Eyes like trouble
Eli stood outside Club Reverie at 7:55 PM, nerves crawling up the back of his neck. The lights glowed soft and moody against the velvet rope, music pulsing through the walls like a second heartbeat. He pulled out his phone, pretended to scroll, then lowered it again.
He didn’t want to be the first one inside. But he also didn’t want to look like he’d been waiting too long.
Damien
Early. I’m impressed.
Eli
Well, you said sleek. I dressed the part. Figured I should arrive fashionably five minutes ahead of you.
Damien
I like that. Anyway I am two blocks away. I will be there soon.
Eli pocketed his phone and stepped inside. Cool air hit his face like a breath of seduction. Reverie was lush and dim, every surface dripping with quiet glamour. The bar gleamed at the center of it all, inviting and low-lit.
He took a stool, heart still climbing, and ordered something neat and golden just to keep his hands busy.
Every second stretched as he sat there. People drifted past, glittering in shadows, laughing into glasses, brushing up against one another in that casual way that made Eli feel invisible.
The vanilla cologne he had spritzed on with such certainty now clung to his skin like a question. He tugged at his collar, regretting the way the fabric hugged his chest. Too snug. Too deliberate. He reached for his drink, hoping for calm, but his hand trembled slightly against the glass.
His thumb hovered over Damien’s Contact. Just to check. Just to confirm he wasn't chickening out on him. It wasn’t about nerves. It wasn’t desperation. That’s what he told himself.
Then the music shifted. Or maybe the room did. The air felt different, like someone had opened a door to a storm.
He moved like gravity. Black shirt fitted across his chest, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar loosened just enough to suggest trouble. Stubble darkened his jaw, and his gaze swept across the room like he owned the air in it. When his eyes found Eli, they held for a moment too long. Just enough to undo something inside him.
Eli sat up straighter, unable to hide the flicker in his chest.
Damien crossed the floor with slow, measured steps, each one making it harder to breathe. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. The room seemed to fold around him.
When he reached the bar, he didn’t sit. He just leaned close enough for Eli to catch the scent of spice and skin, warm and expensive, and something darker beneath it that made Eli forget the taste of his own drink.
Damien
That’s a good scent on you. Vanilla and nerves. Sounds like heaven
Eli almost laughed, but the sound caught in his throat. Instead, he turned slightly, pretending not to shiver at the way Damien’s voice slid across his skin like silk pulled too slowly.
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