One moment, there was blood on my shoulder—the same blood from when I’d smashed that bottle over his head; the next, he was spinning me like it was choreography he'd practiced a hundred times.

There was no music. Yet he moved as if the world had dimmed its lights just for him.

My shoes scraped against the pavement. Every turn sent my balance slipping while his hand clamped steadily on my waist.

We must've looked insane, but no one was there to see.

Then, without warning, he yanked me flush against him and dipped me low. The streetlights swung upside down above me.

I gasped; my fingers locked around his sleeve. My knees gave out while he held me suspended like a puppet on strings.

"Relax," he murmured. "Have you never danced before?"

His gaze dragged lower, down the apple of my neck. 

"... Your skin," he breathed, his fingers rubbing my cheek. "Like marble—pale as a sculpture by Donatello himself." He paused, looking me straight in the eye. "And I wonder how pale you look under these clothes?"

My breath caught sharply in my chest. I snapped, shoving him off. He staggered back as I fell onto the ground.

“Who the hell are you?” I spat. “Leave me alone! Can’t you see I’m done with you?”

He paused, amused. "Oh... forgive me. It must have frightened you—dancing with a guy you almost killed." Then, flashed a phony smile. 

"I'm Akio. A painter... and a friend." Spreading his arms, his eyes looked at me with that unnerving focus. "And you—might just be my next muse." 

I blinked. "Muse? What... what do you mean?" 

He took a step closer, tilting his head again. "Someone to capture. To study. To... appreciate." 

My hands are gripping the ground beneath me. "I don't do that," I stammered, backing up as best I could. 

"I'm not asking yet... consider what it would mean to be seen."

My stomach churned, a mix of fear and something I couldn't name. "Seen?"

His lips curved into a faint smile. "Yes. But not only that." He knelt, leveling his gaze with mine. 

"I'll give you everything—whatever name you want to call it." His fingers lifted, five in a slow count. "Five paintings. You won't even have to move a muscle. Just stay, and let me draw the beauty out of you."

"I don't understand." 

"You don't have to just yet." He tapped the lighter against the tip of my nose. "This is yours, right? You don't mind if I take it back this time, do you?"

He pulled a few crisp bills from his pocket, folded neatly like he'd been waiting for this. He dropped them into my lap without looking down. "For the lighter. Let's call it... seven hundred—pocket change, really. Imagine what else I'd pay for you."

Among the cash was a black card, thick as if it cost more than my life. Written was an address gleaming in gold ink, and above it was his name embossed in an elegant cursive.

"Keep it close. You'll reach for it sooner than you think." 

Then he stood, wiping the blood from his brow with the back of his arm before turning as he walked away.

The streetlight threw his shadow long across the pavement.

I stayed where I'd fallen as I watched his back disappear into the dark.

RIIING—

After the long silence, my phone rang for the second time tonight. When I checked, my heart almost dropped. 

St. Luke's Hospital is calling... 

I answered right away as I rushed to grab the money that had dropped while I was standing.

"Hello?!" I almost yelled—still—trying to calm myself down. 

The hospital only calls me every time they send my younger brother into the ICU, or whenever he calls me himself using the hospital landline. I'd want to believe this call is only about the latter, but it's already past 1 am.

"Uhh—hello? Aiden Finch?" A deep voice from the other line asked, coughing as if they were trying to clear their throat. 

"Yes! This is me! What happened to my brother?!" I ran, trying to find a cab that could take me to the hospital on the empty road. 

"Your brother... he's uh—dead." I stopped, trying to process what I've just heard. 

"What?" Trembling, I asked. I feel my body losing its strength.

"Dead... and, honestly? Still kinda handsome." 

My face turned fiery in anger, finally recognizing the voice as I heard muffled laughs.

"What the fuck—Kaiden?!" I clutched my chest and weakly leaned onto a pole. "Do you want me to have a heart attack?!" 

He laughed harder, and somehow, it eased me instead of fueling me.

The joke was too much, but I'm glad I could still hear him laugh. 

"Aiden, could you please buy me chicken? The one with the yucky sauce. The very yucky sauce?"

"It's teriyaki."

"Yes—that. I love you, Aiden!" He hung up without even saying goodbye. I never got the chance to ask why he was awake—or plotting whatever chaos had him laughing at my expense.

It's rare for him to ask for something, so I'm getting him teriyaki chicken tomorrow. 

But first, I'd have to find somewhere to sleep. Kaiden must never know I lost my job—not with him bouncing in and out of the ICU these past months.

The street was silent again. I looked down, seeing the card between my fingers.

I found a trash bin nearby and thought about throwing the card away. For a moment, I hesitated. That kind of offer could've changed everything.

But the way he looked at me crawled under my skin.

No one in their right mind offers money for people to stay still.

I flipped it once more, letting the golden name catch the light before I let it fall from my hand into the trash bin.

Better invisible than seen by a lunatic.