Lost Memories: Mirrors

Whoever this man in the black dress is, he's a beautiful one—it's no joke. Byron can feel his ethereal grace as he looks into Etienne's eyes. At a glance, he seems like the type who puts his value on his make up and dress, to cover their empty hollow self.

Etienne stretches his hand to Byron, offering to follow his lead, but Byron doesn't like to be led. Instead, he steps forward, so Etienne's hand landed on his chest. 

Ooh, bossy, Etienne judged, but somehow, he likes it that way. Another dominant type just like other moth that always drawn to his beacon. "Okay, let's see if he know what he's doing."

Etienne proceed to follow his rhythm, letting Byron lead on 1. 

Byron, studying his intriguing dance partner, slides his hand over Etienne's and smoothly guides him into motion. He starts with a basic step, testing Etienne's response. As Etienne spins in his arms, Byron locks him in a pretzel hold, drawing them close. He catches the fragrance from Etienne's neck, their faces inches apart.

Etienne meets his gaze, unfazed, and flirts back with his eyes without hesitation.

This one is not the fragile Detective Baxter.

Feeling the rhythm of the romantic music in the background, they continue dancing, each silently assessing the other in this passive-aggressive battle of charm. In this contest, touch and eye contact speak louder than words.

Etienne relishes the way his hands find their place on Byron's skin or his hands—there's something about the contrast. Beneath the rugged handsomeness, Byron's touch is unexpectedly gentle, so light that it wouldn't even harm a baby squirrel.

But this isn't just a dance.

When their bodies are close enough, as Byron guides him sideways, Etienne sees his chance. With practiced ease, he extends his free hand toward Byron's pocket.

Byron reacts instantly, his reflexes sharp. He smoothly parries the move, disguising it as part of the dance. A casual shift, a spin, a well-placed grip—just enough to block Etienne's attempt without drawing suspicion.

His guard is up now.

Etienne clearly has an agenda.

Without hesitation, Byron counters with a sudden, forceful drag, locking Etienne's arms against his chest—his left palm pressed to his own right shoulder, his right to his own left. In one swift motion, he yanks Etienne's waist flush against him, his sharp gaze cutting through the dim light like a warning.

Byron expected him to be flustered, shocked, or offended, but instead, this beautiful man simply enjoyed the aggression, his eye lids looked heavy, and slowly the plumpy lips forms a seductive smirk as if to tell Byron that his actions were cute.

The people who watch them? They think it's two men were flirting. 

"Patience, handsome, the night is long," Etienne whispers to his dancing partner, moving his hands gently to Byron's nape. 

And yet, Etienne finds his chance to reach into Byron's pocket once again with his other hand, only to find nothing. 

Byron replies with a smirk and shakes his head. "I have nothing to steal, darling." 

Etienne chuckles and responds, "Not even a heart?" 

They seamlessly transition into a close-hold salsa step, their bodies moving in sync as if locked in an intimate embrace. Byron's hand rests firmly on Etienne's waist, guiding the rhythm, while Etienne's arm drapes over Byron's shoulder, allowing their faces to linger close.

"If you don't get yours stolen first," Byron whispers, his voice teasing yet dangerously soft.

"Darling, I don't have a heart."

"Oh, you do. You just haven't met someone who can light it up."

"Ooh... I love that confidence," Etienne's lips curling into an amused smirk. He must admit—this is the most handsome thief he has ever seen or been this close to. His piercing, confident eyes bore into Etienne's without hesitation, as if forcing his way into his soul with a bouquet of flowers and sweet milk chocolate.

Usually, Etienne would meet such dominance with a challenge, proving that no one could shake his control. But this thief… he was skilled at lock-picking, and not just with safes. For some reason, Etienne didn't feel the need to be defensive against him. It feels good to let him in.

He shifts his gaze toward the women in the audience who are eagerly watching, some giggling, others outright cheering for them. Smirking, Etienne tightens his hold around Byron's shoulders, pulling him close. "I'm sorry, ladies. I know he's handsome, but he's mine tonight—under my domination."

The women laugh and whistle in delight. "Keep going! We love to see you both dance!"

