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Main protagonist intro

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"Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone Can't change the weather, might not be forever But if it's forever, it's even better"

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TBC

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Some people arrive and make such a beautiful impact on your life, you can barely remember what life was like without them. – Anna Taylor

Action*.....* thinking (.....) loud voice (AAA) CAPITAL LETTER Emotion "....."

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Korea

The night was cloaked in darkness, with heavy black clouds smothering the moonlight.

A light drizzle began to fall, painting the empty streets with a glistening sheen.

A few people hurried by, shielding themselves from the rain with jackets and umbrellas.

Meanwhile, in a quiet corner of the city, a small tattoo shop stood with its faint neon sign flickering against the rain-soaked night.

The city was drenched in rain, its neon lights smudged against the wet asphalt like a watercolor painting left in the storm.

The streets pulsed with muted life—cars slipping by, faces blurred behind fogged windows, and the occasional glow of cigarette embers flickering in the dark.

Jungkook leaned against the chipped brick wall behind his tattoo studio, hood pulled low over his eyes, shielding himself from the drizzle.

The cold nipped at his knuckles, but he welcomed the numbness. It was easier that way.

His black hoodie clung to his damp skin, and his hands smelled faintly of ink and disinfectant.

Jungkook outfit ↑

It was already past working time, but he hadn’t left. He didn’t want to.

Inside, the faint buzz of the tattoo machine still echoed in his ears. The day had been long—clients with hollow smiles and half-hearted stories asking for meaningless tattoos. But Jungkook didn’t mind. It was easier to keep his head down and let the needle do the talking.

He tilted his head back, letting the rain trace his jawline, washing away the stale remnants of the day. The distant hum of the city barely touched him anymore. He had become good at tuning it out.

At nine-teen, Jungkook had already mastered the art of keeping people at arm’s length—clients, strangers, and even his own family.

Once, he was bold—restless and bright-eyed. The kid with too many dreams and too little patience. But that version of him had been chipped away over time.

Neglect had made him sharp, distant. His parents barely noticed him growing up, and his older brother—once his anchor—had drifted away too.

Now, Jungkook prefer silence over conversation, ink over intimacy, and distance over vulnerability.

He went inside to tidy up and close the shop

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Tattoo saloon

Exterior

Interior

Choose as you wish ↑ Other ways imagine as you wish

Jungkook was bent over his workstation, cleaning the tattoo gun, when the bell over the door chimed softly.

He glanced up, not expecting any customer at this time, but he met with a stranger’s gaze.

A man stood there, dripping slightly from the rain, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. His vintage-style coat clung to his frame, heavy with water, and his brown eyes locked onto Jungkook with unsettling steadiness.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly.

The man took a hesitant step closer, water dripping onto the black-tiled floor. His fingers tightly clutched a crumpled sheet of paper. He unfolded it and slid it across the counter.

There is rough sketch of a tattoo—crooked lines and uneven shading—stood out awkwardly on the page.

Taehyung outfit ↑

Taehyung POV

I was forced into this investigation, and I really don't like it. This is someone else's job, yet here I am, doing it. Drenched in water after running around the entire city, visiting every tattoo shop, but still, I haven’t found the artist. This is the last shop. When I saw a young guy—someone who probably hasn't even started his life yet—I silently prayed he wouldn't be the artist I was looking for. I wished with all my heart that he would say he wasn’t the one, because I didn’t want him to get dragged into this utter mess. But what can I do? I’m not some god who can change fate.

End of POV

Taehyung turned around and started typing something on his phone, while Jungkook continued doing his work.

Some time passed like that. Jungkook finished his work and looked around, noticing taehyung sill there sitting on the couch placed a little farther in front of the counter, gazing at the rain outside.

Jungkook sat down at the counter and started sketching some tattoo designs, waiting for the rain to stop.

The rain stopped, and Taehyung left the shop. Jungkook was locking the door when he noticed Taehyung still standing outside, as if he were waiting for someone. Taehyung glanced at Jungkook briefly before walking away.

Like he wants to say something but he didn't

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next day

Police station

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"The shadows remember what the light forgets." — Anonymous

"Nothing's new, I think I’ve felt this way before A couple hundred times or more And every time it ends the same I lose myself and take the blame" ~ Nothing's new — Rio Romeo

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TBC

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"A meaningless tattoo is still a choice—sometimes, that’s all the meaning it needs." - anonymous

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The bell above the door jingles as a girl steps inside, her presence sharp and restless. Her hair, unevenly cut, hangs in jagged strands—half still long, the other side chopped short in a fit of impulse. Jungkook barely looks up, his fingers tapping idly on the counter as she walks up. He could already tell she didn’t belong here, but he’d heard this all before.

Just focus on arm

He never made his customers rethink their decisions, but this time, he did. Maybe that girl reminded him of how he once was.

Oddly enough, despite being a tattoo artist, he didn’t have a single tattoo on his own body.

He started to do the work. The needle touched her upper arm, a sharp sting spreading like tiny claws scratching over the same spot. The buzzing machine sent a faint vibration through her bones, a warning of what was to come. She clenched her fingers, bracing herself, but the first stroke burned—hot and relentless.

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This is my understanding of arm parts. This is what I mean when I say 'upper arm.' I think you can understand what I mean.

