Chapter Text
“You know, those things’ll kill you someday.”
You had thought you were alone, you thought you were being sneaky.
I mean, it’s not like you were really alone. This was a party, after all. And a big one, at that. You know for a fact that the guest list was for five hundred guests, your sister had helped plan all this, after all.
Fancy, rich parties were a little boring. Sure, unlimited top-quality booze is always at your disposal, but having to talk to every single person who knows your father and wants to say hi to you just because they know you since you were a little baby is a terrible price to pay, in your humble opinion.
The appetizers also get old, after attending certain number of these gatherings (no, you don’t want a smoked salmon canape, fuck off). You weren’t even excited to wear this beautiful dress, and it only served to highlight how depressing this is.
The garden is delicately decorated with fresh flowers and warm, cozy lights hanging from the edge of the white tents set up to shelter the long dining tables from the cold night-breeze.
Candles and more flower arrangements adorned along with creamy ribbons the tables, and it all added up to create a rustic, yet highly elegant style.
You had walked towards the border of the property, quietly wishing you were someplace else. Anywhere, really.
You had taken a cigarette out of the metal case, and lighted it up. At least to take the edge off, even if it was just a little.
“You know, those things’ll kill you someday.”
You had thought you were alone, you thought you were being sneaky.
But snapping your head around to face the intruder, you find a stranger. It’s not like you’ve personally met with everyone who’s attending the party; and even if you have, you couldn’t possibly be expected to remember them all, you have far better things to think about than these people’s names and faces.
Oh, but this man, he seems like something else.
Wild locks of dirty blonde hair carelessly pushed back, honey eyes looking at you like they wouldn’t get to see you ever again.
The sleek black suit he’s wearing fits him in a way you consider sinful. His hips pointed towards you and big, broad shoulders laid-back in a relaxed, aloof stance. One of his hands in the pocket of the slacks, stretching the fabric and highlighting his crotch.
(he looks like a sex symbol, out of a magazine, it’s ridiculous)
“I’m counting on it.” You answer back, lips wrapping around the cancer-stick for emphasis.
“Care to share?”
Of course, who are you to deny this god of a man from his vice? You hand him one long cigarette, and almost drop it as his calloused fingers make contact with you.
(fireworks explode in the dark sky, atomic bomb sets off in your chest, radiation wreaking havoc through your whole body, electromagnetic waves prickling your skin—)
You look up to his eyes searching for answers, and judging by the expression on his beautiful face, you’d say he felt so, too.
You occupy yourself handing him the lighter, and this time, his fingers linger on your skin.
“Thanks, dove.”
The pet name startles you, a little unusual in your experience.
(men usually call you darling, babygirl or doll, never have you ever been something as free as a bird in their eyes)
“So.” He starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke you wish you could swallow. “You friends with the birthday boy?”
“I wouldn’t say so.” You muse.
“That why you’re all alone?”
“I just needed a break from all that.” You reply, mindlessly flicking off ash from the tip of your cigarette while you point it towards where the party is.
“Really? Best champagne, music, handsome crew. What’s not to like?”
“I just feel… trapped. All these greedy people, all these gifts.” You snort. “So much luxury and splurge of money on unnecessary extravaganzas. Sometimes I wish I had a normal life, you know? Away from all of these obligations, without any of these privileges.”
“Ah, how terrible it must be,” he groans, a teasing glint in his eye. “to have to endure the agony of success.”
“So, why aren’t you at the party?” You carefully change topics, inhaling more smoke.
“Saw a pretty girl by herself, thought she might like some company.”
You know that’s not completely it, and it’s kind of offending that he won’t tell you the whole truth when you just poured your heart out with your whining.
“And some company you are.”
“C’mon, I can’t be that bad. You don’t even know me.”
“Oh, I know you, alright.” The both of you stand facing each other, and you let your eyes glide over his figure, shamelessly checking him out. In response, he opens his arms, as if to say “here’s everything”.
“Do tell.”
You watch his face, and you just realize he has his ears pierced, both with beautiful rubies, the color of blood.
“You’re one of those suave guys, with a devil-may-care attitude. Bet you follow your hedonistic ideals without thinking twice of the consequences.” You suck on your cigarette, watching his eyes sparking up in amusement at your assessment. “I’m sure you’re pretty popular with girls, and you look like the type of guy I could just die for.”
“Oh? You think I’m pretty?”
You laugh.
“Is that all you got from what I said? Let me add something. You’re a dumbass. Hopefully, you’re lucky enough to charm your way through life.”
“Woosh, like the back of my hand, babybird. Do you give all guests this tough love treatment?”
“Why, jealous?”
“What if I am?”
Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out, you stutter over your words inside your own mind.
“But, you don’t know me.”
“I don’t have to know you to hate the thought of some geezer having your absolute attention.”
“Are you kidding? I would rather die than let another rich old man touch my waist just to say hello.”
“You talk a lot about death for someone so young.”
“I mean, a golden cage’s still a cage, right?”
“You’d rather die than live in all these luxuries?”
You stay quiet.
“Well, it certainly isn’t your time to go yet.” You arch a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him.
“And how could you know?”
You lean your weight on one foot, curving your hip to the side. His eyes fall down to your waist before coming back up to your expectant, challenging glare.
He smirks.
Taking two steps closer to you, he raises a hand.
“May I?”
Your mouth dries, and you feel compelled to bare yourself for him.
Swallowing, you nod subtly as you lift your own hand to his, letting him turn it upside down to study your palm.
The electricity of him touching you so directly prickles your skin, and you tell yourself it’s only ‘cause of the chilly breeze of tonight. His thumb traces a line across your hand, and you take a deep breath to avoid shivering.
