𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐙

𝟎𝟓

CHAPTER FIVE.
【 第五 】
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[ PAST ]

The clinking of utensils and cutlery accompanied the awkward conversation. Y/n took the time to admire the carefully laid out table in front of him—from the candle that was flickering away merrily, giving an illusion of a romantic dinner—to the beautifully embroidered tablecloth, now stained with a few droplets of wine when Y/n had swirled the liquid in his glass, and to the shining sliver of the wine glasses. His eyes traveled to every inch of the room except for Felix's face.

"You must be hungry," Felix said, as Y/n stiffened. "You sure finished the steak fast." Y/n glanced at him. His eyes almost seemed endless—like a void, like a spiral that he could very well drown in. Y/n wouldn't have liked to admit it, but the way Felix's eyes seemed so utterly devoid of emotion scared him, if not a little. There was faint amusement twinkling away in it, but there was more—emptiness—than anything else. His lips were tucked up in the slightest of a smile that seemed more morbidly disdainful than anything else.

"Where do you think I get the energy to dance?" Y/n scraped the empty plate with his fork, allowing for an ugly sound to punctuate his words. "I eat. I have an appetite."

Felix had taken his time to finish his food. He ate it slowly, methodically, like a butcher dissembling the meat. The knife would press against the meat, the pinkish red—the color of carmine— medium rare meat, before it would slice through it slowly. If the cow had still been alive, it would have been an excruciatingly painful and devastating death. And whether it was his mannerisms, Felix reeked of danger.

"Hmm," Felix made no effort to refute, or to argue. Finally, he placed the last bit of steak into his mouth, chewed it, before he swallowed and wiped his spotless mouth with a napkin. "Well, of course, yes," he raised an eyebrow. "You are human. Why would you not have an appetite that needed to be whetted?"

"We are both finished with our meals. I can go, then?"

"There's dessert," Felix said calmly. "Why are you so in a rush?"

Anger flared within Y/n. His fingers curled tightly around the fork. Again, he imagined the satisfying image: the slow, steady movement of his knife lacerating Felix's eyes. Watching as the pupil dissolved and splattered. Then he steadied his breathing and fixed on a tight smile.

"I have a schedule."

"Repudiated."

"What?"

"Your request is denied," Felix said again, with a smile, "I cleared it. More like: your manager cleared your schedule, poor, poor dancer."