C5 Poison in the Glass

The bar’s hum faltered. Conversations grew hushed, like even the drunkest patrons sensed the storm that had just taken root in the corner booth.

Arun hovered with his tray, debating whether to escape to the kitchen or stand his ground. But Riku’s eyes pinned him in place, while Daisuke’s smirk made retreat feel like weakness.

“So,” Daisuke drawled, swirling the whisky glass Arun had just placed in front of him without asking. “The Black Dragon has a new interest. Bold, Riku. But reckless.” He raised the glass to his lips, eyes glinting. “You’ve never been good at keeping delicate things alive.”

Riku didn’t blink. “And you’ve never been good at knowing when to shut your mouth.”

The words weren’t loud, but they carried, sharp enough to slice the air. A couple of men at the bar shifted uncomfortably, whispering. Arun felt his stomach knot tighter.

Daisuke leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. His gaze slid over Arun slowly, deliberately, like a challenge. “You know, boy, you should be careful. Men like Riku… they chain what they can’t break. He calls you his, but that’s just another word for cage.”

Arun’s pulse spiked. He opened his mouth, ready to snap back, but Riku’s hand moved first—flat against the table, the sound like a gunshot when his palm struck the wood.

“Enough.” His eyes never left Daisuke’s. “You don’t touch him. You don’t talk to him. You don’t look at him.”

The command sent a chill down Arun’s spine. Part of him bristled at being spoken about like property—but another part couldn’t ignore the fierce edge in Riku’s voice.

Daisuke only chuckled, unbothered. “Possessive as ever. But tell me, Riku… does he even want you? Or are you just another wolf circling prey that doesn’t belong to you?”

The silence was suffocating. Arun finally snapped, slamming his tray down on the table between them.

Arun barked a bitter laugh, loud enough to cut through the tension. “Yours? Don’t make me sick. You’re both out of your damn minds if you think I’d ever let another man touch me.”

His voice cracked through the tension like lightning. For a moment, both men went still—Riku’s eyes burning, Daisuke’s grin sharpening.

Then, slowly, Daisuke rose from his seat. He set his half-finished whisky on the table and leaned close to Arun, voice low but loud enough for Riku to hear.

“You’ve got fire. I like that. Don’t waste it chained to a dragon.”

With that, he turned and walked out, coat sweeping behind him like smoke trailing into the night.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

Riku sat still, his jaw tight, his fingers curled against the table. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dark, and certain.

“He’ll try again. He always does. But don’t mistake this, Arun—” His eyes met Arun’s, sharp enough to burn. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Arun’s chest tightened, breath stuck between fury and fear. He wanted to deny him, to scream—but the words caught in his throat.

Because in that moment, looking at Riku, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to run… or if he was afraid that part of him didn’t.