Chapter Text
The party is unbearable.
Crystal chandeliers cast sterile light over an ocean of polished suits and glittering dresses. It’s the same old routine: fake laughter, sharp smiles, and business deals masquerading as small talk. Reo Mikage doesn’t even try to hide his boredom anymore, swirling the champagne in his glass as his father exchanges pleasantries with another executive.
“Reo,” his father calls, his voice smooth but commanding. “Come greet Mr. Sato.”
Reo forces a smile and steps forward, bowing just enough to be polite. The praise that follows is the same as always—“Ah, so this is the Mikage heir! What a bright young man!”—and Reo responds with the same carefully rehearsed charm. But inside, he’s suffocating.
When the clock finally strikes ten, he excuses himself, claiming an early start tomorrow. His father doesn’t protest, too busy sealing his latest deal.
The air outside is sharp and cool, a stark contrast to the suffocating warmth of the gala. Reo adjusts the cuffs of his tailored suit as he strides toward his waiting car, his shoes clicking against the polished stone driveway. It’s late, and all he wants is to collapse into bed and forget the hollow conversations and meaningless smiles of the evening.
He pauses mid-step when he hears it—a low, guttural roar that cuts through the quiet night. A motorcycle.
The bike screeches to a stop right in front of the mansion gates. Reo’s eyes narrow as the rider leans back casually, kicking down the stand with practiced ease. He takes in the details: the scuffed leather jacket, the frayed jeans, the chains that catch the dim light. Whoever this is, he doesn’t belong here.
Reo watches as the rider pulls off his helmet, revealing messy, silver-white hair that looks like it’s never met a comb. The stranger doesn’t spare him or the mansion a second glance. Instead, he lights a cigarette with a flick of his thumb, leans against the bike, and tilts his head back to gaze at the sky.
Reo’s irritation flares. The audacity. He steps closer, his voice cold. “You’re blocking my car.”
The stars are the only reason Nagi’s here. He doesn’t care for this fancy neighborhood or the towering mansion behind him. It’s just a quiet place to stop, to stretch his legs after hours on the road.
The silver-haired rider doesn’t look at the boy in the suit until he speaks. The voice is clipped, sharp, and dripping with entitlement.
“You’re blocking my car.”
Nagi exhales smoke slowly, not even turning his head. “Go around,” he replies, his tone flat.
The rich kid doesn’t move. If anything, he steps closer. Nagi can feel the weight of his gaze, like he’s trying to size him up. “Excuse me?” the boy says, his voice tightening.
“I said, go around,” Nagi repeats, lazily flicking the ash from his cigarette.
Reo bristles. The nerve of this guy. He steps closer, his shoes crunching against the gravel. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”
This gets the stranger’s attention. He turns his head slowly, his silver hair catching the faint light of the mansion. Reo freezes as their eyes lock.
They’re pale—like glass or ice—and yet they feel oddly warm, almost… curious. For a split second, Reo forgets how to breathe.
“No,” the rider finally says, breaking the silence. His lips curl into the faintest smirk. “And I don’t care.”
Reo’s chest tightens, frustration flaring hot in his veins. He points toward the car waiting behind him. “Move your bike. Now.”
The boy is angry. Nagi can see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way his eyes flash under the dim light. It’s almost amusing.
“No,” Nagi says simply, holding the boy’s gaze.
For a moment, neither of them moves. The air feels heavier, charged.
The kid takes another step closer, his polished shoes stopping just inches from Nagi’s scuffed boots. “Do you always act this insufferable, or is tonight special?”
Nagi takes a slow drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side. “Depends on who’s asking,” he replies, his tone as calm as ever.
The boy glares at him, his frustration almost palpable. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, turning to glance at his waiting chauffeur.
Reo’s fists clench at his sides. He isn’t used to being ignored, let alone dismissed like this. He could press the issue, could force this lowlife to move—but something about the way the stranger looks at him stops him.
Those pale eyes are unreadable, but there’s something in them—something quiet and steady that throws Reo off balance.
“What’s your name?” Reo demands suddenly, his voice sharper than he intended.
The rider raises an eyebrow, amused. “Why do you care?”
“Because I don’t forget people who piss me off,” Reo snaps.
The rider actually smirks at that. It’s faint, just a quirk of his lips, but it makes Reo’s pulse quicken for reasons he doesn’t understand.
“Nagi,” the rider says finally. “Seishiro Nagi.”
Reo straightens his posture, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “Reo Mikage,” he replies, even though the guy didn’t ask.
Nagi hums, his smirk fading into a lazy expression. He pushes off the bike, flicks his cigarette to the ground, and crushes it under his boot. “See you around, Mikage.”
Before Reo can respond, the engine roars to life. Nagi pulls his helmet back on, the movement fluid and practiced. With a final glance in Reo’s direction, he revs the bike and disappears into the night.
The golden boy is still standing there, frozen in place as Nagi rides away. He doesn’t know why he gave his name—it’s not like he plans to see this Reo Mikage again.
But as the city lights blur past him, he can’t shake the image of those violet eyes glaring at him, full of fire.
For the first time in a while, Nagi thinks the night might not be so boring after all.