BO-YOUNG
The wind stings my reddened cheeks, the icy evening breeze sending shivers up my spine.
My new shoes squeak against the wet asphalt as I decisively make my way down the street down the few blocks to where the park Jungkook found me in. As I walk, I keep my eyes down and look at the golden light from the streetlamps glistening on the ground as I pass by. Other than the rare car that races past, the road is empty.
So far, I've felt absolutely safe walking on the street, but as the nightclub comes into view, the familiar itch of paranoia settles over me. I wouldn't call it fear—it's more like foreboding mixed with cruel anticipation. I watch the people outside the club, who are nothing but silhouettes to me now, exhaling plumes of smoke and sipping on their drinks, hoping I'll slip by unnoticed. I need to get past the club to reach the alley.
As I approach, the thumping music, which would probably cause the ground to shake in rhythm if it weren't muffled by the closed door, becomes louder. The people are no longer silhouettes—their rosy cheeks and uninhibited grins are now clear to me. I wince as the door opens, the blasting music reverberating through my chest and head like a migraine as a good-looking man steps out. He doesn't close the door. Instead, he leans against the frame, letting the vibrant lights of the nightclub beam out behind him, casting his long shadow over the street ahead. I keep my ears pressed against my head, effectively camouflaging them among the long brown locks.
As I approach, the booming music, which would probably shake the ground to its beat if it weren't muffled by the closed door, becomes louder. I quicken my pace as I begin to pass. I wince when the door opens, the bass thumping in my chest like a second heart. A man steps out, casting a long shadow onto the street as he stands in the doorway, the vibrant and ever-changing lights inside beaming from behind him. When the door closes behind him, I can finally see what he looks like. He's tall and well-built, with a face you'd see on billboards or on the television and unusual dyed platinum blonde—maybe grey—hair.
When his eyes dart to me, I turn away and continue on my way. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk. I only glance his way when I reach the alley to find that he's still watching me, leaning against the wall by the door casually as he sips on his drink. I pay him no mind.
I made it through without any trouble, not even a rude comment spoken in slurred words by a drunkard. It's the best-case scenario.
The thumping of the bass becomes distant as I walk down the alley, my eyes scanning the perimeter first for any danger, then for the glint of the metal pen on the ground. It's unlikely it's still here, but even if it's been taken, I'll keep looking for it. I quicken my pace as I near the area I was hunkered down before the drunk woman came to chase me away. My eyes rake over the ground for the pen, but I find nothing.
"You ought to be careful; stray hybrids frequent this alleyway," a deep voice quietly warns from behind. I jump, turning to face the stranger. I recognize the man instantly.
"Isn't it a bit suspicious to follow a woman into a dark alleyway at night?" I question the platinum-haired man, feeling adrenaline begin to course through my veins. How unlucky would it be if I were pursued down the same alley twice? This time, though, I doubt I'd outrun my pursuer—not only does the man look athletic, but his legs are clearly longer than mine.
"Maybe so, but my intentions are pure," he reassures, raising his empty hands to his head in surrender.
"And those intentions are to warn me of a stray hybrid?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
"I've seen it lurking around here," he tells me.
"It?" I repeat. "That's a bit rude."
"Sorry, her," he corrects.
"Well, thank you for warning me, but I've got to go now," I tell him, backing away slowly until I'm far enough to comfortably turn my back to him. He walks to catch up, his long legs making quick work of it.
"It's a shame you must leave so early, especially when the night is so young," he drawls as he falls into step with me, trailing only slightly behind. "I found the most interesting trinket down here last night, you know."
I stop, suddenly feeling like I can't breathe. "Good for you," I mutter, feeling a sinking feeling in my chest. He found the pen—out of all people, this man has my precious pen.
He moves in front of me, giving me a relaxed smile. "C'mon shortie, aren't you going to ask me what I found?"
"It's none of my business, now please, if you would-" I say, but he cuts me off.
"Come on, say it," he encourages. I groan.
"Fine," I relent. "Pray tell, what did you find?"
His smile stretches into a grin. "An ornate pen, and an expensive one at that. The little hybrid must have dropped it before disappearing," he reveals.
"Cool," I reply, sounding rather wistful despite my best effort not to.
"You know, hardly anyone comes down this alley," he mentions nonchalantly, though I can tell he's building to something. "Especially not people scanning the ground in search of something. I'd imagine that's something only the stray hybrid would do."
"Look, it's been nice meeting you, but I've got to be on my way," I manage to stutter out before walking back the way I came. As I take hurried steps away, I feel the beanie slide off my head, revealing my ears. I look back to see the man holding the beanie between his slender fingers, a victorious smile on his face.
"I knew it," he says in a sing-song voice, approaching me again before offering the beanie back to me. I reluctantly take it. "So, I assume you want your pen back?"