@bellemcrte made the mistake of befriending me đ
Calling this place a bar is a little like calling a tomato a fruit: you might technically be right, but youâre definitely fighting the vibe it gives off. Tomatoes are to fruits as naXos is to bars, an in-name technicality at best. Thatâs probably why, despite being in fucking Boston of all places, itâs one of Dioâs favorite businesses. Top five for sureâmaybe up to top two or three, all things considered.
Dio stubs out his cigarette and approaches the rowdy âbarâ (all but a club!), winking at the doorman on his way in. The people in line grumble, incensed, but the doorman says nothing. (The guy with the strange eyes is always to be let in, no matter the circumstances. His job depends on it, and he doesnât question it. He doubts heâd get answers, anyway.) They settle down when Dio disappears from sight.
He saunters into naXos and right up to the bar, already tipsy off the energy of others. He orders a dark red wine with a smile, and the bartender doesnât charge him for the same reason the doorman didnât stop him. Heâs given his drink and left in peace to soak in the atmosphereâwrithing bodies, pounding base, intoxicants of all kinds in the air, inhibitions loweredâdespite seeming to be a world away from it, calm and languid like the cool night outside.
The lights strobe along with the music for a moment, all of it syncing up to his heartbeat, and in the fraction of a second before the beat droppedâin that moment of suspense when the music gives out at the ear freefalls before the beat hitsâtime stops. And they see each other. Wine-dark eyes meet oceanic ones from across the room and like a tide heâs pulled in, knows she is, too. Fateâs fingerprints are all over this moment. Itâs significant like little else is these days. And thenâ
The next breath, the drop of the beat, the blink of an eye, the strobe of a light, time resumes like it had never slowed and stopped in the first place. Dio continues to stare at her, though he doesnât bother leaving the bar. (Why should he? The Moirai ordained this, theyâll be drawn together now whether they like it or notâat least until whatever it is theyâre meant to do together is completed.) Why are heroes always so fucking short?
âCome here often, cupcake?â he says instead, smiling a bit at his own awful line. Gods!, heâs old enough to be her father or worse, and thatâs only counting this incarnation. Party atmospheres are the only things that get him high these days.
