attention | gyuricky

six.

The cover charge at the club, which he's newly learned is called Club Diamond, as is emblazoned in LED lights over the entrance, is even more expensive today considering it's a weekend, but a quick slip under the ropes at the entrance gets him in, blending in with a crowd of tall guys with fluffy hair.

The bar's crowded today. Another bartender's working alongside Ricky, a boy with sharp features and dark hair pushed back who looks to be around their age as well. Ricky's back in his element tonight, the same way he was yesterday; flashing his smile with ease, the smooth lilt of his voice cutting through the surrounding noise, the kind of effortless charisma that makes girls talk about him to their friends when they get back to their tables.

It's a good couple of minutes before the bar area clears up enough for Gyuvin to move up, folding his arms over the countertop and waiting for the blonde boy to notice him. When he does, his smile fades, not enough to look hostile, but definitely enough for anyone to tell he's displeased.

"You again. I told you not to make a habit of getting drunk," he says, walking past with two glasses in hand.

"Last I checked you're not my mom," Gyuvin answers, a little childishly. "So, what's up with the gap moe? You some sort of sociopath, or something?"

Ricky doesn't even acknowledge him as he passes by again with a bucket of ice, setting it down on the counter next to the other bartender, who mouths him a thank you.

"Do you ever answer any questions?"

"Do you ever ask anything worth answering?"

Gyuvin pretends to ponder over it for a few seconds. "I've asked plenty."

Ricky looks him in the eye and fixes him with a blistering stare. "I'm working. Do you have to bother me at all hours of the day?"

"I just..." Gyuvin answers slowly, eyes drifting away. "Wanted to see what you're like when you're not around someone you hate. I guess it didn't work. I'll see you at home."

He turns away and disappears into the crowd without waiting for an answer that probably won't come anyway. The night air outside is crisp and refreshing after the warm, balmy air inside the club, and he forces himself to take three deep breaths before he starts walking.

Whose idea was it to come here, anyway? rings out in his mind. Right. My idea.

He really needs to get a grip.

It's only about eleven when he gets back to the apartment, but by the time he steps out of the shower and finishes rubbing a towel through his hair he's exhausted enough he thinks he'll be able to sleep. Mental exhaustion, not physical, but it'll do.

Gyuvin sits down at his desk, draping his towel over the back of the chair. His sketchbooks are arranged in a pile that comes up to his shoulder even when he's seated; he has this inclination to keep all his things with him because he's never sure when he'll need them, something that's stayed with him since childhood. Some of these sketchbooks are already filled, lined with dog-ears and anything from full-on project drafts to silly little comic strips and doodles he's done in class when he can't keep his attention on the lesson at hand, but he just couldn't bear the thought of leaving them back home.

He opens the one he's currently working his way through to the first empty page somewhere near the middle, and takes up a pencil. A cat, he sees in his mind's eye, with its teeth bared and hackles raised. He draws. It comes out comically bright-eyed and expressive, as is his usual style when he isn't limited by the rules and requirements of assignments, a little white cat on a street corner snarling at everybody and nobody. He doodles a couple more variations of cats' ears around the page absentmindedly until it's filled enough for him to leave it alone, and he abandons his pencil.

He should sleep. He's accomplishing nothing staying up and bothering himself with questions that have no answers to them. At least, no answers he knows of. Gyuvin hangs his towel up on the rack in the bathroom to dry, and turns in for the night.