Byron chuckles at their enthusiasm before suddenly spinning Etienne in a swift motion. Caught off guard, Etienne has no choice but to latch onto Byron's neck, his fingers gripping tightly as their bodies press together once more.

When they stop, Etienne looks at him—laughing, breathless, and effortlessly beautiful in this moment. The dim lighting catches the gleam in his eyes, and for a brief second, Byron simply watches.

"You're beautiful," Byron says, his voice softer than before. "What's your name?"

"In love already? I guess I win the bet." Etienne tilts his head slightly, his gaze tracing the sharp, masculine lines of Byron's face—so effortlessly eye-catching, so dangerously smooth. 

"No, Steve, I'm just looking for something else to call you besides 'pretty boy'," Byron smirks. 

"Why not? I'm used to that," Etienne pouts playfully. 

"Because you're no longer a boy. You seem older than me," Byron replies. 

Etienne takes offense but doesn't get angry. "Mr. Thief! That's harsh! Oh dear, just call me ancient while you're at it." 

"'Pretty Ancient'—sounds good," Byron teases, spinning Etienne gently. As Etienne lands back in his arms, he subtly tries to slide the watch from Byron's elbow down to his wrist, making it easier to snatch. 

But Byron is one step ahead. With a clever shift in direction, he leads Etienne into another movement, effortlessly dodging the attempt. 

A small, frustrated grunt slips out of Etienne's lips.

"So, why did you steal it?" Etienne asks, his tone lowering, intimate enough that only Byron can hear.

Byron blinks before quickly regaining his composure, flashing an easy grin. "Because you're cute."

Etienne doesn't take the bait. His fingers trail lazily down Byron's arm, landing on his elbow—right where the weight of the diamond GOLIX rests. To the outside world, it's nothing more than a lingering, sensual touch between two dancers caught in an intoxicating rhythm.

"The watch," Etienne presses on the thing culring tight on Byron's elbow, unyielding. "Not my heart."

Byron chuckles, he really enjoys Etienne's humorous reaction on him, a knowing smirk playing at his lips, before he leans in just enough to whisper, "Because somebody has to take responsibility for the miners who died—buried alive while digging for this thing. They had families, abandoned by the company. All so your boyfriend's dad could have his birthday present."

His voice is quiet, measured, but there's no mistaking the weight behind his words. For the first time tonight, Etienne has nothing witty to snap back.

"Really?" Etienne wishes Byron was making it up—just trying to justify his actions.

"Just check the news. Ranggola miners, June 634 ASC—that's two years ago. See for yourself."

Byron doesn't look like he's joking. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something heavier. For the first time tonight, his confidence isn't playful—it's personal. His expression holds the weight of someone who isn't just telling a story but reliving it.

For a brief moment, Etienne wonders—was it his own family who died in that mine?

Before Etienne can react, Byron takes the lead, sweeping him into a dramatic turn. Their feet move in perfect sync, a push and pull of rhythm and control. As Byron guides Etienne into a rapid spin, the shift in momentum is so smooth that it takes Etienne a second too long to register—when he stops, he isn't in Byron's arms anymore.

Instead, he crashes into a solid chest, hands instinctively gripping broad shoulders to steady himself. But the hands that grip him back—firm, possessive—aren't Byron's.

John Kasper Gion.

And he doesn't look happy.

"Having a lot of fun?"

"Oh, well, I…" Etienne stops himself from saying what he's trying to do—that a thief has stolen the gift supposed to be given to Gion Sr. If he does, Daddy G will harm the thief. What if what Byron said was true?

Daddy G looks at Byron with an alpha, commanding gaze and smirks. "Get out of here." 

No, he can't leave yet! Etienne is about to stop him, but Byron seizes the lucky opportunity. He bows and takes his leave. Just as he turns, Etienne catches him glancing back with a victorious smile. Etienne isn't ready to let him go just yet. 

"Daddy, let me go," Etienne warns, his voice serious. He tries to pull away before the thief completely disappear with the diamond watch, but Daddy G tightens his grip on his elbow. 

"Yeah? Or what?" the man hisses. With his beard and undercut blonde hair, he looks like a modern-day Viking—he just needs the braids and the war axe.

