[It is hard to determine what he sees in the image of Laurent reflected back to him, lit pale blue by the screen's glow, features narrow and angular and effortlessly pretty. There is the presence of that ugly truth, lurking black beneath the surface of these interactions. Laurent's experience, however more advanced, is a source of pain and suffering and ugliness. The invitation is like a hand outstretched; in the other, a waiting knife. Sasuke barely has time to process what he feels — where any time before, he would turn Laurent down, calling every bluff. Now, there is some part of him furious enough to see that darkness mirroring his own childhood's sorrow and wish to destroy it. To scorch it out of Laurent, even if it takes a thousand cuts of the knife. To see if this time it is all princely bluster.
Sasuke's gaze is dark, lingering, uncowed. Challenge is like a spell to someone like him, winding him in its powerful grasp. Already his heart picks up in adrenaline well-learned, worn by the troughs of violent combat. Yet violence is not what he has in mind here. He looks a moment longer at Laurent — at Laurent's mouth, pale pink, grazed by slender fingers — then ends the call without goodbye. He sets his device facedown on the bed and closes his eyes. Reeling in that silence for several seconds, he makes a decision and rises from the bed.
Bare feet cross the floor, taking nothing with him when he exits, dressed only in a long-sleeved, black shirt and gray sweatpants. He's tied the left sleeve in a loose knot at the elbow. His footsteps make no sound as he navigates the hallway, then the stairs, unseen on the way to his destination. This stealth is unhurried, but the intensity of his focus is like a trance.
Upon reaching Laurent's dorm room, he takes the handle of the door and tries it without knocking. There is the still the chance Laurent balks, withdraws — he is prepared for this.]
no subject
Sasuke's gaze is dark, lingering, uncowed. Challenge is like a spell to someone like him, winding him in its powerful grasp. Already his heart picks up in adrenaline well-learned, worn by the troughs of violent combat. Yet violence is not what he has in mind here. He looks a moment longer at Laurent — at Laurent's mouth, pale pink, grazed by slender fingers — then ends the call without goodbye. He sets his device facedown on the bed and closes his eyes. Reeling in that silence for several seconds, he makes a decision and rises from the bed.
Bare feet cross the floor, taking nothing with him when he exits, dressed only in a long-sleeved, black shirt and gray sweatpants. He's tied the left sleeve in a loose knot at the elbow. His footsteps make no sound as he navigates the hallway, then the stairs, unseen on the way to his destination. This stealth is unhurried, but the intensity of his focus is like a trance.
Upon reaching Laurent's dorm room, he takes the handle of the door and tries it without knocking. There is the still the chance Laurent balks, withdraws — he is prepared for this.]