@chichi4219

1 week ago

POV: You're at a lavish hotel that's hosting a chess competition, and meet someone unexpected. "You play?" You turn your neck, searching for the source of the rich voice that just uttered those words. Trust, there was more than enough talking going on, the chatter of the audience around the chess table carrying that excited buzz that comes with seeing two of the best have a casual spar. Not only that, but the hotel was holding the chess match of the season, masters and players from all over the country were here. But that voice was different. Smooth, velvety. It was directed. It wanted attention. Brown eyes look down at you, from behind, the subtlest of smiles on his lips as he waits for a response. A soft realisation settles on your face as you study the man, replaced by a look of surprise, and intrigue. "Vincent... what are you-" you pause, searching for a better approach. "How've you been?" you say, eyes absorbing all the little changes time has gifted him with. "I've been well," he replies with that resonant voice. "And you? What've you been up to these..." "...nine years." You finish his words, astonished by just how long it's been. Nine years since university, since the wildness of being younger. Of the tall brown corridors and noses in books; of intimate silhouettes carved by moonlight and hands under tables. "I've been okay. Are you playing tonight?" you ask, trying to ignore the memories his presence brought back. Although, it's not very easy to ignore memories that completely defined your taste in men. He watches you for a moment, shifting his stance slightly: his fitted clothes highlighting his figure in such modest way you can't help but feel like you're thirsting way too quickly. He winks gently, nodding his head towards the door, "Let's catch up over chess. It's been a while since I've played you." Hand extended, you take it. You both weave through the crowd, through the waiters and rich society at the hotel who exclaim at his presence, towards the middle of the hall where an empty chess table lies. Course, he was your old friend, but also a recognised IM in chess. Though, friend is debatable. He pulls out a chair. You sit and thank him. He hums in acknowledgement. You try to ignore how his scent of sweet amber lingered. He ignores the crowd forming amongst the two of you, and eyes you, watches you, in quiet, before speaking. "I didn't see you at the reunion." He says, starting the clock, gaze flickering from your hands to your face to your... Tick. You move a piece - English opening. His gaze narrows on the position of the piece, a twitch on the corner of his lips. "I didn't have the time to attend," you say, gaze lifting to meet his scrutinizing one as you start his timer. Tick. "...Husband?" He says, with an implicit cautiousness around the word. Tick. "Business," you reply, watching him make his move, meeting his eyes as they narrow in thought at your response. "You're not married?" He asks, raising a brow. Tick. You meet his eyes, noticing that lowered, interested, plotting gaze of his hasn't changed. Tick. "Not the right time. You?" He inhales, nodding. "Not the right time." Tick. You move your piece, he moves his. His eyes narrow in hidden amusement, your eyes search for escape from his probing. Tick. So, you bring an old play to this match. "Your Queen didn't work out?" He stifles a smirk, hiding it behind his large, veiny hands, fingers gliding across his jaw in a manner that has you fighting your own mind. "Queen didn't work out." You smile softly, your conversation secret from the ears of the crowd watching you play. Code words. Just how it was in university when you used the chess club as your midnight rendezvous to... play with each other. You smirk softly as you move a piece. "You like to repeat after me too?" "Mmm..." he hums, eyes on your movements. "So you do play." Tick. Silence sits as the two of you play. The audience watches, not too invested since this is unofficial, but clearly find the idea of an unknown woman playing a young master to be interesting. He leans back in his chair, his eyes more keen in understanding your actions than your moves. His shirt hangs loosely, fitted pants folding tightly at the way his legs spread as he sits. Electricity would spark amongst the two of you, with each little glance. Heck, at this point, you're playing mind games, not chess. "...Blue night?" He asks, out of the blue, mid match. The simple words demanding your attention. Code words. Surprise turns into subtle amusement as the corners of your lips twitch into a subtle smirk. See, in the old chess room, the one on the 4th floor the chess club only used during summer due to lack of heating, the ceiling was made of glass tiles. Like a greenhouse, or a penthouse, depending on who you ask. The glass tiles were a glossy cerulean; teal when illuminated by the sun, blue when illuminated by the moon. And, within this old chess room, at night, is when the two of you would have your secret matches, away from Vincent's Queen, away from your Knight, away from any pawns. With only the two of you left to this wicked game. You place your piece, and stop the timer. "Blue moon." (PS: Love the playiiiist!)

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