Chapter Text
The afternoon sun beat down on his back, clothed in cotton and overalls. The repeating moment would play over in his mind, gazing at the cerulean blue sky. He would be deep in thought over the warm-toned rays of sunlight that slipped between the cracks in his gloved fingers. It was the part of the day that would make your throat burn and scratchy with dehydration.
At this point, the young man would call his team of miners for a break to hydrate themselves, as he also knew what the manual work of mining was like.
Despite being the team manager of a company that, in its nature, used others for the sake of its riches, he was close to the team that worked under him. At certain times, as he was handy, he would even go into the set of mines along with them, curious about how they’d endure the work.
Sometimes, Norton helped the miners in hot weather, as an extra pair of hands made their day go faster.
“Mr. Campbell?” the voice would call just as before, and as always, Norton would be struck from his thoughts, shifting his gaze from the beating sun to the child who would always stand loosely with an outstretched hand.
“I found some special rocks. These kinda reminded me of the shiny things on your nose,” the boy would say, two jagged rocks tightly stuck together on his palm.
“Ah, so I see ya’ found some magnets.” The tall man would tell the boy who rolled them around on his dirt-blackened palm with his thumbs.
“Yeah, since they are special rocks, I thought I should give them to you- as a gift… since you are so good to big brother and I…” the child would wear a flustered expression, and the young man would always chuckle at it, taking the rocks from the boy.
“They are the same colors as your eyes-” the boy would start but never finish, for at that moment, a large boom would resound through the air and shake the ground as clouds of dust shot out of the mine.
The sky around would darken, and the sun would be covered by overcast clouds. The image of the dust would fade from brown to grey as it burst into the air.
Dust explosions were common, but ones of such size were also uncommon. They were often at fault for a miner’s injuries or a whole mine’s collapse. Mining was a dangerous job, after all.
The magnets would fall to the ground as the boy would turn and run straight for the collapsing mine.
The young man would always reach out to hold the boy back. He would always try to yell after him, but the dry, hot air would steal the words off his tongue.
Similar to magnets, his boots would cling to the ground, rooting him down and keeping him from stopping the boy before he disappeared into the billowing dust.
Time after time again, he was forced to watch as the second dust explosion’s debris shot out from the mine before the entrance would entirely collapse on itself.
The thumping of his heart could barely make out its screeches over the ringing in his ears. He desperately tried to move forward, but his feet were heavy on the ground beneath him.
But the dirt floor beneath him had already begun to crack away, the earth separating and shifting away from itself, his limbs splitting and shredding apart as he still could not move, enduring the pain as he got torn apart.
As space and time began to dissolve from around him, he used all of the strength in what was left of his limbs to reach out across the negative space. His palms reached out against the stones and dust that clouded his vision and cut his skin as each miner’s dead and marred body filled his mind. His fingers reached out for the two magnets that seemed to react and move away from his desperate grasp.
His fingers would only brush against the rough surface before his heavy eyes blinked open to a blank ceiling. The ghost of splitting limbs pressed the sting of needles into his legs as he sat up. Sounds of horns and sirens blared out in the distance despite being freshly four in the morning.
His bed was large, and the swishing of the white comforter moving over him almost drowned his shallow breaths as he clicked on his bedside lamp. His palm subconsciously moved to clutch at the cold surface that felt like ice beneath the heat of his clammy grip.
He separated the dark and natural magnets and rolled them beneath his calloused thumbs. He watched the shadows they cast beneath the soft, golden, ambient light that filled the room.
The blaring of sirens faded into the distance and was followed by a strangely restless silence as it was the third time he had woken up from the same dream that night.
There were almost four hours until the first poker game at the Mirage would be available, and he couldn't fall back asleep for the third time, so a fourth was implausible. After a string of curses, Norton put the light back out before rolling over and kicking the heavy comforter off his bed.
The silk sheet stuck to his sweaty skin as he drew his arms out over the fabric, staring through the dark at the piece of lodestone and iron that sat fixed beneath his fingertips.
Norton waited for the sun to finally peek out from behind his curtains until he got up. He first opened the curtains, squinting against the sun that blasted in his face.
His eyes landed on the strip in the stupidly fake city, where bustling people and honking cars lined the streets like the tiniest ants. The female dancers, dressed in feathers and almost nothing else, already roamed the streets, looking to take ‘pictures.’ Intersections were flooded with tourists despite it only being 8 a.m.
Another day in the life starts all over again.
It was quiet from the 36th floor of the Waldorf Astoria, as the walls and floor-to-ceiling windows were thick, but Norton could practically hear the angered trucks honking at the people that cut across the street below.
Norton was never fond of Las Vegas. Everything smelled of weed, and people everywhere constantly asked questions, trying to get to know you and take your money.
If he could earn a penny every time a monk went up to him offering peace and jade bracelets, he would be rich.
But yes, Norton was already rich, gave donations every time, and had an entire box designated for the cards and bracelets the Buddhist monks would hand out, but that was beside the point.
After the mining accident, where his entire team died off the bat or ended up dead due to the collapsing of a mine over two consecutive dust explosions, Norton lost all of his will to live and do anything with himself.
So yes, starting at 8 in the morning, Norton would smoke a blunt, slum himself together, and go down the stairs of all 36 floors because it properly woke him up before setting off to the first poker game in The Mirage at 9.
He would usually go to the Bellagio, especially when he did not want to be under the duress and scrutiny of the usual barmaid at The Mirage. But Norton felt restless, so he chose to walk to the farther casino instead of the closer one.
But today, there was the slightest setback, as when Norton took a sharp turn from the corridor out to the receptionist's desk, he walked straight into a shorter man. Norton would have tripped if not for Norton avoiding the impact and partially shouldering him.
The shorter man looked to have an annoyed expression scratched upon his face, and unlike usual, Norton cast the man a glance just for the slightest second.
The person he had bumped into was of a shorter stature. He wore a turtleneck and low-rise jeans that tightly fit his form. His thick blonde hair curled around his visibly smooth face and reflected orange hues beneath the overhead light of the entrance.
