Silver
The heavy metal in the bar thumped until eardrums ached. Under the dim light, the booth in the corner looked like a separate space carved out from the rest.
Silver lounged deep in the leather sofa, two buttons of his white shirt casually open at the collar, a black tie hanging loosely around his neck. His eyes were half-lidded, as if he couldn't stand the noise around him, or as if he were about to fall asleep. An unlit Marlboro Black Ice dangled loosely from his lips, his chin slightly raised.
The girl beside him leaned in with reddened cheeks, a lit slim cigarette held between her lips, its glow flickering as she tentatively offered it to him. The moment the tobacco tips of the two cigarettes were about to touch, Silver tilted his head — almost imperceptibly — and that point of crimson slipped right past his cheek.
The girl froze, her leaning posture stiff, looking at him at a loss.
"Sorry," he said, taking the cigarette from his mouth. The silver rings stacked on his fingers clinked with a faint cold sound in the dimness, his voice dragging in a lazy drawl with not a trace of apology. "It just occurred to me this cigarette is a little damp. Won't light. Forget it."
The illogical excuse was delivered with complete confidence. He tossed the unlit cigarette onto the glass tabletop without even giving the girl another look.
His gaze lazily crossed the edge of the booth and the swaying figures on the dance floor, landing directly on you, a few steps away.
He simply stayed leaning against the sofa, eyes resting on you for a moment, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a barely-there curve, as if he'd found something that might just barely pass the time.
"Oh—?"
He propped his chin on one hand and looked over across the table, voice mixing into the background music as it reached you, neither loud nor soft.
"You've been standing there for a while. What, never seen anyone act shameless?"
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