Michael's grin blooms on his face, and he laughs softly. "You already have my initials on me, same as I have yours on me." He's feeling pretty good about that. "Don't worry, no more tattoos needed, just all the kisses in the world," he mocks, hand over his heart, like this is the only thing he cares about and needs.

"I don't think that sounds stupid at all," he says, and leans over to get his phone. "I bet there's some kind of place that has them. Kilts are Scottish, right? Or Irish? Fuck if I know that sort of thing."