A shiny silver pin tucked a few pieces of wavy bangs away from his eyes.
He had striking eyes of blue that flashed with a strange look before thinning out into playful slits, staring up at Norton.
As usual, luck always seemed to play against Norton when it came down to running into the usual incredibly fake tourists that seemed to be wherever he went.
The blonde seemed to start the words of an apology, but Norton shoved past him and a band of a few other guys behind him before exiting the entrance.
A head of silver hair was one he almost recognized, and he would have turned around but forced himself to keep going, mumbling from under his breath: “M’ gon’ be late.”
-
“Are we there yet?” Joker, the stunt double, said gloomily from the back of the van. From the middle of the car, Edgar, the graphic designer, sighed next to Mike, the leading acrobat, who rambled about the scenery while pointing at almost every building he could see.
The van was finally approaching the Sahara Avenue exit off the I-15, which meant they were almost to the strip. Aesop, the embalmer who somehow looped into the acrobatic group as a makeup artist, was silent as he drove. Joseph, the photographer who made up most of the group's media, sheepishly answered the question from his seat next to Aesop.
“I think we are almost there, just a few minutes if the traffic isn’t too bad,” the photographer said with his slightly French accent, turning around in the front seat to look back at the Joker, who slumped against the side of the car.
“Seph, anyone in my blindspot?” Aesop asked the photographer in an almost inaudible voice, drowned out beneath his dark mask and Mike’s continuous yapping.
Joseph instantly shifted his attention to Aesop, looking back in the window, checking before shaking his head with a gulp, trying to fight the heat blossoming on his cheeks from the nickname. It was a familiar name that someone used to give him. It stoked warm memories in his chest.
“No,” He smiled as he spoke, and Mike stopped yapping about the buildings and started making fun of Joseph, who denied every accusation (mostly about being a rabid homosexual) but somehow stayed calm.
It was safe to say the silver-haired man was the only normal one in the vehicle.
Aesop was an embalmer who spent most of his time in a morgue. He gets paid to inject fluid into people's skin and sow them back together after getting their bones crushed. He was paid to powder the dead’s cold surface and wipe away the decaying slimy residue that would develop on their skin.
If Aesop is the most ordinary out of everyone in the van, then the rest of the crew not being ordinary was an understatement.
Previously, Edgar was considered the most normal. But, an incident involving a composer back in Los Angeles made everyone realize that the painter wasn’t as simple as people thought. Nor could he be trusted with the keys to Mike’s bomb and props cellar, unsupervised.
Joseph would be ordinary if not for Aesop’s existence, and Joker or Mike weren’t partially possibilities, so they were not of concern.
Aesop sighed as he took the exit off Sahara, taking a few turns onto Las Vegas Boulevard, where they finally reached the strip.
Joker finally perched up from the back, seeing the group was almost at their destination.
Mike chuckled as he commented on Las Vegas being fake, as there was Paris, New York, and Italy in just a tiny section of the strip. Edgar only matter-of-factly responded: “That’s why Las Vegas is special,” then went on about how Americans never think for themselves. It was true but ironic considering that Edgar was the most ‘American’ out of everyone, for he was born and raised on the East Coast as a New Yorker.
Joker also added that people in Las Vegas were not like regular Americans, but nobody cared since he had spent a part of his life in Illinois. He was there in juvenile prison and lived there for a while after, so his opinion on ‘true Americans’ did not count.
Joseph would sheepishly agree because though he came straight from Paris and Aesop was Italian, he never liked to argue.
Joseph had his problems, but Aesop would give it to him. Joseph was incredibly good at putting a damper on the rest of the group, but when Mike got excited, it proved more difficult.
The moment the van pulled into the valet front at the Waldorf Astoria, Mike instantly hopped out and stretched his limbs, unhelpful as everyone else got out and took up their bags. The blonde was the only one to let the bellhops handle his luggage. And of course, Mike had the most suitcases out of everyone there.
Edgar looked at Mike unimpressed, but Mike put his hands up in defense: “I paid for people to wait on me. How could you not expect me to take advantage of it?”
Besides that, Mike knew that if he hauled around his bag, he would probably end up trying to do a trick with it and either break it or something else. Besides, it’s faster if people who are used to catering luggage do their jobs than for him to.
They were all in Las Vegas because Mike got invited to play as a lead acrobat in Cirque du Soleil’s first performance set that experimented with a new performance called ‘Èn.’ It was tailored to showcase the acrobat’s talents and focused on tricks instead of plots.
Mike would have much preferred it if he were to act in ‘O’ or ‘Ká.’ However, involving him in a new set could bring more popularity, and it was rare for them to work with Acrobats that were well-known everywhere, not just locally within Las Vegas.
Besides, his specialties went along the lines of using tight ropes, juggling, and fire, and besides ‘O’, there would be no performance that could entirely showcase his talents. And the next few days were the only ones Mike had free on his schedule, and ‘O’ isn't playing until next week.
Mike didn’t mind that he did whatever people wanted him to do. He almost liked it.
He had no problem with playing roles he didn’t like or doing tricks that made even his stomach flip nervously. Not that he’d let anyone know.
It was his job to be reliable and perfect. He needed to make his work seem effortless.
Mike was a person who was good at getting things done and moving on. He would rarely get attached to people or things. He could enjoy things in the moment but easily let them go.
He was unsure when everything in his life became so superficial, but he assumed that it had been like that from the very beginning and moved on.
Being a professional acrobat meant putting your life on the line to entertain one person to the next. And there was no personality in playing a part that wasn’t quite yours, for when you finish playing your part and step off the stage, someone else takes your place.
Mike was well aware of this reality and, as always, didn’t mind.
It was only a show in one big city, and the team would move on to the next.
And hey, at least it was in Las Vegas, where laws wouldn’t get in the way of a good show. The last time the team tried to do a show in California, specifically San Francisco, things went especially south.
