#230player

her elbows lean into her thighs, palm cradling her chin. se-mi has a habit of pressing jewelry to skin when she's thinking, toying with silver in skin. her head turns to where @230pl4yer sits. his pupils are blown wide, a twitch in painted fingers that he cannot seem to settle. it wasn't fear, but a high that's ebbing into a sobering lull. “ who said i was afraid? ” she questions, brow arching. she's good at deceiving, especially someone so under the influence. that's why it was easier to share the truth with min-su.

* starter call. @230player

"that seems confusing." as if the strobe lights, the LEDs, the music pounding so loud it feels like her bones are about to shake right out of her skin aren't all disorienting enough. now thanos is telling her the drink menu changes every day?

half the words can't be distinguished from streak after streak left by half-assed attempts to wipe the chalk away, and the other half are hardly recognizable to sae-byeok. she's more used to cheap beers and whatever is on the bottom shelf.

a shoulder bumps into hers and the instinct to slip her hand into an unsuspecting pocket is there. instead, her fingers squeeze into a tight fist hidden in her jacket. maybe, maybe on the way out of here. but not before she's had something to drink.

there is no name on the door. just brass that gleams like a secret well-kept. just air that thickens when you cross the threshold— like stepping into a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to you. the music isn’t loud. it doesn’t need to be. it’s in you. in the marrow. in the molars. candles sweat light into corners, shadows stretching like cats with something to whisper. the rules? come as you are. leave as something else... and from her corner of the dusk — half-lost in the hush between basslines and breath — kore had been watching him for at least twenty minutes. not watching like mortals watch. no. not staring. she never stared. she observed. drifted in thought like fog learning the skin of a mountain. like smoke flirting with the idea of fire before giving in. and him— oh, him. he wasn’t safe fire. not the devotional flicker of temple flame. not the hush of scented smoke at prayer. no. he was a burn that laughed. greasefire, bar-top blaze, kiss-you-raw chaos. the kind of heat that wants to be mishandled.

thanos. not a regular. not a refugee of heartbreak, not a shadow looking for soft corners. no. he entered like a detonation. like the night had folded itself into a red carpet. voice louder than the music. hands speaking louder than the voice. spilled drink, no apology. pressed himself into chairs, into people, into the moment— like gravity was something you earned. gods, but she’d missed noise like that. noise with a soul behind it. noise that meant something. so when the orbit shifted — bodies breaking off like planets going rogue — she moved. not rushed. not showy. just… arrived. a breeze made of silk. a scent with teeth. a ring like a spell catching flame.

she sat, uninvited but entirely inevitable. “        don’t look so startled.        ” voice all warmth and candlewax, velvet edged with grin. like a memory you hadn’t made yet. “        i only came over because you’re too loud to ignore.        ” and then, as if remembering her manners— a secret, gift wrapped: “        i mean that as a compliment.        ” her eyes took him in like a dare she was already winning. not soft. not cruel. just that specific kind of dangerous that purrs while you fall. “        you don’t know me,        ” she said, light, careless, certain. “        but i know you. or enough to make a good guess.        ” head tilt. smile like moonlight through smoke. “        you’re thanos.        ” and no explanation followed. because questions are foreplay. and she always liked a little suspense.