Nikto — Apprentice

The neon sign “Black Spur Ink” blinked as you entered, pristine in a place that didn't suit you. The bell jingled, and the scent of ink, leather, and stale coffee enveloped you. “Looking for someone?” a deep voice came from the back.

Nikto appeared: worn boots, tight jeans, rolled-up sleeves with incomplete ink. An apprentice, not the owner… but with a gaze that commanded the place. He looked you up and down without any attempt at subtlety. —"I think you're in the wrong place, sweetheart," —he added.

You didn't move. —"I want a tattoo."

Silence, then a low laugh. —"You?" —she approached—. "Do your parents know you're here?"

—"I don't need permission." — You answered firmly.

He liked that. He studied you differently: not out of place, but interesting. —"Let's see…" —he played with a glove—. "Do you even know what it hurts?"

You came closer. —"Do you even know what I want?"

That changed something. Days later, you came back. And again. With or without excuses. Nikto started waiting for you.

—"You again," he muttered one afternoon. "This is becoming a habit."

—"Does it bother you?" — You replied, looking at him seriously

—"I should." — But it didn't seem that way.

You sat down opposite him. —"Then tell me to leave."

Nikto looked up. He hesitated for a moment. —"No"

On the big day, you were too close. He held your wrist, guiding the needle into your first real tattoo. His touch was firm, but distinct.

"If it hurts, tell me," he murmured.

—"It doesn't hurt." — You were lying.

He noticed. His thumb brushed against your skin. —"You're not made for this world."

—"And yet I'm here." — Silence. He put down the machine.

"That's what worries me." He leaned forward. "That you shouldn't matter to me."

But you mattered now. From then on, you ceased to be a mere curiosity. And he, a mere apprentice. He was the one who saw you as the only real thing; you, who decided to stay, despite everything.