The team at the time consisted of himself, Joseph, Edgar, and Joker since Aesop was off doing embalming activities or simply avoiding them despite the fact that he had his big embalming business IN Northern California, and they were in the area. Mike was never sure what the embalmer thought about the acrobatic group, but his absence meant all the law and order and restraints he would place were gone.
Joseph has always been a reasonable guy but is much too gentle and kind, never efficiently dealing with the group. Anyway, their acrobatic team functioned through traveling and revolving around Mike, where whatever venue they went to, they would have a new set of acrobats that would work under him.
He was given absolute authority over whatever make-shift team he meant to deal with. Although Mike was serious about his work, many people didn’t take him seriously. From looking at him alone, he didn’t look like a serious guy.
Neither does Mike look like someone who is currently one of the most popular acrobats globally. He didn’t even act like he took his work seriously.
To an outsider, Mike looked like some Napoleon-sized blonde with big eyes and a mouth that only knew how to ramble about unimportant things. But he truly did take his profession seriously.
Others, as said, did not.
In summary, an acrobat Mike was supposedly working with lit a prop on fire, and Mike had to pay an extreme fine to the venue where they performed, as a large portion of the stage’s nearby curtains caught fire. It wasn’t detrimental and didn’t even require the fire department, but that didn’t do good work to his name.
That show was only three weeks ago, and Mike was not ready to deal with anything like that again. Everything had to go just the way he had planned, flawlessly.
The blonde was well on his way to the receptionist's desk before a body rammed into his, almost knocking him over. If not for Mike’s fast reflexes, managing to keep him upright, he likely would have flown.
Frustrated words began to bubble up Mike’s throat and threatened to spill out from his lips as he turned, but fell silent as he bore up at the man who walked straight into him.
The man was tall with grey slacks wrapped around his long legs, falling loosely at the tips of dark, heeled boots. The man wore a dark-collared shirt, unbuttoned by four down the neck. To clarify, Mike wasn’t counting or looking. He was just incredibly used to being oddly specific, and only sometimes his eyes would take him places they did not need to go.
His hair was dark, pulling out the almost black of his eyes and the under-the-bridge erl piercings that decorated his pale skin. And the most striking of a burn scar that sat over his left eye and left arm.
Mike almost felt like mumbling a string of curses from being blessed by seeing such a smoking hot yet somewhat grimy person.
In honesty, despite having slicked-back hair, bangs that fell over his eyes, and a perfectly proportionate face that Mike didn’t take a mental note of, the man looked rough. The eyebags that somehow attractively pulled at his under-eyes were dark as if he hadn’t had proper sleep in ages.
The man wore the most sullen expression Mike had probably seen in his entire life.
Even more sullen than the face Aesop made when Joker had to confess to Aesop, while drunk, that he crashed the team’s van in a ditch behind a bank he was attempting to rob at four in the morning.
Mike hated one thing more than anything else. He hated nothing more than rude and entitled people. But when Mike could tell you that he had never seen a scowling person more attractive (?) in his life, he was not lying.
Mike opened his mouth to speak, only for the man to shove past him, mumbling something under his breath. The man practically stormed out of the Waldorf Astoria’s tall glass doors that a porter held open for him without even saying thank you.
“Oh… This one’s got a little kick to it, how thick do you think the plug is up that one's ass?” Joker said entirely unhelpfully, and an awkward silence settled over the still hallway. Edgar was trying hard not to snicker but failed, choking in an attempt to suppress his snorts.
Mike’s mouth was entirely agape in shock, and if he had no control, he would probably march out and push that saggy pile of attractive (?) depression out in front of a moving car.
“And that’s Mr. Norton Campbell for you,” the receptionist’s voice echoed through the hall before she threw out a warm smile, “I’ll help you over here.”
Aesop was the one to sign in for the team, as everyone else minded their own business. Mike stood in silence next to Aesop, but Joseph had inserted himself between the two and awkwardly patted Mike’s shoulder. Edgar and Joker were investigating the automatic coffee machine, and Mike quickly recovered from the run-in and joined the other two.
Joseph insisted on carrying Aesop’s luggage as they went through the halls of the 26th story. Aesop checked the room numbers. Joseph followed along next to him. Mike and Edgar walked in front, touching everything in sight, and Joker hung around the back with the two bellhops who collectively carried Mike’s luggage, sulking as they had refused to let him sit on the carrier with the suitcases.
Aesop, Joseph, and Joker shared a room while Edgar and Mike went together in another. But after lying down on the bed, Edgar claimed it was too fancy for him and went off to sleep on the other room’s floor.
Mike would have taken the notion to heart, but Edgar snored like a pig, and sharing a bed with Mike was not fun, as he would often take up the entire bed and hog the covers.
There was also a fair argument that Joker would not be able to get through the next few days if he stayed alone with Joseph and Aesop.
So Mike called for the second room alone. It was better for him anyway. He had gotten used to sleeping near people, but as a light sleeper, he’d often get up, which would upset the rest of the group anyway.
After getting situated, the acrobatic group ran through with the Mirage’s set. Èn was a change of pace for Cirque du Soleil, where it was performance-based, not plot-based. Mike had already practiced most of the set he was to follow through with at similar sets, so he expected it wouldn’t take long to get used to the Mirage’s stage.
It took more run-throughs of the whole set and a lot of arguing with Joker over where he put the aerial hoops in the van.
Joker unpacked them in the hotel room, and Joseph went to retrieve them.
And another Thursday passed, preparing for a Sunday show. He wasn’t sure why, but Mike smiled to himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead and pushing his wavy blonde bangs out of his eyes.
“Ah- that was tiring!” Joker yawned, stretching his arms over his head as the group left the event center and into the Mirage’s tall halls.
“You didn’t even do anything,” Aesop mumbled before nodding a thank you to Joseph, who held the door open for him. Mike only chuckled, slinging his arm around the sulking Joker, who ultimately got shot down by the embalmer. It did happen to everyone, even Joseph.
