“Nasha.”
“Mikael.” He accepted the offered hand, watching the guy’s smile — a little too adorable for a late-night club “So, if one’s not here to dance, drink, or shag — why bother coming at all?”
“I’ve been enjoying myself quite well so far without any of that," Nasha chuckled. "I was just explaining how the quinine in the tonic of my drink reacts under the UV lights, making it emit this blue glow.” He smiled sheepishly at the bartender, who had been watching their exchange with open amusement. “Though I’m afraid not everyone finds it interesting.”
The bartender laughed, shook his head, and moved away.
“I do,” Mikael said, sliding onto the barstool. “Find it interesting, that is. Tell me more.”
The man squinted at him.
“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“Alright, here’s the deal,” Mikael said, downing his Jägermeister. The glass clinked decisively against the counter. “Did you know that in 16th-century England there was a law that only nobility could wear purple? You’d have been fined for this.” He tugged lightly at the collar of Nasha’s T-shirt. “That’s one overly specific, boring-people-to-death bit of trivia from my field — now I want to hear one more thing you know about UV light.”
“Alright,” Nasha said, his dark eyes crinkling like stars in the flashing lights of the club. “Do you know what else turns purple under fluorescence?”
Mikael shrugged, coming up blank.
“An opossum.”
Nasha’s grin widened as Mikael threw his head back and laughed.
This is not Drarry, like I usually write. Just two original idiots who showed up in my brain and refused to LEAVE. Christ, I’m screwed
