Fuliginous
Shorts
Pairing: Taekey
Warnings: ion
Short 2: Fuliginous
"Dusky; sooty."
"Dusky; sooty."
The first time Key sees him he's alone in the middle of the dance floor, body thrumming with the bass and face flashing under the strobe lights. He's young, timid and very much out of his depth. That's not to say Key doesn't do anything but watch from over the shoulder of the girl leached to his neck. He's not one to care for strangers, especially not ones with squirrel eyes darting around the club. The boy's stage make up does nothing to hide his nervousness when he is approached by a tall burly man with a glint in his eye. Yet he goes anyway, his petite, lime-green nails clutched in the sweaty palm of the elder. And that, key muses, is that.
The second time Key sees him it's still the same club and key is still drinking the same neon drinks. The boy looks a bit different this time though. His face is sharper, his mind seems clearer as he surveys the dance floor. When he is approached this time he doesn't hesitate, his eyes dark with something Key can identify with. But he forgets all about the boy when some skinny punk rocker slips his hand down his shiny metallic jeans. Key cards his hand through his hair and whispers his rates into a heavily pierced ear.
The last time Key sees him his mind is clouded with sweaty bodies and a gentle hum which certainly isn't legal. He doesn't recognise him at first, his hair is no longer a butter-nut mushroom ploom but dyed a fire truck red. He glances at him on his knees on the sticky bathroom floor before Key decides if he doesn't pee now his bladder will explode.
When Key goes to wash his hands the boy is finished and he catches his eye in the cracked spider web of the mirror. His eye liner is smudged and streaky but he offers a half-smile. Oh, Key's drunk mind thinks, pretty. So he leans away from the basin, fishing around for his own eye liner before handing it over wordlessly. The boy accepts and Kibum watches intently as he applies thick barriers with shaking hands. But then he pokes himself in the eye and Key isn't sure whether to laugh or cry any more He's making an adorable scrunched up face but, really, someone who can't apply eye liner is definitely too young to be of a stranger in the toilets.
Key turns around, wanting to see him in real life and not as a reflection. His mind stutters. He really is just a boy; too young. Key waits for him to finish, watching how his dusky eyelashes dance along the purple-bruise bags under his eyes. He wants to cry again. Why is a baby in this run-down hole, putting on eye liner like those men give a ? It occurs to Key that this boy thinks that maybe they do. His heart breaks. When he attempts to hand the eye liner back Key shakes his head and pushes it away.
Key has never been one to be involved with strangers, especially not ones who make his heart long to give something he doesn't have. He won't tell the boy to go home and watch cartoons instead; he's not a hypocrite. It hurts, but he leaves the boy alone under the flickering fluorescent lights. Key has his own money to make.
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