“It is true, but what should we do now?” The blonde asked as he shook his arms, his voice bright but slightly scratchy from the workout.
“You still have the energy to do anything?” Edgar asked, chuckling as Mike spun on his heels, Joker’s neck still locked beneath the acrobat’s muscular arm.
“Of course, I have energy. Who do you think you’re talking to?” The young man swung back and forth on his feet.
“You are making me dizzy-” Joker struggled out. His face turned red with asphyxiation. The acrobat immediately released him but still rocked on the palms of his shoes.
“I mean, isn’t a casino right down the hall?” Joseph said hesitantly. Mike instantly shot up, almost jumping, with a grin.
“So you do sometimes have excellent ideas!” The acrobat exclaimed, and the painter mumbled, “If you consider getting ID’d an excellent idea.”
The blonde scoffed, “I’m not that short.”
The meaningless banter continued as they followed Joseph’s suggestion, entering the Mirage’s casino.
In the middle of chattering about how rigged slot machines were, Mike was interrupted when a voice squealed from his left, “Is that Mike Morton?!”
“Honey, you can’t just yell like that-” A desperate, older, and less squeaky voice spoke.
The group seemed to cease in their movements and turned to the noise. A woman with platinum blonde hair and a pale dress stood over a small blonde girl. The girl, who had honey-blonde-colored hair, visibly covered her mouth in embarrassment.
The girl stared with wide eyes at Mike, who stared back, and she immediately hid behind her mother’s legs, slowly peeking her head out to stare back at Mike hesitantly.
At that moment, Mike felt something churn in his stomach’s pit. A single twitch of his eye, a crack in his expression. He hoped it hadn’t shown.
Out of habit, when Mike went anywhere, he could pick out journalists and paparazzi from anywhere in the room. There were more than a few in the casino hallway on its own.
It sickened him that he thought about his publicity before anything else.
The woman with blonde hair who stood over the girl began apologizing, but Mike, as he usually did, walked up and kneeled in front of the girl.
“What’s your name, young lady?” The acrobat asked, trying to fight back a chuckle as she visibly stiffened from her boots to the crown of her head. Her hands tightened around a rather beaten-up doll that looked like it was getting the little life it had squeezed out of it.
“My- My name?” The girl asked hesitantly, moving just partially out from behind her mom.
The acrobat nodded, and the girl looked like she could explode.
“My name is- uh- Alice- and this is- Orpheus,” the girl struggled out, shifting on her feet as she clutched her poor doll Orpheus, showing Mike his scratched button eyes.
Mike was going to question it, but he had some similarly exotic (was that the right word?) artifacts growing up, so he wouldn’t question it.
“Well, Alice, isn’t that a pretty name?” the acrobat said while pulling a silver pin of a lion out of his bangs, “And what might you be doing here in Las Vegas?”
He asked with a smile, and the girl’s grip on the doll loosened. His voice was bubbly and light, just as it was smooth and precise, calculated but not fake. He was good at what he did.
“Me?” She asked with a small voice, looking around, making sure he was talking to her. She ended up looking at her shoes, twiddling with her fingers.
“I'm here to see U2 at the sphere…and your show on Sunday. I’ve been to your last three…” She spoke so softly that her voice was barely audible. Mike grinned, “You’re from LA, right?”
Her facial expression, previously relaxed, was now overcome with shock again.
“How’d you know?” She gasped, and Mike only chuckled. His last three shows were all in Los Angeles, so it wasn’t a surprise she was from Southern California. Not that he’d let her catch on, of course.
“Perhaps just my intuition,” He took the chance as she was baffled and silent to take the silver pin of a lion’s bust and slid it into her bangs.
She was so stunned she could barely formulate words, and he smiled, stepping back. “But I do have to go now. And on Sunday- I'll make sure I put on the best show yet, just for you, Alice. You’ll see me Sunday.” He tossed her a wink, patting her shoulder with a warm hand before turning away.
It was a short interaction, likely making the girl's day, perhaps her whole week or more. That was what mattered. At least to him, but after Alice put out a few more strangled words and the group finally moved further into the Casino, Joker slung himself over Mike.
“Shit man. Are you going to kill yourself? You can confide in me. You're too talented to die! And pay for too much of my taxes!” Joker exclaimed, and Mike tried not to shiver, cringing from every sentence that slept from his lips.
“So what if I gave that girl my pin? She looked happy! Besides, I like little kids,” Mike asked, peeling Joker off him.
“I think you could have worded that better…” Joseph said sheepishly, and Edgar snorted.
“Honestly, I never thought I’d say Joker was right at anything, especially after he crashed two of my vans, but- the pin. I’ve never seen you without it. Not even while you sleep.” Aesop stated, and everyone else agreed. The acrobat pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Why do you guys lack faith in me? Maybe I’m just turning over a new leaf in my life!” The acrobat said spritely, and everyone stared at him unimpressed.
“Highly doubtful,” Edgar commented between his chuckles.
The blonde moved through the casino, bickering back and forth with the team without noticing the pair of dim-lit eyes that watched his back as the blonde moved towards the bar on the other side of the casino.
The gaze quickly shifted back to the green felt of a poker table when the barmaid, standing poised behind the distant counter, caught his stare.
Back to the point, Mike could claim he was turning over a new leaf, but he still had to show his ID before being allowed to sit at the bar counter.
They ended up staying at the bar till late in the night. Aesop and Joseph had left early while Joker and Edgar drank themselves until they were practically zombies. Mike was a little lightheaded. He might have taken down a bottle or two.
But his alcohol tolerance was strong, as he had worked in a traveling circus for a while. The kids used to have shots of vodka after every successful show.
Technically he barely drank now of course, for his work and the upcoming show. He needed to be entirely sober. But just being with the other two knuckleheads and feeding off their lack of intelligence made him feel like he was drunk and out of his mind.
Concerning the state of Joker and Edgar, Mike could be completely sober.
“Alright, up you go,” Mike said as he hoisted up the painter around his shoulder, who made unintelligible noises from over the blonde.
