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The fabric tendrils of the cloak flickered and twitched in the air with every movement. The strong yet lithe body tests the flow and feel of the cloak as a hunter's knife slashes at invisible prey.
Dark brown eyes observed every maneuver he's taught executed with a precise grace. The method is more performative than lethal. It's a ballet dance rather than the militaristic means of attack. Improper.
Despite that, the dance was mesmerizing. An intoxication to the eye.
Leaning back in his chair, the mentor watches as his student settles to simply feeling the dark fabric. A gloved hand glides smoothly across hidden muscles of a toned chest and up along the arms to biceps to shoulders.
The student turns towards the mirror stand highlighted by neon lights of the bedroom.
He steps up to the image of the Ghost Face mask staring back.
The student suddenly rips off the mask, gasping for breath.
“Ssi-bal!” is what The Trickster says but what Danny hears is ‘Shiba’. “How do you breathe in this?”
Danny shrugs. “It's something you just get used to.”
Ji-Woon looks back at the Ghost Face Killer. Perplexed doesn't even begin to describe the K-Pop artist's thoughts nor his expression.
“You have asthma. Does it not bother you?”
Danny straightens, raising a hand in preparation to gesture with emphasis before he halts, scrunching his brows together in thought. An overstuffed notebook is produced from beneath the seat. Danny opens it by one of the many colored tags to an early section in the book. It was about Danny himself.
“That's what I've wondered about myself,” he says while scanning the various notes and bullet points. “I did have my inhaler when I first came here. The only thing I could figure out is I wouldn't seem as intimidating in the hunting grounds with it. I don't seem to need it out there.”
Ji-Woon half shrugs, “Makes sense.”
A silence hangs between them for ten seconds before the Trickster sighs in frustration. Danny's lost in thought again.
Wasting no more time, Ji-Woon struts over, brings his hands up underneath the covers, slams the book shut and tosses it backwards onto the luxurious mauve mattress in the corner.
“Hey!” Danny protests angrily. “The hell is wrong with you? Do you know how long it took me to get everything in- huh?”
Danny quirks a brow up high at K-Pop idol straddling him on the desk chair. “Eung,” Ji-Woon sighs in content. One arm drapes lazily over one shoulder while the other supports itself by the elbow to twirl wavy hair between his long fingers. “All eyes on me.”
Danny snorts, “Attention whore.”
“Don't pretend you don't like me like this,” Ji-Woon smirks salaciously.
“I prefer having all of you, that's what I'd like.” Ji-Woon curiously tilts his head to the side. “The contacts, Ji. I'm sorry to say this, but you don't look like a crazed celebrity murderer. You look like a Saturday morning cartoon villain. It's more comical than scary.”
Ji-Woon pouts profusely. He doesn't move a muscle that even signifies compliance.
“Well,” Danny starts dramatically, “guess I'll go hang out with the kids at the resort then.”
“Wait!” Ji-Woon groans. “Ssi-bal…”
One by one, each contact lens is removed. A pair of caramel colored eyes stared back at Danny, sugar sweet with an edge. There were actually hints of bright yellow surrounding the pupil, ironically enough. Danny had half a mind to think the colored contacts bled out into Ji-Woon's eyes. Nonetheless, they were beautiful.
Danny gently cups at the Trickster's angular face. Those caramel eyes hinted with yellow were exposed and held a shyness in place of the usual mischievous mania.
“Thaaat's better.” Danny coos huskily before locking their lips together in a passionate kiss.