Chapter Text
Seokmin decided, somewhere between his third shot and Seungkwan’s dramatic rant about commitment, that he wanted something permanent.
Which, frankly, was ridiculous. His entire career was built on things that changed. Concepts. Hair colors. Stages. Even people. Fans came and went, schedules shifted, promises were always “for now."
But the thought lodged itself in his chest and refused to leave.
“I just—” Seokmin hiccupped, dropping his head onto Seungkwan’s shoulder. “I want something that doesn’t disappear. Something that stays even when everything else doesn’t.”
Seungkwan blinked. Once. Twice.
“…Are you having an existential crisis or are you just drunk?”
“Yes.”
That earned Seokmin a snort of laughter, followed by Seungkwan nudging his forehead with his own. “Okay, philosopher. And what exactly are you thinking? A plant? A dog? Therapy?”
“A tattoo.”
Seungkwan froze.
Then his eyes lit up in a way that meant trouble.
“Oh. Oh, that’s dangerous.”
Seokmin grinned lazily. “I feel dangerous.”
“You feel tipsy,” Seungkwan corrected. “But—” He paused, pulling out his phone. “If you’re serious… Vernon works at this tattoo place. Kraken Studio. It’s legit. Clean. The artists are stupidly attractive for no reason.”
Seokmin squinted at the phone screen as Seungkwan shoved it in his face. A minimalist logo stared back at him—sharp lines, dark waves, a kraken curling around a needle.
Something twisted pleasantly in his chest.
“Take me,” Seokmin said immediately.
“No.”
“Seungkwan.”
“No.”
“Boo.”
“…No Seok, but I'll give you the location if you want to go. ONLY WHEN YOU'RE SOBER.” Seungkwan said staring him down typing the address into Seokmin's phone.
Kraken Studio smelled like ink and antiseptic, with low lights and quiet music humming through the speakers. It felt intimate in a way Seokmin wasn’t prepared for. It was nothing like the loud, bustling world he lived and moved in.
He stumbled inside, nearly tripping over the doorframe.
“Hi,” he announced proudly. “I want a tattoo.”
A tall man behind the counter looked up.
And Seokmin’s brain short-circuited.
He was broad-shouldered, sleeve of black ink winding down his right arm, dark hair pushed back messily like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. His eyes were sharp but warm, assessing Seokmin in one slow glance.
“…You’re drunk,” the man said flatly.
Seokmin pouted. “I am inspired.”
The man sighed, already shaking his head. “Yeah, no. I’m not tattooing you like this.”
“What if it’s small?” Seokmin pleaded, leaning onto the counter. “Like- Like a rainbow. Or a heart. Or a—”
“Absolutely not.” The man stepped back, crossing his arms. “Tattooing someone intoxicated is a hard no. Liability. Regret. Infection. Pick one.”
Seokmin groaned, forehead dropping onto the counter. “You’re so responsible. That’s so unfair.”
The man didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his voice softened just a little. “You got someone I can call? Friend? Anyone?”
Seokmin blinked up at him, eyes glassy. “…Seungkwan.”
The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Seungkwan?”
“Mhm. He’s loud. And pretty. And my best friend.”
That earned the tiniest smile and something in Seokmin's heart leaped.
“Alright.” The man turned, calling over his shoulder. “Vernon!”
A black haired guy with a side part popped his head out from one of the rooms, immediately doing a double take. “Oh—uh. Hey. That’s Seokmin.”
Seokmin waved enthusiastically. “Hi! Your boyfriend sent me.”
Vernon winced. “Oh no.”
Ten minutes later, Seokmin was wrapped in a hoodie that wasn’t his, sitting on the studio couch while Vernon talked quietly on the phone.
The tattoo artist crouched in front of him. “I’m Mingyu,” he said and then added, “Listen, if you still want a tattoo when you’re sober, you come back. No pressure. But only if you’re sure.”
Seokmin looked up at him, heart doing something stupid.
“…Okay.”
Seokmin woke up with a splitting headache and Joshua standing at the foot of his bed like an impending lawsuit.
“Care to explain,” Joshua said calmly, “why Seungkwan called me at two in the morning to inform me you attempted to get a tattoo while drunk?”
Seokmin groaned, pulling the blanket over his face. “I didn’t get it.”
“That’s not comforting.”
But even as Joshua lectured him about public image and impulsive decisions, Seokmin’s mind kept drifting back to dark eyes, steady hands, and a voice that had said come back if you’re sure.
And for the first time in a long time, Seokmin thought,
Maybe he was.