A "book" dedicated to one-shot AUs and Brightwin ramblings.
I used to have Intermissions in my stories but that may be becoming confusing so I will start adding them here.
Basically, this is how I'll keep myself from imploding as Win and Bright cont...
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Win Metawin was bored. He should not be. This was a big event. With the hottest stars from around the globe. With top DJs spinning out jams. With top chefs giving out hors d'oeuvres like candy. With CEOs of luxury brands signing endorsers left and right.
He should be ecstatic. His usual camera-ready self.
But nope. That wasn't what he was feeling. He was sleepy. He was tired. And he was bored.
That's why he was very thankful that the function room was now dark. Only neon lights popping here and there, following the beat of whatever dance music was playing.
He could hide in the dark. Drink in peace until he could go home at a polite hour. He raises his champagne flute to his lips to take a sip and - empty. How was it already empty?
He looks around, hoping to find a waiter with a tray of drinks. He needed a refill. Not that he had plans of getting wasted but a full glass of alcohol was a good prop to have at a party. He looks around, hoping someone would notice him.
- - -
Bright Chivarree was done for the night. The party was now going into dance-dance-puke mode and thankfully, his shift ended right as that part starts. He is young and able bodied but he was never a fan of the noisy, glitzy nightlife. He loosens the bow tie that's part of his uniform and rolls up the sleeves of his white standard issue shirt, exposing his veiny forearms.
He turns the corner to say his goodbyes to some of his staff mates when he sees him from across the room. Suddenly, Bright wanted to do anything but leave.
Bright is an aspiring musician by day and catering staff by night. He was always surrounded by the rich and the unbelievably beautiful- men and women whose skin had no pores, whose stomachs were always toned, whose clothes always fit them like a glove.
But this man was nothing like them in the best ways. He was wearing a loose suit filled with big garish orangey prints, a suit no doubt that was from a designer catalog rather than this man's own closet. It was too loose and too loud - and it made him a thousand times more beguiling than any other person in that room.
It was dark. It was noisy. It was chaos. But he cut through it all. Like a beacon of light calling Bright to shore.
The man looks up, scans the room with crescent eyes, obviously looking for a drink.
Bright stops Mike, one of the waiters on duty who was about to walk over to the man.
"I'll handle it," Bright says. "But weren't you headed out?," Mike asks, confused. "What's a few more minutes? My replacement hasn't even arrived." Mike shrugs. Less work for him.
- - -
"Good evening, is there anything you want, sir?"
Metawin sighs. Finally. He's dying for a refill and perhaps some water. He looks up and oh. Perhaps he was thirsty for something else.
