[Fair warning that this isn't exactly fluff. Hope I"m not disappointing you guys huhu. ;-; ]

Somewhere down the road, a train whistles. The tracks screeching as the wheels run overtop, propelling a steel giant ever closer to the horizon that lies beyond. Minseok shuffles his feet, left then right and back again. As he moves along, he looks up to notice the glare of the red lights reflecting off his sunglasses and into the windows that line his viewpoint.

Seated straight and waiting are countless women, lips red and legs uncovered. A rare few sport fishnet tights but these bust at the seams and leave their vulnerable flesh exposed to the prying eyes of anonymous men passing by unnoticed.

A string of used condoms line the streets, tossed away and forgotten, the white liquid seeping out onto the concrete to be stepped on top of and spread around. The drowning in puddles of rainwater and evaporating back into the gene pool.

Scanning his eyes elsewhere, Minseok takes a turn off the main stretch of sidewalk and begins his trek down familiar back-streets and alleyways. He comes to a halt in front of an unassuming door.

Minseok knocks three times, stops, then knocks twice more.

The code for entering changes weekly, with various adjustments made to keep the general public from finding this piece of heaven amidst the rubble. In seconds, the door opens and Minseok enters, his heart rising to his throat in anticipation and his pulse playing catch-up to the beat blasting from the stereo.

Luhan is busy for the moment, but Minseok is willing to wait. On unsteady legs he navigates through the throngs of men, dressed to in the height of fashion but never enough to leave a lasting impression. Their suits are tailored but dull, shoes shining but gaudy. Minseok sees past their façade of high society, of elegance, and he hopes that Luhan does too.

Minseok allows for the smell of cigarette smoke to reach his nostrils, inhaling enough to feel a slight jolt hit is brain and stay for a second. Reaching into his pocket, he feels the wad of cash and orders a bottle of champagne. An effeminate man with doe-eyes and plump lips brings him the drink. With a smile, he offers to share a bit with Minseok, but this is quickly rejected.

He’s here for Luhan and no one else.

Waiting, Minseok watches Luhan on the opposite side of the club. There is an artificial fog streaming from the floorboards and as the minutes progress, Minseok’s vision grows gritty, his pupils dilated in the flood of excitement and his palms sweating with the rush of infatuation.

The time is passing, but there are no clocks to be seen. Inside this club, the hour is permanently illusive, a concept not to be challenged until a patron steps foot outside the door and enters back into the real world that’s waiting for them in the light of day.

Minseok is growing impatient.

The strobe lights only brighten and the fog runs thicker, the music beams louder from the speakers and his heartbeat quickens its pace once more. He thinks he sees Luhan sitting with a group of company-men on the other end of the room and feels the jealousy rising. Luhan is his, he just has to convince everyone else of that too.

Still, Minseok continues to wait. The champagne unopened, the ice melted and the condensation dripping down the neck of the bottle. Luhan makes his way through the crowded dance floor. He has an unmistakable aura about him and the men move to either side, giving him a pathway on which to proceed.

Spotting Minseok, Luhan smiles and advances towards him. His skin is green beneath the lights, his hair a golden auburn. Minseok has never seen anything more enticing, anything more lustful. Luhan takes a seat beside Minseok and rests his hand softly on the latter’s shoulder.

 “I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed seeing you around here the last couple days.”

These words whispered quietly, as if between the most intimate of lovers, but Luhan’s eyes are devoid of passion and unseeing, the phrases being spouted from habit alone, meaning nothing. But to Minseok, these simple encounters are his everything. Luhan is his everything.

Minseok sputters something back, some excuse about work and life getting in the way while Luhan continues smiling, his fingers skillfully popping off the top of the champagne before grabbing two matching glasses from somewhere behind him. As he pours the beverage, Minseok pours out his heart, his troubles and worries being melted away entirely as Luhan rubs soothing circles into his back.

By the time Minseok finishes his monologue, the bottle is near empty and Luhan’s eyes are still spaced away, his hands still kneading and comforting, but leaving behind no warmth. The dawn will be approaching soon and Luhan’s night has been filled.

His mascara runs in streaks down his flushed cheeks and his hair has become sticky and hardened by the wandering hands and the hairspray.

Despite this, Minseok cherishes the view. When Luhan reveals that his shift has ended, that he’s going home, Minseok is hesitant to release him.

