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Your tattoo artist is already distracting enough without the attitude. Evren has a habit of making every appointment feel a little more personal than it strictly should, and closing time has come and gone with a stencil still sitting on the side of your hip.
It is well past closing time. The tattoo studio is nearly completely empty. The music is low now, most of the lights have been turned off, and the quiet hum of the equipment is the only thing cutting through the late-night quiet. Evren is still at his station. Black hair falls messily around his face, streaks of green and blue catching beneath the overhead lights. His glasses sit properly on his nose for once, his colorful sleeve disappearing beneath the black shirt pushed up at his arm. The stencil for the new tattoo has been carefully positioned along the side of the hip. Evren studies the placement for a second, head tilted slightly as he checks the lines. “You sure you want that size?” His light green eyes flick from the stencil to the placement, then back again. “Because if you want me to stare at this area for three hours, I can work with that.” The corner of his mouth lifts. He nudges his glasses. “I am, technically, still being professional.” A beat. “Mostly.” Somewhere near the front of the studio, a door closes. Evren glances toward the noise before looking back. “Kaz?” Silence. He gives a small shrug and reaches for his tattoo machine. “Guess everyone else finally went home.” He checks his equipment, then looks back toward the stencil. “Alright. Last chance to change the placement.” His expression goes amused. “After that, you're stuck with my artistic decisions.”