“If you are going to throw up, do it on the other one, not me.” Mike directed as he slung Joker beneath his arm, carrying him by the torso.
It put a strain on his muscles, but not enough to keep himself from dragging the both of them away from the bar.
Edgar’s face uncomfortably burrowed into the acrobat’s shoulder, and the blonde was almost 100% positive that Joker was drooling over his brand-new sweater. Of course, it was Joker.
“Where the f-” Mike quickly corrected himself but scoffed as Edgar began to limp.
“Where is that embalming freak?!”
“Probably… blowing off Frenchie in some back alley,” Edgar trailed off, and Mike just scoffed as he kicked open the exit, holding the door open with the unconscious Joker’s head as he hoisted the two in his arms out the door.
“I could have gone without that in my brain space; besides, Joseph could only wish. I think Aesop is into some police officer back in his hometown, what was his name, Victor?"
The conversation ended as Edgar passed out, leaving Mike to hail a cab back to the Waldorf Astoria.
His fingers subconsciously ran over the wisps of hair that usually bore the weight of a silver pin. The blonde stared at his expression through the reflection of the car window’s glass, cast against the neon lights of the strip.
It was late into the night, but people still wandered back and forth without a care in the world.
He wished that he could live with such ignorance.
It was no surprise when he couldn’t sleep that night.
The acrobat slowly sat up, his skin hot and clammy. He could still feel the twinge of fire ghosting its marred surface.
He rolled over and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table that read 2:04 in the morning.
The blare of the strip’s lights found its way through the sides of Mike’s curtains, and for only a second, he contemplated jumping out the window. He reached up to rest the pads of his finger’s against the cool silver of the pin on his hair and hissed out a “shit” when he felt nothing but his hair.
He rolled around on his bed for a while, trying to drown out the restless silence in the empty room, but his ears rang more as his mind further worked.
He knew that if he did not sleep now or figured out a way to get back to sleep immediately, Mike would be rat-fucked for the practice run tomorrow. Or later that day since it was technically already morning.
After staring at a blank white ceiling for so long that his eyes ached, Mike finally got up and threw on what he hoped was a few articles of clothing that matched. He could not see what he had selected since it was dark, but the blonde didn’t care, so he put on his shoes and left the hotel room.
-
Yes, Norton did not like tourists. Of course, it was inevitable for someone like him to run into them often, as he spent all his time in casinos, where tourists most often went. But he would always avoid them. The expressions they’d make were always the same, with big eyes and a dramatic smile through excitement about being in Las Vegas.
So why did the man keep turning around to look at the previously spritely tourist who now sat in a depressive lump over a slot machine? A slot machine farthest from all other people and the still bustling casino’s halls.
The gambler wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the ordeal with the girl earlier that day, but now Norton knew who the tourist was. Not that he cared since many famous people came to Las Vegas.
Norton’s brow furrowed as he watched the blonde take another 50 dollar bill from his wallet and stick it into the machine. The acrobat still hadn't gotten anything yet, Norton might add. Shameful almost.
Norton wondered how a man could be so unfortunate as to pick the slot machine with the lowest RTP as his victim and wail all his money on it. Rookie move.
“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you so curious about anyone or anything,” a suggestive voice spoke.
Norton scoffed, turning his head over his shoulder to face a sly grin on a wicked woman’s face. She was not evil; Demi Bourbon was simply a woman who liked to be blunt and say whatever came to mind. Unfortunately, Norton did not care for it. He didn’t care about her good character in the eyes of others, for in his own head, she was the Devil.
Besides, it's not that he was curious. Factually, it physically pained Norton to see the man lose so much money in only three or so minutes. He must have put seven fifty dollar bills in, and sure, money meant nothing to Norton and seemed to mean nothing to the blonde either, but it wasn’t the most appealing thing to watch.
“Curious is an interestin’ word choice.” The dark-haired man rarely went to the Mirage for a millennium of reasons. She was one of them.
One could argue that she was the closest friend he had. But in truth, Norton thought her antics, which others found incredibly endearing, were lame.
Norton patted his shirt’s front pocket, and his face instantly dropped. His lips pressed into a straight line, his palm flat against nothing.
Demi chuckled while drawing a cigarette to her lips before sliding the pack she stole from Norton over the bar's surface. The man’s black eyes scrunched up at her, and she simply shrugged, drawing a lighter to the cigarette she stole.
Norton pulled a cigarette to his lips with a scoff, leaning in so that Demi could light the end of his. The gambler then slid back in his seat, savoring the space between them like the barmaid carried some deadly virus.
Even if she didn’t, she wore cologne so strong that if Norton got an unprepared whiff, he would likely continuously sneeze for the next week. He figured he didn’t want to breathe the stench in any way.
“Mike Morton. He’s a famous acrobat and seems like a pretty interesting guy. The exact kind of person you hate, but it's funny, right?” Demi leaned forward into Norton’s personal space, whispering in his ear and breathing cigarette smoke down his neck. Norton sighed, waving his hand in front of her face as she giggled, leaning back again.
Norton wished to drive his head into the bar’s stone surface so many times it would explode, and Demi would get fired for mismanagement in the workplace.
“But he’s different. Not sure if that's a good thing, but you noticed it as well, didn't you?” She spoke in a low voice, and he scoffed.
“Get yer face away from mine, Bourbon.” She only frowned, receding to her place behind the counter, blowing a puff of smoke away from Norton’s face.
“You should talk to him, perhaps make your sad-ass a friend.”
Demi flashed an approving and oddly genuine smile at Norton, and he felt something inside him shrivel up and die. She knew it was a big ask, for she had been there since the beginning.
Bourbon had seen him try to make friends and socialize. She had seen Norton try not to get mad and frustrated at people who couldn’t keep up with him.
If there was only one thing about Las Vegas, it’d be that everything here was temporary. The buildings would change, get torn down, and rebuilt. Sure, the structure and contents of the city would remain relatively the same, but the people never did.
