luo has no idea what he's supposed to do. this wasn't his home, wasn't his life. what if he ruined everything? this was too much pressure! especially when there's a knock at the door, and he realizes that he can't just play this part already. he's just got forced into this, doesn't even know any of the relationships or bonds or anything about this guy's life he now has to live. what about his own life? how is he supposed to let cyan know he's okay? guess he could do that still, but.. the next knock snaps him back. the way it seems impatient. demanding. he shakes, and when he finally opens it, he can't help the panic as he quickly tries to reshut the door.
` 𖥔 ݁₊ 𐔌 . ⋮ for a moment, even nice had been taken off guard — a fleeting fracture in his curated perfection, a falter in that ever-polished performance, staring at the masked figure before him. something off kilter, in the way he moved, the way he was. returning to flawless poise a heartbeat later, with a storm brewing, no one would answer the hero, no one was willing to be what set him off today . . . he knew where the other lived, though, of course he did, how could he not, it used to be a shared space after all . . . and to have it slammed in his face, well, attempted to.
golden armour plates pale skin, hand jammed into the door, the metal disappearing in a ripple of light as he realises just how effortless it is to pry open. even a washed-up drunk, wreck had been physically stronger than him, a fact that annoyed nice to no end. considering it had always been himself who excelled in every aspect. now suddenly, an annoyance missed — a contradiction he refuses to examine too closely — stepping inside with no regard. ❛❛ that wasn't very polite ❜❜ stark white, his presence almost blinding, there's something uncanny about him standing in the small, messy and mundane. nice — a figure designed to catch eyes even in the white of an endless ballroom, radiance that demanded attention whether welcomed or not. his strides confident as he intrudes, opening wreck's fridge, not once looking back at the man.
a few beer cans littered inside, the cardboard of a six pack, cooking ingredients shoved to the side unceremoniously. dark brows furrow for the fraction of a second, displeasure flickering, were it any other day, he'd scold the man for this, sharp words dressed as concern. instead, he plucks a bottle by the neck, effortlessly popping off the cap with a practised flick, before finally looking back ❛❛ come on, let's drink, for old times' sake ❜❜ a sickly sweet hum, wrong in the way he closes the fridge door with only a single beverage in hand.