Oh, so this this how you treated me? After I'm trying to save your precious birthday gift to your dad? Alright if that's what you want! Etienne puts on smile, "No, nothing."

Feeling satisfied that he's won—because everyone always obeys him—Daddy G releases Etienne's elbow and strides toward the center of the ballroom.

He raises his hand, a silent command. The operators respond instantly, cutting the music. The energy in the room shifts as the dancing comes to an abrupt halt, guests turning their attention toward him.

As the music stops and the main lightning back into the room, John Kaspar Gion with microphone in his hand, smiling to the whole audiences, "Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you so much for being here in my father's 80th birthday...."

It's going to be a long speech. John Kaspar loves attention, and he will undoubtedly tell that boring childhood story about how his father had to sell his GOLIX watch for his children. 

Seizing the opportunity, Etienne sneaks out of the ballroom, slipping away from the crowd. He is feeling very angry now to Daddy G. The situation where he got no choice but to tell someone what they want to hear while they doesn't even care about how he feels; that reminds Etienne a lot about why he ran away from his family to pursue career as opera actor. 

But to be honest, if he can let that chill presence, always calm and collected in every situation off just for once, he would.

Anyway, he need to catch some air, so he walks to the balcony where roses are growing at the railings and he smokes. Since roses occupying the railing, Etienne want to avoid them at all costs, he lean on the wall, just under the shadow of the building.

In this balcony, there's nothing else than the sound of the night air, and the crickets. It's so quiet Etienne can hear the security guards joking and giggling at the garden. Slacking off their job again? But it seems like they are resting from their shift, anyway. 

Whatever. Etienne took his time retrieving his phone from the mini purse slung around his waist. He remembered what the thief had told him about the miners' incident. He needed to check the story. 

That's when he realized the zipper was open. Did he forget to zip it?

But when he discovered his wallet was missing, panic set in.

Where did it go? Did he dance too hard, so caught up in the moment that he didn't notice his purse coming undone?

That's when the guards at the garden bellow the balcony suddenly sprang into action. Even the ones who had been joking around moments ago fell silent. Every guard looked serious now, scanning the area, pointing in different directions as if searching for something—or someone.

And then, a man slides in onto the balcony.

It was the dancer!

But something was different. His beard was gone—shaved clean. Without it, he looked younger, transforming from a rugged 34-year-old to a striking 27. He looked even more dashing this way. 

Without saying much, he flashed Etienne a quick smile and walked toward him without hesitation. 

"Hi."

Etienne, flustered by the sudden change in his appearance—and the fact that he had also changed into an expensive gray shirt—stared at him. He looked like an entirely different person from the man he had danced with.

"H-How did you—"

Before Etienne could finish his sentence, Byron smoothly guided his arm until it landed against the wall.

And before he could even process what was happening, Byron kissed him.

Passionately. To the point that he won't let Etienne breath.

Then, in one fluid motion, he stripped off his shirt and unbuckled his belt.

Wait, what the hell is this about?

Etienne couldn't even ask the question—Byron didn't give his lips a chance to be free.

Then, without breaking the kiss, Byron took Etienne's wrist and placed it on his ass.

"Please play along," Byron said—not in a desperate plea, nor in a bossy, commanding way.

He asked in a way that Etienne liked; As if they were equals.

Just in time, two security guards barged in through the balcony door. 

Byron pretended to be startled and upset. "Whoa!!" 

He quickly adjusted his pants and shirt while Etienne—immediately catching on—scolded the guards, "Excuse us, can we have a private moment?" 

As the good homophobes they were, the security guards scrunched up their faces in disgust and left without questioning anything. 

"Ugh, why are there so many faggots these days?" one of them grumbled as their voices grew more distant. "I swear this is the second time I've caught them making out at this party." 

The other replied, "Things were way better a hundred years ago when humans were still living on planet Earth." 

Their voices faded as they walked away, and Byron—still pinning Etienne against the wall, his pants unzipped and belt unbuckled—grinned in victory. "That was a close one."

Etienne took a few seconds to sneak a peek at what Byron was packing down there, and he wasn't surprised—after all, they had danced before. As predicted. Etienne smirked.