If you met a person here once, you’d likely never meet them again.
Norton wasn’t ready to do ‘temporary.’ He did it once and wouldn’t do it again.
“Come on, Campbell. Besides, if you get yer big ol’ hart broken, you can always come running back to good ol’ mamacita here!” Demi exclaimed, and Norton instantly felt years get taken off his lifespan under the influence of the faux accent.
“I’d rather die than run back to ya and yer fake ass,” Norton stood up off his barstool, and Demi laughed, shooting him a wink.
“Shoot your shot, loverboy,” was the last thing she said to him on his departure to the slot machines.
Norton wondered why that damn old hag had to make everything seem like it comes straight out of a cheezy and incredibly mediocre soap opera, but he pushed her to the farthest back of her mind.
He wasn’t an anxious guy. He was alright about going up to strangers and telling them they were terrible opponents, cheating, or could have bet better. But it was awkward for him to go up to someone and give them advice, especially considering the person was outgoing, as seen from the events with the young girl earlier that day.
In other words, Norton was a professional asshole and couldn’t deal with people in a socially acceptable manner.
“Yer more likely to win if ya try the machine next to that one,” Norton started, and the blonde turned his head and bore his eyes straight at him.
They were not only blue like Norton initially thought. In his right eye, he had aggressive central heterochromia, where the iris struck between blue and amber around the center. His left eye had partial heterochromia, where amber splotched on the upper right corner of the crystal blue iris.
If Norton were to say he wasn’t just a little bit nervous under the stranger’s gaze or glare, he would be the most blatant liar in the world.
But he did not blame himself, for he rarely put the act together of going up to talk to others, especially extroverted people.
“This one?” The acrobat asked, sticking his thumb out at the machine next to the one he sat at.
Norton was initially surprised by the acrobat’s voice, as its tone had dropped all formalities and was of an oddly low pitch.
It was not Norton’s fault that he assumed the blonde had a higher voice, as he sounded much more squeaky that morning and in the casino earlier that day. Or maybe Norton had more sympathy for the man, as he could eye at how the acrobat’s loose top slid down the back of his toned neck. Not that he was looking or anything, of course.
“The one next to it’s even better.”
To avid slot machine players, Norton might have lied just a little bit, but he could practically hear Demi’s frantically demonic giggles and her allusive stare burn right through his back. He would not have her watching his every interaction with this guy.
Norton had the slightest feeling that Mike knew he was bullshitting him, but Mike took no problem in moving two machines down.
Norton sat at the third one to Mike’s right, instantly relaxing once he was out of the barmaid’s line of sight.
“Ya can see the return-to-player rate in settings,” The dark-haired man leaned forward, hovering his index finger over a gear symbol in the top right corner.
Norton wasn’t sure if he was lucky or incredibly unlucky that the acrobat noticeably maintained eye contact while you talked, almost like Mike had to make it clear that he had those big, striking eyes. Norton did notice, focusing on every web of color in those pretty irises, taking it on like a challenge.
The blonde shifted his eyes away and looked at the RTP, which said 98.
“If yer to put 100 in, by definition yer supposed to get 98 back, doesn’t always happen, but in general, slot machines are a losin’ money game,” Norton explained but only fell silent.
Now that Norton was paying attention, the blonde had many freckles on his nose’s smoothly upturned bridge. His eyelashes were more blonde at the tips but were a dusty brown where they framed his bi-colored eyes. He had soft features, from his eyes to his temple, as he had a smoothed-out shape to his face. But his jaw was sharp, and Norton watched how it moved when the acrobat spoke too often.
From a distance, the blonde looked small and almost pudgy, but closer up, Norton could see from the man’s shoulders to his arms alone that the acrobat was incredibly muscular, which was reasonable, considering Mike was a world-class acrobat. But shorter people were usually not so defined, as Norton might describe.
Not that Norton was not intently looking at the acrobat. He swore on Demi’s glare. Norton just tended to pay attention to details more than other people, a habit he acquired through gambling.
The most surprising thing was that the acrobat had dark under his eyes as if he hadn’t gotten enough sleep in a long time. Considering Norton had jet black eye bags under his preexisting dark eyes, Norton couldn’t put much on the subject.
In any other situation, Norton would have found himself shameful for eyeing the man so openly, and he was sure the blonde had noticed by now. But, the acrobat didn’t seem to care, and Norton was almost half sure that at some point while Mike caught his gaze, he smirked.
Norton wouldn’t have known Mike had hit the jackpot from the look on the blonde's face alone and was partially surprised the man managed it. Then again, Norton wasn’t sure how much time had passed, and if the blonde kept putting money in, he was sure to get something at some point.
“Sorry fer bumpin’ into ya earlier.” Norton took a blunt from a package in his pocket and lit the end, drawing it to his lips.
“It's alright.”
The acrobat had somehow won 2k from the machine, and Norton wanted to comment on it but couldn't bring himself to do so. He watched Mike holding the money in his palm, staring at it aimlessly.
Any ordinary person would have been jumping up and down at the amount of cash in their hand. But Mike stayed quiet.
Norton found himself chuckling as he lit the blunt and inhaled deeply. The intoxicating smell of burning leaves filled his nostrils, and he felt the heat expand in his lungs.
The blonde asked rather abruptly, “Why do you smoke?" The gambler raised a brow at the question before shrugging.
“Helps m’ sleep and calms m’ down. It's easy to get pissed off at the people ‘round here. They treat this city like some fuckin’ haven when it’s just a giant pile of shit with some pretty lights strung ‘round it, so no one thinks much of it cus’ it’s some pretty pile of shit instead of just plain old shit.”
The acrobat chuckled at the myriad of times the gambler used the word ‘shit’ in the same sentence. Mike’s laugh was airy, but wasn’t fake, nor was it entirely cold. The gambler wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it almost radiated some sort of subdued warmth. Norton was half sure that if he had been sitting with one leg up like he usually did at slot machines, he probably would have fallen out of his chair.
