Worth the Wait
Worth the Wait
Matthew had been thinking about getting a tattoo since high school.
And here he was, a twenty-seven-year-old, boring white-collar worker with a nine-to-five job, thinking about it again.
He wasn't even sure he could get a tattoo without it showing through his white work shirts. But something about this year had made him finally make up his mind.
This was the year he would finally do something he'd been dreaming about for far too many years.
He'd spent the entire afternoon searching for tattoo parlors when he was supposed to be working. He couldn't help it. He was restless, and the thought of finally getting ink on his skin made him want to jump out of his chair and cheer.
He'd found a few places, called each of them, and written down their prices and available appointment times.
He crossed out a few places that were too expensive, too far away, or too rude. That left him with two.
He weighed his options, deciding to visit both places after work and see which one felt right. Having made up his mind, he returned to work, secretly checking the time every five minutes.
—
The subway ride to the first place, Dead Ink, was hellish. It was crowded, people kept pushing each other, and Matthew could've sworn someone was touching his butt.
He got off the train and left the station, walking for approximately fifteen minutes before finally arriving at his destination.
Dead Ink stood between a record store and a shop selling secondhand clothes. Its black-painted storefront was covered in graffiti, stickers, and faded band posters, some peeling at the corners. A red neon sign bearing the shop's name glowed above the entrance, its flickering letters giving the place a slightly ominous look. Through the wide front window, Matthew could see walls plastered with tattoo designs, dark furniture, and metal shelves crowded with bottles of ink. Heavy rock music seemed to rumble from somewhere inside.
It looked cool, in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way. The sort of place where everyone probably wore black, had at least three piercings, and knew more about underground bands than Matthew knew about his own job.
He stood outside for a moment, staring at the entrance.
Then he glanced down at his white shirt, suddenly wondering if he looked painfully out of place.
He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
Music erupted from inside, blasting straight into his ears. Matthew resisted the urge to cover them and run for his life. Instead, he stepped inside and quickly shut the door behind him.
He looked around but couldn't find a single person working there.
"Hello? Anyone?" he called out, his urge to run growing stronger by the second.
A man emerged from the back room, sporting a bright red mohawk with shaved sides and several silver piercings lining one ear. His black leather jacket was decorated with metal studs and band patches, and the ripped jeans tucked into his heavy combat boots completed the look. Tattoos crept up his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He had the sort of expression that suggested he was permanently unimpressed with the world.
He looked Matthew up and down before asking, "What can I do for you?"
Matthew wanted to ask him to turn down the music, but he didn't want to be rude. Instead, he reached into his front pocket.
"Could you give me an estimate for how much this tattoo would cost?"
He pulled out a folded piece of paper, carefully unfolded it, and held it out for the man to see.
It was a sketch he'd drawn when he was younger. He'd kept it all these years, and after countless hours of thinking about getting a tattoo, he'd finally decided this was the design he wanted for his first one.
The man studied it for a moment.
Then he laughed and shook his head.
"Nah, man. I don't do that kind of shit.”
Matthew was taken aback.
"What do you mean?" He tried not to sound too offended.
"It's lame, man. You wanna get a tattoo here, pick something cooler," the guy said, stepping behind the counter and pulling out a vape.
Matthew stared at him for a moment, unsure how to respond. He'd spent years thinking about this tattoo, and the first artist he'd shown it to had dismissed it without a second thought.
"Right. Okay."
He carefully folded the paper and slipped it back into his pocket.
"Thanks for your time."
Without waiting for a reply, Matthew turned and left.
His ears had finally regained their peace and quiet.
Matthew sighed, seriously contemplating whether he should even bother visiting the next place. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe he should go home, forget about getting a tattoo, and return to his perfectly ordinary life.
But then again, he'd been dreaming about this for years.
In the end, his dream won.
He squared his shoulders and started toward the subway station.
Six stops later, Matthew stepped out of the station. He checked Google Maps again before setting off. This time, it took him only four minutes to reach his destination.
Mai's Tattoo.
The shop occupied the ground floor of a narrow building, its large glass windows framed by dark wooden panels. A simple sign bearing the shop's name hung above the entrance, illuminated by warm golden lights. There were no flashy neon signs or walls covered in graffiti. Instead, a few potted plants sat beside the door, and a collection of framed tattoo designs decorated the windows.
Matthew peered inside.
The interior was spacious and immaculate, with polished concrete floors and exposed brick walls. Warm pendant lights hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the black leather chairs and sleek workstations. One wall displayed an impressive collection of tattoo designs, ranging from delicate linework and intricate florals to elaborate black-and-grey illustrations. Another was lined with framed artwork, each piece carefully chosen rather than randomly plastered across the wall.
Soft music played in the background, loud enough to fill the silence but quiet enough to allow a conversation.
The place looked professional without feeling sterile, stylish without trying too hard. It had the sort of atmosphere that made a person want to linger, even if they had no intention of getting a tattoo.
For the first time that afternoon, Matthew felt his shoulders relax.
