Beyond his mask

Not Your Type

The bass was loud enough to feel in Otto's chest.

Not unpleasantly loud. Just loud enough that every beat seemed to settle into his bones and stay there.

He didn't mind.

The club was exactly the kind of place Otto liked—neon lights washing over the crowd in shades of blue and pink, glitter catching whenever someone moved, leather, sequins, expensive perfume, and people dressed like they had something to prove.

His people. Fashion students didn't really believe in subtlety. Otto leaned against the bar, one elbow resting on the counter. His drink sat untouched beside him. A friend appeared in front of him, shouting over the music.

"Why aren't you dancing?"

Otto looked at her.

"I am."

She stared.

"Internally."

She rolled her eyes so hard Otto was surprised they didn't fall out.

"You're impossible."

"I've been told."

She disappeared back into the crowd before he could say anything else. Otto smiled faintly and turned back toward the bar. That was when he felt a hand close around his wrist. His smile disappeared. It wasn't an accidental touch. The grip was firm, familiar in the way only unwanted touches could be.

Otto slowly turned. The guy holding him looked confident. Too confident, actually. The kind of confidence that came from never being told no.

"I've been watching you," he said, leaning closer.

Otto blinked.

"That's... concerning."

The guy laughed as though Otto had flirted with him.

"I like attitude."

His fingers tightened around Otto's wrist.

"Come with me."

Otto glanced down at his hand.

Then back at him.

"Let go."

"Relax."

The guy tugged again.

"Don't act expensive."

Otto's eyebrows lifted.

"First of all," he said calmly, "I am expensive."

The guy scoffed.

"And second—"

Otto's knee came up before he could finish.

Fast.

Precise.

The guy folded instantly, dropping to the floor with a strangled cry. For a moment, the people around them simply stared. The music continued, but the small circle around Otto had gone strangely quiet. Someone whispered, "Oh my God." Otto calmly adjusted the sleeve of his shirt.

"You were saying?"

The guy's friends recovered quickly.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" one of them shouted.

Otto looked at him.

"A lot of things. You're going to have to be more specific."

A couple of people nearby snickered.

The guy on the floor groaned and grabbed his leg, his face twisted with pain.

"You—you're dead."

Otto sighed.