for the hum of the machine and Jongin’s little gasps. Kyungsoo asked him ten minutes in if he was in much pain, and Jongin would quietly reply that it stung a little, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought.

Kyungsoo came close to regretting putting ink in Jongin’s beautiful skin. He’d never thought of tattoos as something that could mar someone’s appearance, if they were done well, but he felt a little disappointment at the thought that part of the smooth honeyed skin would be covered over. He felt a bit in awe as his pale hand moved over Jongin’s back, contrasting sweetly.

“Do you have any?” Jongin asked, drawing air between his teeth in a hiss. “It wasn’t that bad, I’m all right.”

“Tattoos? One. On my arm.”

“What is it?” Jongin questioned curiously, opening his eyes and moving his head so he could look at Kyungsoo better.

“A musical chord, of the highest notes I’ve ever sung. I was in my school’s choir,” Kyungsoo said, working carefully on the outline of a feather. “They wanted me to try to be an idol. I seriously considered it, but I had to stay home and help my family, though they wanted me to follow my dream path. By the time they didn’t need me, I was too old to be a trainee, so I became a tattoo artist. That worked out, obviously.”

“I can tell,” Jongin laughed.

Kyungsoo tapped his shoulder with his free hand. “Stay still or this will end up looking more like bat wings.”

By midnight, half of one wing was finished. Kyungsoo sterilized it again, taped gauze over it, and warned Jongin to be very careful and not take the bandage off unless he wanted his whole arm to get infected. Jongin grinned and nodded, thanking Kyungsoo and promising that he’d come back as soon as he could. “Probably in a couple of days,” he told him. “I’ll be a little busy.”

“That’s all right, just take care of yourself,” Kyungsoo said.

“I will. You do the same,” Jongin replied with a gentle smile, shrugging into his coat gingerly. He brought out a wallet and took out a handful of money. “Would this be enough for now? I’ll be able to get money later.”

Kyungsoo mentally counted the money. 70,020 won. “This is good. We’ll settle on a final price when we finish.”

The two exchanged goodbyes before Jongin ducked outside. It was still cold, but it had stopped snowing, at least. Kyungsoo shut off the lights, wrapped himself in his coat and locked the door behind him. Jongin’s footprints in the deep snow, still fresh, led off in the direction Kyungsoo needed to go to get home. He smiled and stepped in them, only leaving them when they turned away, down the cold, dark, peaceful road.