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Some lines stung like bee bites, others scraped deeper. Her muscles tensed, but she stayed still. The pain didn’t fade, only shifted—stinging, aching, raw. Can I handle this? The thought flickered, but she kept going.

Minutes stretched endlessly. She had wanted a full-arm tattoo, but the deeper the ink carved into her skin, the heavier the pain became. When the artist finished the upper arm, she exhaled shakily, her body rigid.

Then, suddenly

She quickly paid, avoiding eye contact, and rushed out the door, her arm still throbbing. Her breath was unsteady, her steps quick—she just needed to get away.

She rushed to the exit, her arm throbbing. Just as she reached the door, she bumped into someone, stumbling back.

That person simply nodded, walked past her without even glancing at her, and entered the tattoo shop.

Taehyung seats on couch himself and stare at Jungkook for some time and Jungkook don't even give a damn about that and Taehyung suddenly asked

A long silence settled between them, thick and unmoving. Taehyung had picked up a book at some point, flipping through its pages without making a sound. The only noise in the shop was the faint scratching of a pencil and the occasional rustle of paper. Neither of them spoke; there was no need to.

Time stretched endlessly, minutes feeling like hours, but neither broke the silence. Jungkook remained focused on his work, and Taehyung remained absorbed in his book. The atmosphere was neither heavy nor light—just quiet, as if they were existing in separate yet overlapping worlds.

Eventually, the sky outside darkened further, and the shop's warm lighting cast long shadows on the walls. It was time to close. Jungkook exhaled softly, setting down his tools before reaching for the key. As he did, he felt Taehyung's gaze on him. Still seated, Taehyung looked his way for a brief moment, then stood up and walked toward the door, leaving without a single word.

Jungkook simply locked up the shop, slipped the key into his pocket, and made his way to his rented apartment.

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The next day unfolded just like the last. Taehyung arrived in the evening, settling into his usual spot without invitation. At first, the silence stretched between them, unbroken. But soon, words began slipping in.

Mostly, it was Taehyung who talked. He wasn’t overly chatty, but his presence had grown more casual, more comfortable. Jungkook, on the other hand, barely acknowledged him, responding with short replies or simple nods, uninterested in keeping a conversation alive.

As the days turned into weeks, Taehyung’s demeanor continued to shift. He seemed at ease now, talking more naturally, his words flowing without hesitation. The coldness he once carried around Jungkook had softened slightly, as if he had decided Jungkook wasn’t as unapproachable as he seemed.

Jungkook didn’t feel the same.

And yet, Taehyung remained. He stayed past closing time, spoke as if they were familiar, and treated Jungkook like someone worth understanding. It made Jungkook colder, his patience wearing thinner with each passing day.

Then, one night, just like every other, Taehyung left the shop without a word, and Jungkook locked up behind him. He shoved the key into his pocket and started walking toward his rented apartment. The streets were quiet, the air thick with the lingering chill of the night.

But something felt off.

A strange sensation crept over him, like an itch at the back of his mind. The weight of the silence around him was different tonight—too heavy, too still. Yet, Jungkook didn’t react. He walked as if he hadn’t noticed, his hands shoved into his pockets, his face impassive. He wasn’t the type to be paranoid, nor did he particularly care if danger lurked nearby. His life wasn’t something he held onto desperately. If someone wanted to mess with him, let them try.

Then, a faint sound—barely audible—echoed behind him. Footsteps, light but deliberate.

In an instant, Jungkook moved.

Without any hesitation, in one swift motion, he flipped them onto the ground. Before they could react, his fist collided with their face—sharp and unrelenting. He punched them three times, each blow landing raw and unforgiving. His grip tightened on their collar, pinning them down, while his other hand remained raised, fingers curled into a fist, ready to strike again.

But then—he paused.

The dim glow of the streetlights illuminated the figure beneath him, and recognition struck instantly.

His grip loosened, his raised fist lowering slightly. A flicker of confusion passed through his sharp gaze before his expression turned blank once again.

Releasing the person’s collar, Jungkook stood up, his cold eyes staring down at them.

That person didn’t make a single sound when Jungkook struck him. He simply lay there, staring up at Jungkook in silence. His expression remained unreadable, as if he hadn’t just been thrown to the ground and beaten.

After a moment, he slowly got to his feet, brushing the dust off his clothes with deliberate movements. Despite the visible bruises forming on his face, he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

There was a small cut at the corner of his lip, a thin trail of blood marking the spot where Jungkook’s fist had landed. His left eye was already starting to bruise, a faint red hue blooming from the two punches he had taken.

Still, instead of anger or pain, the only thing that crossed his face was mild amusement.

Jungkook stood still, his jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides. He didn’t trust himself to speak—afraid that if he did, something sharp and unforgivable would slip out.

The silence between them felt heavy, stretching unbearably. Swallowing down the turmoil rising in his chest, he turned on his heel and walked away, each step firm and deliberate, as if putting distance between them was the only thing he could do.

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At first sight, I felt the energy of sun rays I saw the life inside your eyes So shine bright, tonight, you and I We're beautiful like diamonds in the sky Eye to eye, so alive We're beautiful like diamonds in the sky — Diamond

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TBC