clair de lune

one

Clair de Lune.

It’s a sign you see often whenever you pass by. Simultaneously enticing and irrevocably menacing. Rumored to have strange incidents happen day to day. Most unable to describe it once it happened, but never to enter again. You've never had the desire to step foot inside, the hearsay only persuading you that it isn’t your scene. You’d rather keep your memories of a night with you. Still weary that no local law enforcement looked into the incidents. It seems as if they govern themselves. 

And yet, here you are. Staring at the outside of the building. Fingers picking at your skin, biting your lip. You weren’t sure what to wear, sticking to tight clothing and shoes that wouldn’t make you stand out too much. Not that you would. Most eyes would be on the stage, staring at the band Hiraeth. They’re quite famous; playing local gigs in your area for a couple of years now. You haven’t heard much from them, they don’t even have their music on any platform, only recordings some lucky people take and post online.

“Name?” The bouncer asks, earpiece in one ear and staring at you. He looks a bit irritated, a frown gracing his lips. You’d think he’d be more friendly to paying customers.

“yn,” you say, a bit loudly to speak over the stereos. He doesn’t even glance down at the list, nodding. 

“Doesn’t look like your scene, love,” the scowl forms a soft smirk, brow raised. He’s handsome, silver hair pulled back to show his forehead, piercings covering his eyebrow, ears, nose, lip. You stare at the lip one a bit too long, his tongue rolling over it. “Hm?” 

“It’s not, my friend invited me. Just visiting.”

“Ah, then I can understand why you’re dressed like that,” he glances down.

“You don’t need to be an asshole,” you shot back, frowning. He blinks in shock for a moment, before laughing.

“I love a feisty one. Go on ahead, your friend should be next to the stage. Just make sure the singer doesn’t pay attention to you. Could get yourself in trouble, love.”

Before you can insult him further (and question how exactly he knows her), you’re pushed through the doors. The hallway is dark, lined up with people. Some smoke, blowing the mist in your direction. Others look at you quizzingly, before glancing away. A lot of red eye contacts, a lot of metal protruding from their skin. Some in places you didn’t even know you could pierce. You quickly make your way down the stairs, the room already crowded.

You spot your friend, her eyes on the instruments on stage. Pushing through and saying excuse me several times, you finally make it over to her. She glances back at you and pulls you into a hug.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it!” She yells, trying to make her voice audible over the music. “You know they’re going to start any second now!”

“Traffic,” you shrug. Traffic, your ass. The only thing you did was stare at the clock ticking, hoping that the day would suddenly zoom forward and you wouldn’t have to go. But you couldn’t do that to her. 

Clair de Lune is one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. Rarely does someone score tickets, let alone within a week of inquiring about them. You’re not even sure how your friend got them. A part of you suspects that she did it under nefarious means, especially with the way she grinned at you when she shoved the flier into your chest while you were studying. You could only roll your eyes and sigh, knowing that you couldn’t back out.

She pulls you closer, jumping with glee. “Don’t look so scared! It’s just a couple of songs and then we’re gone!”

You roll your eyes, her excitement rolling off on you. The apprehension that you have slowly dissipates into only a small worry, listening as the music drops. Only a couple of songs, you think. A couple of songs and you can leave.