“What, are you not fond of tourist traps?” Mike asked with a knowing glint in his eye, and Norton snorted.
“One could say that,” Norton said, taking another hit from the blunt and spitting the plumes of smoke out and away from the blonde.
A long, persisting silence settled over the two before Mike finally spoke: “Are you sure that’ll help you sleep?”
The gambler chuckled, waving the end to lean over in his seat and put the ashy roll-out in an ashtray.
“Hah, ‘course it doesn’t in the long run, but in the meantime, can put yer mind at rest. I’m a light sleeper, so I’ll wake up many times in the night no matter what I do,” Norton continued, “So, I might as well sleep at a time for as long as I can. This shit helps.”
Norton finished and shifted his attention from the ashtray to the pair of big blue mixed eyes that steadily gazed back at him.
It was true. The blonde had the face of someone famous. A recognizable face as well as one you couldn't forget, with soft curves against defined edges, from the cheek’s dip to the arc of his cupid’s bow.
Norton could say his eyes were the best of all, framed with dark rings. Not quite puffy, but you could see the purple hues beneath his fair-toned skin.
Norton wasn’t sure why he felt so talkative all of a sudden. Maybe it was because Demi slipped something in his drink, or the way Mike’s eyes watched his every movement made him feel strange. But, the gambler didn’t think too hard about it, taking another blunt from his coat’s front pocket before he flicked his lighter.
“Well, one could say Las Vegas keeps a man awake, but this doesn’t seem like yer first time, idly stalling time till ya pass out. Must be difficult to be a world-class acrobat without a lick of sleep.”
Norton continued, filling the empty and cold air between them with words framed by the background clinking of glasses and distant chatter that spread throughout the casino’s walls.
The blonde acrobat stayed silent, which was strange for such an outgoing image. Norton knew Mike was a big deal and knew he was known for being a ‘giant ball of sunshine.’
The gambler could also tell he wasn’t on the receiving side of that persona. But in truth, the man liked this version better anyway. Brooding, held back. Norton wanted to make him let go of whatever it was that kept him low. Subsequently,strange thoughts began to pile in Norton’s brainspace and he immediately knocked them out of his head before they’d show in his expression.
Norton rocked his head back, and Mike watched the apple in the gambler’s neck bob as a steady stream of smoke pushed out from between his lips.
Norton watched the smoke as it folded on itself and slowly thinned and spread out in the air. His neck craned up to watch the smoke go. He flopped his head over lazily to stare at the acrobat, who did not look back, his bi-colored eyes upon the blunt between Norton’s fingers.
“Wanna try?” Norton asked, holding the roll out between his fingers, but the acrobat only chuckled.
“I don't think I’d be able to handle first-hand smoke.”
“I can shotgun ya if ya want.” Norton leaned back in his seat, rocking the blunt back and forth on his fingertips.
The blonde had no idea what ‘shotgunning’ was. But from the lazy expression on the dark-haired man’s lips to the angle at which his chiseled face tilted at Mike daringly, the blonde would play along, of course.
Who was Mike to refuse a man with a bridge piercing and a raspy voice who sat with his legs open, gift-wrapped in an open-neck dress shirt?
The gambler shifted, leaning forward towards Mike, as the acrobat had not refused.
“Well, it's pretty simple,”
Tanned fingers wrapped around a pale chin.
“Ya’ just take it like this and breathe.”
The gambler leaned forward as he sucked in a deep breath from the roll. His fingers fixed around the side of the acrobat's jaw, oddly smooth beneath his touch.
The gambler watched the acrobat’s pretty pink lips part ever so slightly as their faces were barely apart.
The gambler’s hand traveled from the acrobat's jaw to the side of his face, gentle against his cheek as he breathed out.
His dark eyes watched, spellbound, as the smoke pushed out from his lips before slowly slipping between the other man’s, disappearing between glistening white teeth. He heard the gasp as the smoke slid between the blonde’s parted lips before gliding back out, the smoke’s heat pricking the corners of his mouth.
He could feel the other man’s breath on his face.
He could feel the edge of the man’s pretty, scorching face beneath his cold palm.
He could feel the tips of soft, curly, and golden locks brush against his fingertips.
Norton wasn’t thinking, almost leaning in further. But the sound of dying syllables off the acrobat’s lips brought the gambler back to reality.
“I- uh- I think I should get going now.”
The gambler’s eyes widened as he stared at the pretty eyes that shifted away from him, abashed. The acrobat’s expression, previously flat and passive, was now bright and red. His pink lips quivered as each word died on the acrobat’s lips.
“Right.”
After a prolonged second of internal shock, as the gambler finally realized what he had done, he immediately drew his hand back, shifting in his seat.
The gambler opened his mouth to say more, but the acrobat spared a quick “goodnight” before bolting away and out the Mirage Casino’s double doors. Norton, at first, wondered if he had simply been dreaming. All that was left was the bright-lit slot-machine's screen, blinking at him in mockery.
But no, he was no fool. That had happened. He had taken a stranger’s face in his palms, a pretty face at that, and blew smoke right in it, then almost proceeded to kiss the poor stranger. And not just any stranger, but a very famous one.
The gambler blinked a few times before his face scrunched up in disdain, wondering what in god’s name possessed him to shotgun the world-class Mike Morton. A fucking icon, was he impaired? Norton was washed up, had no game, and contributed nothing to the world.
Sure, shotgunning was enough on its own, but reaching out and tilting his flushed face, let alone breathing in the other man’s direction, who did he think he was?
So the man sat, craned over the now unoccupied slot machine. His black eyes bore into the yellow rims until he stood up.
Norton was already in a pit of self-wallowing. And thinking about that interaction dragged him down further. The fact he didn’t dislike the feeling of the man’s face in his palms made him feel worse.
But other consequences could follow his actions, not only his inner monologue of psychological turmoil.
Norton looked over his shoulder at the bar and did not see Demi. He looked to his right and left, checking the perimeter. He was already shameful enough, but if nobody had noticed, he could at least be ashamed of himself alone.
