In the private room of the club, the music was deafening, the atmosphere hot and intense.
Cohen Phillips, who had somehow become the center of attention, lifted the dice cup under everyone's watchful eyes.
He raised his hand to remove the half-smoked cigarette from his lips, a smile appearing as he said leisurely, "Two, two, three. Small. Who drinks?"
"Damn it!" a red-haired youth wailed, clutching his head.
"Me again! I'll drink!"
"Come on, come on, drink up, fill it up!"
"Bottoms up!"
After that round of penalties, everyone clamored to continue.
Cohen Phillips flicked the ash, put the cigarette back in his mouth, picked up the dice cup, and shook it with practiced ease.
After a few flourishes, he slammed it onto the table, leaned back in his chair, and let them all noisily guess the outcome.
Baldur Morgan, led in respectfully by an attendant, pushed the door open and immediately spotted his significant other.
With a face that looked quiet and aloof, Cohen sat amidst the decadent, noisy crowd, blowing smoke rings, completely at ease.
Baldur Morgan admitted he might have judged a book by its cover.
Based on Cohen Phillips's appearance, he didn't seem like the type to enjoy this kind of environment.
And with that fragile constitution, seemingly liable to topple over in a strong wind, he should be carefully looked after.
Who would have thought Cohen Phillips indulged in both smoking and drinking?
And judging by his calm and collected demeanor, he was every bit as suave as those playboys...
The people having a blast at the large table didn't notice the big shot's arrival, but Anthony Ferguson and Milton Benjamin, leaning against the bar and drinking, did.
Anthony Ferguson, tipsy, almost lost his balance.
"Baldur? What's he doing here?"
Milton Benjamin glanced at Cohen Phillips in the crowd.
"Uh... came to fetch someone, probably..."
Baldur Morgan didn't acknowledge them, walking straight towards the large table.
"Hurry up, open it!"
"Big! Big! Big!"
Cohen Phillips sat up straight, about to reveal the dice.
He lifted his eyelids, his pupils contracting slightly.
He blinked, thinking he was seeing things.
"Holy crap! Baldur?"
Dave Doyle exclaimed.
"Didn't you go back to Morgan Manor? When did you get here?"
The noise in the private room gradually died down.
The group of youngsters became restrained, offering quiet greetings, voluntarily making space.
Those sitting scrambled to their feet, standing ramrod straight.
Only Cohen Phillips remained seated, motionless, his gaze fixed intently on the approaching man.
Baldur Morgan's face was expressionless.
He walked up to Cohen, bent down slightly, and plucked the stub of a cigarette from his lips, stubbing it out in the ashtray on the table.
Those around them didn't dare breathe loudly, but their eyes were wide with shock andgossipy curiosity, darting around.
What's going on?
Baldur Morgan then pulled Cohen Phillips to his feet, his brow furrowing.
"Where's your coat?"
Cohen Phillips looked down, searching.
"Don't know..."
He'd felt hot not long after arriving, took his coat off, and someone had taken it.
Now he just wore a base layer and a pullover sweater.
"Here... it's here..." a young man stammered, handing over the gray wool coat.
Baldur Morgan took it.
"Thank you."
The young man was flustered by the politeness, mumbled "you're welcome," and shrank back into the crowd.
"Arms out."
Cohen Phillips obeyed, raising his arms to let Baldur Morgan help him into the coat.
After buttoning it up, Baldur Morgan took his hand and addressed the room.
"Keep enjoying yourselves. It's on me tonight."
Dave Doyle's brain was still catching up.
He nodded blankly.
"Okay..."
Watching Baldur Morgan lead Cohen Phillips out, the private room instantly erupted into deafening screams and shouts...
Outside the club, Cohen Phillips looked up at the silent Baldur Morgan, pressed his lips together, and asked, "Are you angry?"
Baldur Morgan looked down.
"Angry about what?"
"I..."
He moved his lips but couldn't articulate a reason.
It seemed there wasn't really anything worth getting angry about.
Seeing him fall silent, Baldur Morgan, unable to fully explain his own mood either, sighed inwardly, bundled him into the passenger seat, and drove away from the club.
The ride home was silent.
Cohen Phillips unbuckled his seatbelt but didn't get out immediately.
He reached out, hooking his pinky finger with Baldur Morgan's, softening his voice.
"Baby..."
Baldur Morgan saw the faint hint of a plea in his eyes.
His cold, hard features gradually softened.
He reached a long arm over, lifted Cohen entirely onto his lap, carefully protecting his head from bumping the car roof.
Both were long-limbed adults, squeezed into the narrow driver's seat, unable to move much.
Sitting on Baldur Morgan's lap, bracing himself on his shoulders, Cohen Phillips lowered his head until their foreheads touched, nuzzling his nose against Baldur's.
Their breaths mingled, intimate and tender.
Baldur Morgan tilted his head slightly, sniffing near Cohen's neck.
"You smell like smoke. How many did you smoke? Did you drink?"
He nibbled on the earlobe near his lips, answering muffled.
"Just two. Didn't drink."
Baldur Morgan's breathing grew somewhat ragged.
He pinched the nape of Cohen's neck in warning.
"When did you learn to smoke and drink?"
Cohen Phillips, knowing no restraint, said, "Back in Y City."
"Does your brother know?"
"Yes..."
"He knows and doesn't stop you?"
Baldur Morgan felt somewhat dissatisfied with Kerry Phillips.
"Your health is so poor, and he lets you play around like this?"
Cohen Phillips's lips wandered to Baldur's throat.
"He's too busy. He did try to control it. I haven't drunk for a long time. I only smoke occasionally, when I have no inspiration for drawing."
Baldur Morgan's voice held a hint of hoarseness.
"Baby, stop teasing..."
Cohen Phillips lifted his head, his captivating eyes shimmering with a seductive spring-like allure.
"Baby, don't you want to kiss me?"
Baldur Morgan's Adam's apple bobbed.
He couldn't resist.
He cupped the back of Cohen's head.
Heat filled the car, the temperature rising inch by inch.
"Mmph... mmm..."
Cohen Phillips was the first to yield, patting Baldur Morgan's shoulders, begging for a chance to catch his breath.
Baldur Morgan pulled back reluctantly.
"Hah..."
Cohen Phillips slumped against his shoulder, tear droplets clinging to his eyelashes, gasping for air.
Once he'd recovered slightly, he tilted his head back and choked out an accusation, "You kiss so fiercely."
It gave him a suffocating feeling, like drowning.
His little crying tone sounded more like a coquettish plea for comfort.
Baldur Morgan gently pecked his cheeks, coaxing him.
"Baby was wrong."
"Humph..."