"Didn't expect to see you here, what's going on with that viking boss?" Byron asks him.

Etienne doesn't answer. If Byron wants to have a conversation, he needs to treat him with proper manners—clothes in their proper places and a proper position, not pinned against the wall like this. 

So, Etienne inhales his cigarette, side-eyes Byron with a flirty yet judgmental look, then exhales a slow puff of smoke directly into his face, narrowing his eyes as if daring him to back off. 

But Byron remains unfazed—the smoke only makes him smirk. This is one hot mama.

This cutie enjoys unnecessary victory, Etienne judged. "Are you gay? or just straight man dating transwomen?"

Byron leans in, their nose almost touch each other, "If it's pretty, why not?"

Byron smirks even wider, and Etienne takes it personally. He finds Byron intriguing—a man who refuses to be boxed in, always picking a third option when only given two. Not boring, certainly. But if he weren't careful, that kind of attitude could easily tip into being too much.

Still, he's lucky. Without the beard, Byron looks undeniably cuter, and for now, that's enough to keep Etienne entertained.

Etienne smirks. "I bet you'll marry Marrybeth's car too if it's within reach." 

Byron chuckles, immediately understanding the joke—Marrybeth, the eccentric musician with her ridiculously pink, glitter-covered monster truck. 

Finally, he steps away from Etienne, taking a seat on the bench as he lights a cigarette. 

"You dance nicely back there in the ballroom," Byron says casually, slipping the stolen GOLIX watch onto his wrist. "Are you a professional dancer?" 

Etienne tilts his head slightly, watching him. "Well, I'm just a pretty shell without content. If you crack me open, you'll find nothing," he says, introducing himself while pretending not to be offended that Byron has no idea who he is.

"Humph, really?" Byron takes his time admiring the diamond watch on his wrist, letting the weight of it settle before casually removing it and switching it back with his smartwatch. "What's your name?"

Etienne smiles, deciding that if this man wants to know his name, he should ask properly—with some manners. "Steve."

"Nah, that's not your name, Etienne." Byron wags his index finger lightly from side to side, amusement flickering in his eyes.

I knew it. He stole my wallet!

Without hesitation, Etienne steps forward, closing the space between them. Byron, still seated on the bench, watches him with relaxed confidence—until Etienne suddenly lifts his leg and presses the sharp heel of his shoe directly into Byron's groin.

Now, it's Byron who's locked in place.

Feeling the pressure increase, Byron merely grins. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move to remove Etienne's foot. Instead, he meets his gaze, eyes dark with challenge.

 He's unmoving, instead, he glances back at Etienne maintaining challenging gaze on him. 

"Maybe it's time you return my wallet, kid," Etienne says smoothly, pressing down just a little harder.

Byron exhales through his nose, still grinning. "Actually, I like it. More pressure, please." 

Etienne doesn't hesitate—he presses down harder. 

And this time, Byron finally tenses, the pain catching up to his bravado. "Aah, yes, mama." 

"Oh God, I didn't know you enjoyed pain so much, honey..." Etienne adds even more pressure, his smirk widening in amusement even though he personally find it weird. "Give me my wallet back!" 

Byron finally lifts his hand, revealing Etienne's small wallet—just big enough to hold an ID card and a few license papers. He dangles it teasingly between his fingers. "I'll give it back to you... after you spend a night out with me." 

Etienne blinks, genuinely taken aback by the sheer absurdity of it. "You're seriously using my own wallet to bribe me into a date?" He exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. "You can't ask someone out in this kind of moment—I mean, with all those security guards searching for you...??" 

"See, mama, you love me," Byron teases, flashing that infuriatingly charming grin. "Come on, let's have a date!" 

With a casual flick of his wrist, he tucks Etienne's wallet into his own pocket, securing it so tightly that Etienne has no way of retrieving it unless Byron decides to give it up. 

Etienne sighs dramatically, arms crossing as he assesses his options. He could cause a scene, forcefully snatch it back, or maybe even throw another sharp-witted insult at Byron—but where was the fun in that? 

Besides, damn it... the thief looked cute now without that beard. 

How could he resist?