Trapped in Kismet [KinnPorsche] [Kinn x Porsche]

Part 11: Unexpected Player

"Morning after regret Porsche?"

A voice. Unknown, higher tone.

Having stepped into the lobby, drifting past the front desk, Porsche encountered a stranger that had him stopping in his tracks to the door. "Excuse me?"

"Kinn really should treat his dates better. Not even walking you to the lobby."

"I'm not sure what you're referring to." Who was this guy?

"You & Kinn."

Then there was silence. Something was off putting.

A smile that was plastered painfully on a painted face (was the guy wearing makeup or just white like a ghost?), years of practiced poise eased from that body, garbed in white high-waisted trousers, a maroon silk blouse with long, flowy sleeves that looked like blood against the pallid skin, jewels hanging like he was the accessory that accentuated their shine.

A picture of discomfort, plastic, fabrication, and it made Porsche's nose wrinkle.

Who was this and why was he even talking to him?

A pair of cool browns stared, intensely and suddenly. The action making Porsche's body react – a slumbering snake uncoiling to straighten his frame, drawing to full height instead of the disheveled mess he was two seconds ago, stumbling out of the elevator like a drunkard, hands in his pockets as fingers curled into fists to wait for the response.

That gaze was exposing his flaws, simultaneously judging them (and him) before tossing to a pile for observation later. It made him fidget in place.

The burning, consuming sensation of those eyes tracing every line, etch, curve of his form had Porsche finally blow air out firmly, the action causing them to hone into his honey ones. The shift to casual indifference.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just staring at the damage of your neck."

That comment had Porsche's stance staggering back, his eyes shifting wide, disbelief settling in along with confusion.

"What?"

"It's true. You look like you have this face of regret. Your neck. Looks like you lost a fight," The man motioned to his neck.

Porsche's fingers pulled a hand free to trace the line of his nape unconsciously. He muttered a curse to anything pertaining to Kinn – the man was a deviant with his mouth, the stolen blouse useless to his needs to hide his neck, leaving it open, marred, bare as was his heart. The shadow of the removed necklace, no longer against his skin, sent a jolt of displeasure that he pushed away in favor of focusing on the present.

"Dammit Kinn—not even able to hide it with your stupid shirt," A whispered mumble that escaped him.

"I thought those clothes looked familiar."

"Huh?!" The unconscious higher pitch to his own tone had Porsche eyeing the man disturbingly./p>

"An animal I take it, sounds delicious." The fellow gave a little flutter of a sigh, fanning his face.

Porsche was proud of himself for being coherent enough to speak properly without giving an expression of 'what the fuck', masking it with a blank slate. For being Kinn's friend, he was incredibly rude, "Do I know you?"

"Forgive me, I should have introduced sooner," A slap to the forehead, a hand extended towards him, head tilted upward, shorter in stature, "I'm Damrong. I thought Kinn mentioned me at some point?"

"Can't recall," Porsche ignored the hand, "Sorry." He added as an afterthought.

"I'm not sure to be offended or jealous."