Where's 'it'

01

He lifts his glass and nurses on his whiskey as his eyes trailed to the tinted windows across him. He snorts at the view below that taunts him. The club full of men mindlessly grinding against one another as the lights continue to shine in a blinding pattern. The patrons lose themselves with the thumping music and the ever-changing colours of the strobe lights while he wallows in frustration.

The atmosphere he sees contrasts the floor he is currently in. The sultry leather, stagnant warm lights from suspended lamps and comparatively civilised mannerisms of the patrons that haunt the second floor. The floor invites only those who can afford it and he certainly could. He stares into a corner of the room as he contemplates his purpose but is disrupted by a stocky man with a flirtatious smile.

"You're cute. First time here? Want me to show you around?" The man invites himself to sit next to him. He frowns at the unwanted guest.

"Oh, you're mute. That's cute. I like them quiet." The man slings his arm around him as he whispers to his ears. "I'd like to hear you scream my name later, kitty."

Fighter places his glass down as he removes the offending arm and he stares into the man's eyes. The man scoots himself closer, pulling his face in as if posing for a kiss.

"Did I consent?" Fighter said. The man leans back to laugh.

Fighter squeezed the man's arm and used his own hand to restrain him in place by the neck and whispers alluringly. "Bark for me."

The man tried to put up a fight. Fighter smiled as he watched the man struggle. He was temporarily entertained away from his negative thoughts. Eventually, the entertainment had lost its appeal and he released his grip. The man scrambled back.

"Psycho! If you didn't like it, you shouldn't be here anyways. This is Paragon Lounge where the upper class elite socialise. You don't belong here!" The man shouted as he tried to regain his footing.

Fighter lifts the corner of his mouth. Amused.

"I didn't allow my dog to talk. Do you need my hand on your throat again? Bad dog."

The man left after shouting profanities at him. Fighter couldn't help but laugh. It's ironic to say that he didn't belong here when he was a walking example of the Paragon's target market. It was a joke calling this shabby establishment only for the elite. It was just a dingy place for rich closeted gays to find release. None of these elegant furnishings could ever conceal the dirty sins that occurred here.

His laugh was cut short as reality set back in. He stares out the window again and yields to his fate. He couldn't lose himself like those on the first floor yet he wasn't brave enough to reach out to what he really wanted. He peered down the glass. The whiskey had done its job of numbing him. He felt apathetic.

Such a subordinate drink. Always getting the job done.

He pondered on the reason he had come here when he could do the same in the comfort of his own home.

How on earth was this supposed to be relieving? Where was the man that brought him here?

He lifts his gaze to the bar where his friend has neglectfully left him to flirt with the bartender. His friend clearly had ulterior motives in bringing him to this club. He sighs. He should have expected this outcome. He uncrossed his legs and carried his glass over to his bar. Fighter interrupts his friend's flirting with the bartender as he places his glass on the counter.

"Saifah. I'll head home first. I trust that you'll enjoy yourself." Fighter shifts his eyes over from his friend to the bartender. The bartender shuffles his feet timidly before leaving them.