Maybe this place would be different.
He didn't hesitate before pushing open the door. A bell jingled above him as he stepped inside.
He was greeted by a woman dressed in a black leather jacket and matching leather pants. With her dark makeup, multiple piercings, and a confident gaze, she looked intimidating enough to make him reconsider his life choices.
Then she smiled.
"Hi! Welcome to Mai's. I'm Mai. What kind of tat do you have in mind?"
Matthew immediately felt himself relax. After the horrible experience at Dead Ink, her warm welcome was a pleasant surprise.
He pulled out his sketch and showed it to her.
"I was just wondering how much this might cost.”
Mai took the piece of paper and examined it carefully.
"Hm. I'd say around two hundred and fifty dollars, depending on the final size and placement."
Matthew blinked. That was considerably better than he'd expected.
"When do you want this on you?" she asked, handing the sketch back to him with a smile.
Matthew thought about it. He had nothing planned for the rest of the week, and if he got the tattoo on Friday or Saturday, he'd have at least a day to take proper care of it.
"Preferably Friday night or Saturday, I guess."
"Well, in that case, I'll have to assign you to our dear Leon, then. He works Saturdays."
Mai reached beneath the counter and pulled out a thick portfolio, its black leather cover worn softly around the edges. She held it out to Matthew.
"All his work is in here. If you're not sure yet, you can have a look first."
Matthew accepted the portfolio and opened it.
The pages were filled with photographs of tattoos, each one more impressive than the last. Intricate blackwork sprawled across broad shoulders, delicate floral patterns curled around wrists, and elaborate snakes wound along forearms with scales so detailed they looked almost alive. There were ravens with feathers rendered in astonishing detail, dark roses with petals shaded so beautifully they seemed to sink into the skin, and sprawling pieces that transformed entire backs into works of art.
Some designs were bold and unapologetically dark, all sharp lines and heavy shadows. Others were so fine and delicate that Matthew had to lean closer to appreciate the details. Every piece seemed to have its own personality, its own story.
Matthew slowly turned another page.
And another.
He'd always thought tattoos were beautiful, but he'd never realized just how much artistry went into them. These weren't simply pictures on skin. They looked as though they'd always belonged there.
"These are beautiful," he said in awe.
Mai smiled. "I'm glad you like them. Don't worry, you're in good hands."
She flipped open a notebook on the counter and scanned the pages.
"Does Saturday at four work for you?"
"Yes, that works."
"Great. See you then!"
Mai wrote down Matthew's name and phone number before closing the notebook.
Matthew thanked her and left the shop, the portfolio's incredible artwork still fresh in his mind.
For the first time all afternoon, he felt nothing but excitement.
He couldn't wait for Saturday to come.
—
Matthew woke up long before his alarm went off. He felt unusually energetic, practically bouncing out of bed.
He showered, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and got dressed. By the time he was ready, the morning was still young.
He sat on a stool with a cup of coffee in hand and checked the time on his phone.
5:45 a.m.
He rubbed his face, secretly cursing himself for not booking an appointment earlier in the day.
The day dragged on agonizingly slowly. By three o'clock, Matthew was practically chewing his own hands off, begging time to move faster.
Matthew sprang up from the couch, deciding to leave early.
He took the subway, subtly rolling his eyes at a few YouTuber wannabes filming themselves and loudly cracking jokes in the carriage. He resisted the urge to sigh in relief when the train finally reached his stop.
He stepped off and made his way out of the station.
By the time he reached Mai's, it was only 3:28 p.m.
Matthew stood outside the tattoo parlor, staring at the entrance. He wasn't sure what would happen if he went in before his appointment was due. Would it be rude? Would he interrupt someone else's session? What if Leon wasn't even there yet?
He glanced at his phone, then back at the door.
Thirty-two minutes.
He didn't want to be rude or interrupt anyone's work, but he also didn't want to waste another thirty-two minutes standing around outside.
After a brief internal struggle, he finally decided to go inside and see how things were.
He stepped inside, the bell chiming above his head. He stood by the door, waiting, unsure whether he should call out or simply wait for someone to notice him.
A moment later, someone emerged from the back room.
Matthew's eyes landed on him, and he couldn't look away.
He was tall, with a slender frame that somehow made the black clothes hanging loosely on him look effortlessly stylish. His shoulder-length black hair was half tied up, leaving a few stray strands to frame his face. Dark, alluring eyes peered out from beneath his fringe, and a small silver hoop adorned one ear.
His skin was a canvas of its own. Intricate tattoos crept up his fingers and wrists, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his black shirt, while more ink peeked out from the collar at his neck. A few silver rings adorned his long fingers, and a thin chain rested against his throat.
There was something effortlessly captivating about him. He wasn't bulky or imposing, but he carried himself with a quiet confidence that drew the eye. His features were sharp yet beautiful, his lips naturally set in a relaxed line, and his expression held the kind of calm that made him seem entirely unbothered by the world around him.
Matthew forgot what he'd been waiting for.
He could only stare.
