For the word drabble: dim 👀
chan breathes in the cool air as he stands outside the battered door of the pizza place, hands shoved in his pockets with practiced nonchalance. he’s waiting, though, he doesn’t know for what exactly. he’s just following instructions really, from that fraternity guy he bumped into today - go to the pizzeria on rosemound street and wait out back. not a lot of information to go on but chan’s nothing if not curious and impulsive; a terrible combination if you ask his best friend. so here he is now, freezing is ass off in an alley that is really starting to creep him out.
the streetlamp overhead is dim but still shining and the sign from the club across the street is glaring a migraine-inducing neon pink. okay, so ‘dark’ isn’t the proper term for this. sue him. the only other word he can think of is ‘sinister’ but that might just be an exaggeration based off the cheesy horror movies he watched last week for halloween.
even so, as time continues to tick by, ‘sinister’ is becoming more and more appropriate. shadows have begun to slink into the alley, the wind kicking up leaves and the smell of jasmine. the noise of the city melts away, sounds muting itself; becoming muffled.
chan draws into himself, pulls the zip up his hoodie and lets it dwarf him. it’s only eleven pm, it’ll be fine. why the hell is he here again? to prove his best friend wrong on a dare by some frat guy? a cool breeze trickles down his spine as the streetlamp flickers.
well, he barks out a laugh, this is getting ridiculous.
“i quite agree.” comes a voice; chan flinches so violently he nearly throws his head back against the door. he spins around but all he sees in the alley are the same overflowing bins and littered cardboard boxes. there had been no one else in this alley; no one else that he’s seen even passing by the place since arriving at the backdoor.
a cold finger presses against his lips, suddenly materialising out of thin air; bright red eyes stare down into his. something else sharp presses just under his diaphragm- a warning. he freezes, hands held up in surrender. you stand before him with crimson lips spread into a sharp smile. the scent of jasmine grows stronger as you lean forward, fingers moving to cup his chin, almost caressing the sides of his neck, a thumb pressing down on his carotid.
(chan doesn’t know if he should be scared or turned on, to be honest.)
each step you take deliberately leads him further away from the mouth of the alley, gets him closer to the wall at the very edge of the streetlamp’s glare; it has been too long.
“so,” you say, taking a slow inhale of the boy’s scent. the fear rolling off him makes your skin a little bit tighter, your eyes a little bit brighter. there’s something else under there too - desire. more, a nail digs a little bit too harshly into his jaw (oops); you need more. “do you believe in demons?”
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