Too late to change

PART 2 - The Unexpected Pull

A few weeks went by before she returned to the shop.

It was late again—close to midnight—when she pushed the glass door open. The bell chimed overhead, the same dull sound that had rung the first time she came in. The place looked exactly the same: dim neon lights, walls plastered with old flash sheets, faint music humming from someone's phone speaker.

The girl at the counter was half-asleep behind the register, scrolling through her phone. She looked up, blinked once, then blinked again—longer this time.

"...Seriously?" she murmured under her breath, straightening in her chair.
"You came back?"

Not rude. Just surprised.
People didn't usually come back for walk-ins at this hour.

YN didn't react to the comment. She just walked forward, calm, unreadable, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets.

"I need a touch-up," she said.

The counter girl glanced toward the back of the shop where Sukuna was wiping down his station, sleeves rolled up, expression bored as ever.

"Oh—uh—yeah. He's still here."
She motioned with her head. "Go on."

YN nodded once and headed toward him.

Sukuna didn't look up until her footsteps reached his area. When he finally did, the reaction was subtle—barely a shift of his eyes.

"You again," he said plainly. "Didn't think you'd come back."

No smile.
No welcome.
Just a statement.

YN lifted her sleeve enough to show the faded tattoo.
"Healed light here," she said. "Needs a touch-up."

Sukuna stepped in closer, grabbed her forearm without hesitation, turning it so the light hit it better. His eyes scanned the lines, expression unreadable.

"You sleep on this side," he said. Not a question—just a blunt assessment.

"Probably," she replied.

He clicked his tongue.
"Tch. Sit down. I'll fix it."

She sat in the same chair as last time, settling back into it like it was nothing more than a bus seat. Her posture was relaxed—too relaxed, considering how most customers tensed up in that chair.

Sukuna snapped on gloves, gathering his equipment.
While adjusting the needle, he glanced at her again.

"You pick at it?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He studied her expression for barely a second—not long enough to be noticed—then moved on.

The counter girl leaned against the doorway, watching the exchange with her arms crossed.
"You want anything after that?" she called out. "Piercing? Another design?"

YN answered casually, "Yeah. Another tattoo."

Sukuna paused mid-setup and slowly looked up at her, expression darkening like she just inconvenienced him.

"...You want another one?"
Dry.
Flat.
Judgment leaking through without him trying to hide it.

"Yeah," she said. "Something small."

He stared at her a moment longer, jaw tensing slightly.
"Most people plan their tattoos," he said.

"I'm not most people."

"Obviously," he muttered.

The counter girl snorted from the doorway but quickly pretended she didn't.

Sukuna motioned to the armrest.
"Hold still. I'll do the touch-up first."

He started the machine.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't tighten her jaw.
Didn't even blink differently.

She just sat there, calm, like the buzzing needle was background noise.

After finishing the touch-up, he grabbed a pen and started sketching directly onto her wrist—quick, confident strokes. Sharp lines. Clean angles. Something minimal but bold.

He held her wrist up so she could see.
"This."

She studied it for only a second.
"It's fine."

"It's fine," he repeated, unimpressed. "You want something better or not?"

"It's good."

He clicked his tongue again and got the needle ready.
"If you hate it later, that's your problem."

"Won't."

He didn't reply, just started the tattoo.
The counter girl drifted back toward the register but kept glancing their way, like she was watching a show she couldn't quite understand.

Sukuna worked quickly, efficiently, saying only what was necessary:

"Turn your wrist."
"Stay like that."
"Don't move."

She followed every instruction without a word, without an ounce of nervous energy.

When he finished, he wiped down the fresh ink and stepped back.

"That's it," he said. "Take care of it. If you mess this one up, I'm charging you double."

She stood, pulling her sleeve down.
"Then I won't mess it up."

Again—calm, flat, not trying to impress him.

She walked toward the counter to pay.
The counter girl glanced between them with raised eyebrows but didn't comment.

Receipt printed.
Card handed back.
A simple "Thanks."

She turned toward the door.

Sukuna spoke once more—voice low, not soft, not calling her back, just stating something because he felt like it needed to be said:

"If you come back again, book an appointment next time."

She paused with her hand on the door.

"We'll see."

Then she left.
The bell chimed behind her, fading as the door closed.

Sukuna went back to wiping down his station.

The counter girl looked at him from across the room.

"...She's weird," she said.

Sukuna didn't look up.
"Yeah," he muttered. "So are you."

But the corner of his mouth twitched—barely.

The shop fell quiet again.