And so the gambler attempted to reach the Mirage’s double doors, his fingers almost brushing against the door's surface until a firm, strangely muscular arm looped around his shoulder and yanked him back.
For someone like Norton, there was a difference between doing something shitty, unnoticed, and doing something shitty but noticed. It was even more terrible when Demi was the one to catch him in action. It seemed like she was always right around the corner with her big-toothed grin and wafty pounds of perfume.
“Let go. Bourbon. Aren't you supposed to be on your shift?” The gambler spoke up awkwardly as she successfully overpowered him, who knew fighting back against her was a losing game. The barmaid let out a string of giggles mixed with maniacal laughter as she steered the tight-lipped heap of shame toward her bar.
“Oh boy, do you got a lot of nerve to tell me, right now, what I should be doing?” Norton could not bear to look at the ugly expression Demi was making any further and looked away.
“I think I can, considerin’ the reason ya left the bar during yer shift was to go kiss on that prostitute. Don’t think I didn’t watch ya get whisked off and pick-pocketed by that woman.” The gambler said, shaking free from her loosened grip pettily.
Norton did not need her further scrambling his brain and found this entire interaction incredibly bothersome. He was already tired and unhappy with the decisions he made, and all Demi knew how to do was rub alcohol into the open wound.
“For your goddamn information, she’s not a prostitute. She's a female dancer! Also lower your voice- I can’t also mess up what I have with sweet Patti-” The woman defended, folding her arms over her chest.
“Woman. You get a new bitch every day. And fer yer goddamned information, it's the goddamned same thing.”
The barmaid playfully scoffed and opened her mouth to speak but got cut off by the gambler, who snapped around, anger evident in every feature of his face, from his tightened jaw and the trench between his brows.
“I don’t understand why yer flappin’ yer goddamned lips at me! I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Just leave me the fuck alone Demi alright? I’ve had enough of yer ass tryna invade my business! Get the fuck outta m’ face!” the gambler finally lashed back, his voice mistakenly raised with agitation.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the two, and his angry countenance slowly faded into its usual expressionless form. He quickly turned back around, sparing the woman not even a glance.
Norton adjusted his collar as he headed for the exit, attempting to ignore the disheartened frown that pressed against her red lips.
“All I mean to say is that I’m glad you finally let yourself go, even if for a little bit.” At this, the gambler paused, his palm hot against the door’s cold surface.
“You don't gotta stay holed up in yourself forever. It's not shameful to enjoy yourself. Everyone deserves happiness and affection. You, Norton, are not excluded from that selection,” she continued, speaking like she knew the truth of the world.
The barmaid watched the man push the large glass entrance open.
But of course, she knew nothing.
“Don’t act like ya know me, Bourbon.” He forced out, sparing the woman a kurt goodnight, not looking her in the eye as he left. She was silent as she watched him disappear into the darkness, his shrinking figure framed by backlit neon lights.
“Goodnight, Norton,” she mumbled, but the door had already shut, and the man was gone.
-
The acrobat wheezed, his face ablaze and his heart racing as he had not stopped moving since sprinting out of the casino. Despite being in excellent shape, his breath managed to catch up with him, tightening in his throat as his fingers fumbled with the keycard on his door.
Once he was in, Mike finally slowed down, slipping off his shoes and trudging through the dark room, panting. The digital clock on the wall read ‘3:34.’
Only the distant lights from the strip, cast in by the large windows, allowed Mike to catch himself before ramming his foot into a large, humane object on the floor.
Mike did trip on it but caught his steps and whipped around, only to stare at a half-clothed painter in a fetal position, stirring in sleep as he tossed back and forth over the wood floor.
It was likely that Edgar could no longer handle Aesop with Joseph or sleeping on the floor beside Joker, so Mike didn’t pay much mind to it, stepping over him.
Besides, other things were on his mind.
The blonde went straight to his bed, flopping down with a loud exhale. He stared at the ceiling blankly, his lips parted, his eyes widened, and his cheeks still red.
The acrobat wondered if that had happened, but he could still smell the herbal scent of smoke beneath his button-nose.
His mind filled with images of the scar that framed the man’s dark and half-lidded eyes, the rounded piercings that sat through the bridge of his nose, and the smoke that passed between the gambler’s chapped lips and into Mike’s throat.
It wasn’t like the blonde didn’t have people hanging around him and getting all over him. He often drew crowds of people who all wanted something from him, emotionally, physically, or monetarily. Mike, at this point, was completely numb to other people's efforts at trying to seduce him.
Or so he thought because the blonde’s heart was hammering so quickly; he wondered if his current state would affect his condition at practice later that day.
Was that seduction? Mike wasn’t sure how he had not died on the spot from air asphyxiation under the influence of his body, frozen in shock. He was also almost 100% sure that the stranger was leaning in closer than the proximity used for shotgunning.
The man’s thoughts began to progress further on the note of what would have happened if he stayed, and he immediately crushed his face with a pillow.
His fingers subconsciously wandered to twist against the locks of hair on his forehead, fingertips running over the cold of a silver pin. He let out a disappointed breath as he felt nothing but the strands of gold that curled at his forehead.
“Shit.”
His eyes bore into the blank white ceiling above him, his brain overflowing with disappointment, restless exhaustion, and a sticky-sweet sensation that had struck an ache in the back of his head.
He wondered what would have happened if he stayed and didn’t run away. He cursed himself for running, but he cursed himself for thinking about not leaving in the first place. It was not in Mike’s job criteria to get caught up in feelings that would only interfere with his profession.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about that hand on his face and the look in that strange man’s eyes.
He was rat-fucked on every level possible. It was close to four in the morning on Friday, and the first costume run for the performance was in only a few hours. The performance was on Sunday, and there was a chance he would have to run into that guy again.
The blonde wasn’t sure what that ordeal was and knew that thinking about it would further his restlessness. There was only one thing he could confirm. He wouldn’t get a lick of sleep for the remainder of the early morning.