“Yeah. I see.” He rasps out. He’s close. “You’ll live a long, full life. I see a husband, even a couple of kids.”
Your nose scrunches up a little at the mention of kids, but otherwise, the corners of your mouth quirk up at his joke. Because this is a joke, right?
“Does it say anything about midterms?”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He smoothly says, not letting go of you. “You should avoid seafood, though.”
A giggle bursts out of your mouth, and you’re a little surprised. You take the last puff of your cigarette before stomping it on the ground with the sole of your high heel.
“What else can you tell?” You whisper, trusting that he’s close enough to hear you perfectly.
“There’s…” He touches you with the pad of his ring finger, drawing patters on your skin. You fear you may not be able to refrain from shaking if he continues. You don’t care. “There’s fire in you, kid. You get into a lot of fights?”
He’s smirking, and you think you like the fact that he’s teasing you.
“Only the ones I know I’ll win.”
“Atta girl.”
Your chest swells with pride at the small form of praise. Get it together, you tell yourself.
He takes a drag from his cigarette and discards it, his fingers fully focusing in you, now.
“This.” He says, pressing lightly to the meat under where your thumb starts. “Tells me about passion. You’re in for one hell of an adventure, kid.”
“What kind of adventure?”
“The romantic kind.”
You squint your eyes.
“Oh, you don’t like that? Hmm, let’s see.” His forefinger follows along the lines of your palm, like he’s looking for something else. He stops to rub repeatedly beneath your ring finger. “You an artist, babybird?”
He has you blushing in a second, and you’re taken aback by the question. Stunned, you jerk your hand back in instinct, but his fingers apply the right amount of pressure for it to remain in his gentle grip. You relax.
Yes, you’re an art major, but he’d had to know that forehand, right? If he’s one of your father’s acquaintances, then he would definitely know, right?
But, in the case that he already knows all this stuff about you, why would he hold the ruse of reading your palm? Is it just an excuse to touch you?
Certainly, a man like him could easily find women to sway off their feet. And you would figure a ruggedly handsome man such as him, he’d like to touch you in more… inappropriate ways than this, not something as innocent as handholding.
“Don’t tell me I scared ya’.” He smiles. “You seem like a pretty brave girl, and I seem to have gotten it right.”
“I think it’s better if we remain strangers.” You mutter, not put off at all by him, but only growing a little wary.
“Alright, can’t say you’re wrong there. After all, it’s easier to talk to strangers, isn’t it?”
You don’t have any words for him, so you agree silently.
“Do you believe in soulmates?”
It’s a weird question, one out of the blue. But it is easier to talk to him when you know you’ll never see him again.
“As in, two people who are destined to be together forever?” He nods, soft caresses around your cuticles, delving into the valley of veins above. “No, I’d like to think I have some control over who I love.”
He hums, but otherwise stays quiet.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” You prompt.
The corner of his lips curves up a bit, and he looks devilishly handsome.
“I didn’t. Not until tonight.” Your heart stops. You know this is all play, all hook, line and sinkers. You know this, and yet, he still manages to leave you speechless.
He slowly leans forward, until he’s eye level with the sparkling bracelets of your wrist.
His hot breath washes over the skin of your hand, as he turns it over and kisses your knuckles.
“Dance with me?”
You blink.
A smile tries to break out in your face, but instead, you give the blonde gentleman a short curtsy and let him lead you near the dancefloor.
He raises your joined hands, and spins you around once, twice, before giving you a pull to make you lose balance.
And it works, because your other hand comes to his chest for support. Your breath catches in your throat at the way he just smiles down at you.
“Caught ya’.”
His arm snakes around your back, hand settling comfortably on your waist. His feet move expertly to the loud music as he guides you in circles through the whole song.
He’s so close, you fear he might feel your heart violently beating against his own chest.
As the song comes to an end, he dips you impossibly low, and you faintly feel your hair hanging near the floor.
He pulls you up gently, and you feel like nothing more than a doll in his strong arms.
As you’re lifted back to stand on your feet, the tip of his nose barely grazes against yours, and the warmth of his breath falls down your lips.
He smirks at your pretty, dumbfounded face, and he is arrogant and cocky and it reminds you he’s the kind of guy you could just die for.
He swirls you away, extending his arm and letting you step back inside his embrace again.
He hasn’t let go of your hand for a second, and your other one slides up to feel the hot skin of his neck.
He groans.
It’s low, concealed, but it’s there. You hear it and you feel the vibrations deep in his throat.
“You like playing with fire, babybird?” He says to your ear.
You let the tip of your pinky fall beneath the collar of his suit.
“You tell me, hotshot.”
The chuckle is dark and a little scary, but you feel enamored all the same. His chest trembles as the hoarse laugh echoes.
“You’re dancing with the devil, you know that?”
“He’s one hell of a dancer.”
You think you’re so sly, he muses to himself, wanting to see how far you’ll go with him.
Unfortunately, he’s here for business, not pleasure. Well, he tries to remind himself of that.
But fuck, you’ve been flirting with him for longer than you’ve known, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to give you at least a bite of this treat.
After all, he wouldn’t want to disappoint you.
Someone shouts your name, and you instantly know it’s your sister.
“I should go.” You tell him. “I’m needed elsewhere.”
“Farewell, stranger.”
He lets you step away from him, holding you only by your hand.
This time, you bring his to your mouth. Brushing your lips against his knuckles, you press a kiss there while looking up at him.
His lips are parted, his eyes are a little lidded. You don’t know why, you don’t know if you’re right, but he looks borderline angry.
You slip away, and you don’t see each other again.
That is, until next morning.