Ishan was again sitting in the dimly lit bar. Why? Because he needed some reward for keeping himself away from the booze for more than three days.
He was sitting on the stool in the same bar; the music was blasting in the background, mingling with people's chatter and laughter. The smell of alcohol was floating in the atmosphere.
The bartender was mixing cocktails and serving them to the customers, and Ishan was one of them. He was half drunk and half sane, drowning in his own thoughts.
The ambiance was very much what you'd expect in a bar, unless it wasn't.
The lights went off all of a sudden, the music stopped, and now you could hear people a bit too clearly, which was painful for the ears, especially when you are drunk or at least half drunk.
A deafening sound pierced the loud voices, and everyone went silent for a moment before they started running, panicking and screaming. The loud thuds of their footsteps could be heard as they tried to escape, but no one could see anything; it was all dark.
Ishan didn't panic, forgot about being panicked. His head barely registered what just happened in his surroundings when everyone again heard the loud sound.
It was the sound of gunshots.
The alcohol started numbing his brain, but he was still very much in his senses. Ishan tried to stand up, but someone pulled him with a bit of force.
Within a few seconds, he found himself sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the couch. He didn't even get the time to protest against whoever pulled him.
He didn't know what was happening. He tried getting up; a hand came again and stopped him from doing so. That was when Ishan felt a presence beside him; their bodies might be touching.
He could not see the person; the lights were still gone. Ishan tried forming some words, only to be stopped by a hand that covered his mouth. Only a muffled sound escaped from his lips.
Ishan felt a tingle of breath in the crook of his neck when the other person came close to him.
"Shhhhhhh," the person with no name told Ishan to shush in a very low, whisperous tone which made the hair on Ishan's neck stand.
Ishan tried to look at him, but it was all dark, and the booze in his system wasn't helping either.
With a lot of struggles, Ishan was able to make a very faint outline of the person. Even though they were both sitting, Ishan could tell that he was taller and had a lean body.
Ishan again tried to get up, but before that, the person came close to him again, thier lips almost touching Ishan's earlobe.
He whispered "you don't want to get in trouble..." There was a brief pause, and Ishan could feel his own breath rising "...do you? DARLING?"
The physical proximity between them was too much for Ishan. He wanted to get up, but he couldn't. It was like the taller man was imposing some kind of physical authority on him just by being this close.
Ishan started to feel light-headed as the alcohol in his system started doing its work.
Ishan stretched his hand to touch him. Why? Because he was not in his right mind, that's why. But he couldn't touch him. The light returned, and there was no one beside Ishan; he was just sitting there on the floor, his back supported by the couch. He still heard noises, but he couldn't comprehend anything. Did he just imagine that person, that voice? But how could it be a mere imagination when the effect he felt was very much real.
He whiffed at his shoulder, and the odor made him realize that whatever happened was very much real because it was the same scent he felt when the person was sitting beside him. It's the odor of a cologne, a very unique one.
Then, he passed out.
---
In a vast expanse of a dark room, a figure was sitting in front of a computer, engrossed. The only source of light was emanating from the computer screen.
With a sudden movement, he slid his chair back, disturbing the silence. He stretched out his legs, draping them over the edge of the table, and leaned back. He was wearing a casual shirt with a few undone buttons, with a black bolt pendant dangling from a platinum chain adorning his neck.
As the figure reached for his phone, a flicker of light illuminated his face, briefly revealing its contours and his chest tattoo peeking from the fabric of his shirt.
He dialed a number, but before the ring could go, the door of the room opened, and a person entered, flicking on the lights, illuminating the entire room. Now, the room revealed itself to be an office, a home office.
The person who entered stood near the door, wearing formal attire—a shirt and trousers—his expression morphing between relief and disappointment.
The person in the chair looked at him and said, "I was dialing your number only," placing his phone on the table again.
"Yeah sure Shubman, after not responding to my calls for 5 fucking hours?" the standing man said, his voice calm but borderline mocking.
Shubman relaxed into the chair, his expression remaining unchanged. "You know how I am."
"Of course I do, very troublesome."
Shubman shot him a glare, but the other person couldn't care any less about his glares, not after making him run from place to place to ensure Shubman didn't end up creating any trouble.Because Shubman and trouble go hand in hand.
Shubman didn't say anything for a few moments as he searched for something in the drawer, so the other person started retreating from the room.
"Wait, Darshan," Shubman asked him to stop.
"What?"
"I have a task for you" Shubman said with a glint of excitement in his eyes.
Darshan sighed and approached Shubman, knowing very well that whatever Shubman was going to ask would create at least some trouble if not a lot. Because he knows him very well, he knows how unhinged he can get at times.
But did Darshan have any choice? Definitely not!
~~~
Ishan who? It's Shubman×Darshan 😋
