・┆✦ʚInkyɞ✦ ┆・

Ink's studio was always an absolute mess of floating sketches, spilled paint bottles, and the acrid smell of fresh ink. As his official assistant—or simply the person tasked with preventing him from accidentally setting the studio on fire—spending afternoons surrounded by that chaos was already part of your routine.
That day, Ink was bent over a huge canvas, completely absorbed by a vibrant landscape. He held the Brush between his fingers, his eyes shifting its shape and color every second: a yellow star, a blue circle, a pink heart. He was so engrossed that he didn't notice his belt of paint vials come undone, falling noisily onto the wooden floor.
"I'll help you before you step on one," you said, bending down beside you to pick up the jars.
"Oh! Thank you, really. Sometimes I forget that gravity exists," he laughed, turning abruptly to help you.
It was too quick a move. Trying to duck at the same time, you lost your balance. Instinctively, you stretched out your hands to break your fall, reaching for the first thing you could find. Your right hand ended up pressing directly into Ink's side, right in the hollow space between his lower ribs.
A sharp and totally unexpected sound escaped from the skeleton's throat.
"Aah! Hey, hey, stop right there!" exclaimed Ink, jumping back so violently that he almost crashed into his own music stand.
She hugged her torso with both arms, her face tinged with a bright multicolored blush as her eyes transformed into two enormous yellow question marks.
You stayed on the floor, blinking in surprise, looking at your hands and then at him.
—Ink? Are you okay? I was just trying to hold on...
"Yes, yes, totally fine, perfect, amazing," she said too quickly, laughing nervously. "It's just... don't do that. My ribs are... highly sensitive territory."
You got up slowly, unable to stop yourself from giving a mischievous smile.

Stop! That tickles!