“Maybe we could go for breakfast, Lulu. It’s on me, free of charge.”

Luhan gives a polite smile, but declines and a part of Minseok shrivels up inside. Maybe another time then, he means to say, but the words catch in his throat.

As Luhan exits the building, Minseok watches with prying eyes. When the door falls shut behind the man, Minseok finds himself following out of need, out of desire. Luhan is his, he just hasn’t figured that out yet for himself.

-----

The sun is shining outside the club and it takes some seconds before Minseok’s eyes adjust to the new style of lighting. Looking at the building in the day, one sees that it is nothing special, just a thick iron door and a crumbling brick frame with sections of half-hearted graffiti sprayed here and there.

There is no name, the club is found only by word of mouth and the recommendation of a current regular. Minseok became acquainted through an old college friend about five months back and ever since, he’s been hooked, coming three nights a week at the bare minimum.

The club is a profession for the hosts, no more, no less. With each visit, the average customer drops around a grand at the very least. Some hosts decide to go all the way with customers for the monetary payout with which it is promised, but others simply coax the men and relieve their troubles.

Everything is based on the illusion of comfort, on the illusion of lust and love, but nothing is genuine, nothing is emotionally substantial.

Inside, everything is hidden beneath a thin sheet of darkness and a good coating of makeup. The dance-floors polished until they reflect the colorful strobes and the masses of moving bodies and the hosts dolled-up until they are unrecognizable from themselves in casual clothing.

Luhan has been the top host at this club for the seventh month in a row. His customers are the most loyal of the bunch and it takes weeks before a non-regular can even get a chance to speak with him. He is able to put his customers in a sort of meditative state where he is the all healing, fixing their wounds with a soft-smile and half-lidded eyes.

When he speaks, he purrs, his voice flowing out through plump-pink lips and leaving those who hear him stumbling home with their head in the clouds and a heart willing to do anything to please him.

Those who know Luhan outside of this place of work know that this is all a clever act, a stage presence designed to make the maximum amount of money possible applying the least amount of effort.

Minseok however, has been fooled by the smoke and mirrors, falling in love with the character Luhan plays and finding himself obsessed.

So, he follows Luhan when he leaves the club, watches him as he enters his apartment building, spying through the downstairs window as Luhan falls into the arms of another man. Minseok can’t believe his eyes. Luhan is his, and his alone. This is not acceptable.

Walking up to the door, Minseok finds it isn’t locked. He isn’t himself at the moment, but wrapped up entirely in his emotions. How could Luhan do this to him? This he wonders as he grabs the kitchen knife that seems to have been left out waiting for him on the counter.

Minseok grips the knife and hears moans coming out from the bedroom at the end of the hall. He grits his teeth and continues walking, his footfalls thump, thump, thumping and echoing against the hollow drywall.

Minseok reaches for the doorknob and twists it, the frame popping open and revealing his Luhan, and in bed with another man. Upon seeing Minseok, they stop all movements, limbs wrapped up in one another stagnantly.

A quiet mantra of Luhan and Only Mine is mumbled under Minseok’s breath as step by step he approaches the bed. Luhan’s partner has gotten up, his body trembling at the sight of the knife held in Minseok’s hand.

As the knife hits the man’s flesh, Luhan releases a scream. Minseok pulls the blade out from the body and turns his attention to Luhan, a puddle of blood forming at his feet and staining the soles of his shoes in the deepest of crimsons.

Luhan is begging, groveling, but Minseok could care less. This isn't his Luhan. This is some imposter who holds no purring voice, just shrill screams, no comforting words or gestures, just the infliction of pain and suffering. Minseok’s heart is broken and those responsible need to pay.  Lulu needs to pay.

There are hickey’s beginning to come into view on Luhan’s neck, his Luhan’s neck. At this, Minseok loses all control, and begins his deed.

When he looks down at what he’s done, Luhan is nearly unrecognizable, the plump lips split and bleeding and the doe-eyes closed forevermore.

-----

Minseok buries Luhan in a shallow grave whose exact location only he knows. The permanence of death reduces all aspects of Luhan's illusion to ash, the smoke becoming toxic gas that suffocates Minseok and the mirrors shattering into the shards of glass with which he slits his wrists.

Three times a week, without fail, Minseok finds his way to this spot and stays for a bit. Here, Luhan is finally his and his alone.