Chapter 5 Ink & Glass #2
Now he was grateful whenever someone called for a small piece.
A vibration from his phone interrupted his thoughts.
A message from a potential client.
He opened it.
The client wanted to postpone.
Again.
Kai stared at the screen.
“Great.”
He tossed the phone onto the desk.
His gaze moved toward the front window.
A large redevelopment notice was taped to the building across the street.
He had seen it earlier.
He hadn’t wanted to look at it again.
He looked anyway.
The notice was clean and official, filled with language about development, investment, infrastructure, improved commercial access, and long-term economic benefits.
Kai hated every word.
They never said what would happen to the people already there.
They never mentioned the businesses that had existed for years.
They didn’t talk about the old grocery store on the corner or the family-owned café that had been there since Kai was a child.
They didn’t mention his studio.
They certainly didn’t mention his father.
Kai turned away from the window.
His father had opened the studio years ago with almost nothing.
Kai remembered being younger and sitting on the old leather chair while his father worked. Back then, the place had looked different. The walls had been mostly bare, the equipment older, and the front desk had been nothing more than a wooden table.
But his father had been proud of it.
He used to say that a good tattoo studio wasn’t just a place where people came to change their skin.
It was a place where people came to tell stories.
Kai had never forgotten that.
After his father died, Kai had taken over.
He had spent years improving the studio, repainting the walls, upgrading the equipment, building a client base, and turning the place into something that felt like his own without destroying what his father had created.
It was the one thing in his life he had never been willing to abandon.
His phone vibrated again.
This time, it was a call.
Kai looked at the screen.
A number he recognized.
He answered.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Voss?”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to follow up on the proposal we discussed.”
Kai already knew what proposal.
“I told you I’m not interested.”
“You may want to reconsider.”
“I don’t.”
The voice on the other end remained polite.
“We’re offering you a significant amount for the business.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“You could relocate.”
Kai looked around the studio.
“No.”
“You could start somewhere larger.”
“No.”
“You’d have enough capital to expand.”
Kai’s jaw tightened.
“You’re not listening.”
There was a brief pause.
“We’re trying to give you an opportunity.”
Kai laughed without humor.
“By buying my studio?”
“By giving you a better future.”
Kai looked toward his father’s old chair.
“This is my future.”
Another pause.
“Think about it.”
“I already have.”
“You should reconsider before the redevelopment progresses.”
Kai’s expression hardened.
“Good night.”
He ended the call.
For several seconds, he stood completely still.
Then he placed the phone on the counter.
His hands were shaking slightly.
He hated that.
He hated even more that part of him understood the offer.
The money would solve everything.
The overdue bills.
The rent.
The equipment costs.
He could open another studio somewhere else.
He could even make more money.
Maybe the person on the phone was right.
Maybe he was holding onto something that was already disappearing.
Kai walked toward his father’s chair.
He ran his fingers along the worn leather armrest.
There were scratches along the side that had never been repaired.
His father had refused to replace it.
Said it had character.
Kai had wanted to replace it after taking over.
He never did.
Now he couldn’t imagine the studio without it.
His eyes moved around the room.
Every wall held something familiar.
Every corner contained a memory.
The small framed photograph near the reception desk.
The old cabinet his father had built himself.
The faded drawing pinned behind the main station.
The tiny mark on the wall where Kai had accidentally dropped a piece of equipment when he was learning.
This place wasn’t just an asset.
It was his history.
His father’s history.
His home.
Kai walked back toward the desk and opened one of the envelopes.
The numbers were ugly.
He stared at them for a long time.
He could sell.
He could take the money.
He could walk away.
It would be easier.
That was what scared him.
The idea of leaving was beginning to sound easier than staying.
Kai closed his eyes.
Then his thoughts shifted unexpectedly to Elliot.
The quiet man with glasses.
The soft voice.
The little temporary design Kai had drawn on his hand.
Kai remembered Elliot holding up his hand before leaving the train, showing him the mark.
A strange warmth moved through him.
He smiled despite himself.
Then the smile faded.
Elliot had no idea about the studio.
No idea about the bills.
No idea about the redevelopment.
No idea how close Kai was to losing the one thing he had spent years protecting.
Kai wasn’t ready to tell him.
Not yet.
Their rules existed for a reason.
The train was where Kai could forget about everything else.
He didn’t want to bring his problems into it.
He didn’t want Elliot to look at him differently.
He especially didn’t want pity.
Kai folded the bill and placed it back inside the envelope.
He picked up the proposal he’d been given earlier and looked at it again.
The offer was generous.
More than generous.
It could change his life.
Kai tore it in half.
Then he tore the pieces again.
He dropped them into the trash.
“No.”
The word echoed through the empty studio.
He said it again, more firmly.
“No.”
The studio wasn’t for sale.
Not to them.
Not to anyone.
He would find another way.
He always did.
Kai switched off the lights one section at a time until only the small lamp near his father’s chair remained.
He stood in the dim room and looked around.
Tomorrow, the studio would open again.
He would clean the stations.
He would tattoo whoever came through the door.
He would pay what he could.
He would fight the redevelopment if he had to.
He would survive.
He had survived worse.
That was what he told himself as he locked the studio and stepped into the night.
He didn’t let himself think about the possibility that survival might not be enough.
He didn’t let himself imagine the windows covered, the equipment packed away, the sign removed from the front of the building.
He didn’t let himself imagine sitting in another studio somewhere else and realizing it didn’t feel like home.
Kai walked toward the station with his hands in his pockets.
He told himself he could survive anything.
But deep inside, where he kept the things he refused to admit even to himself, he was terrified.
Not of losing money.
Not of starting over.
He was terrified of losing the one place where his father’s memory still felt alive.
The one place that had always been his.
The one place he had called home.
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