Neon Lights

14

Roseword Hotel.

It had to be fancy considering the name, and it was. Immediately, Callisto felt out of place. Before him, a tall building stood with floors as high as he could see, an entrance of revolving doors and a red carpet decorating the stairs leading to it. There was a chauffeur by the doors, standing there, adorned in their black uniform with golden buttons. While the person should have looked like they could melt away into the background, unnoticed, the stark bubblegum pink hair colour and eyes that reflected the trends of having neon irises made him stand out more than usual. Even meeting the person's gaze from just a few steps away from the building had sent a flutter of nervousness in Callisto's stomach.

This type of place didn't really pop into his head when Draven contacted him.

Was this even in that man's style? All posh and expensive — when all Callisto remembered him by from their youth was Draven favouring his worn out hoodie that had sported holes around different parts of his cloth, and baggy clothes that had seen better days with how ill-fit they had been on his body.

People grow up, that was true. But to think they could change this much in just five years was terrifying, almost, to think about.

Maybe because Callisto still felt like he was stuck in the same place as he had been all those years back.

Shaking his head, he walked into the lobby of the hotel, eyes casted downward even as he pushed past the rotating glass doors. He didn't dare to look to see if his fingers had left smudges on the windows. And... the inside was as intimidating as the outside.

The floors looked as if someone had polished them on a daily basis, and if Callisto bent down, he could probably see his own reflection on it. Murmurs of the people around him had his heart skipping a beat, daring him to glance at his surroundings. Everywhere was brightly lit in an almost yellow hue to the lighting, casting its illumination on every corner of the large lobby.

Some people were lingering by the sofas that looked like they were made out of the softest materials in a deep red shade, others were by the receptionist and most were heading to a place further into the lobby and to the elevators. The air smelt weirdly different once he was here as well. It was almost floral-like, the smell, wafting into his nose and sending another wave of anxiety to curl into his chest.

To the chandeliers sparkling under the lights hanging from the ceilings, to the flower plants that he had never seen before decorating certain corners and areas, everything screamed sophistication that certainly did not fit with Callisto. For a brief second, he almost considered plucking his phone out of his jean pockets and to double check if this was indeed the place Draven was supposed to meet with him.

If he had the option, he would have turned around and left.

Shaking his head, he forced his feet to walk to the reception desk, a long rounded one that had almost a golden shade to it decorated with black wordings to let people know what that place was for. Behind the desk was a woman with her black uniform and red tie, her smile firmly on her place as her neon-yellow eyes met his the second he tried approaching her.

Was everyone working here had artificial irises?

Or maybe he was one of the few odd ones out who thought that the trend was ridiculous and maybe even too outwardly.

Just as he was about to reach the reception desk, someone bumped into him. Shoulders to a firm chest, Callisto was pushed to the side a few steps. In an attempt to stabilise himself, he forcibly crossed his legs out of instinct, one foot over the other. He wasn't sure why he did that — but the pain that flared from his right ankle as his weight unevenly distributed themselves and forced his leg to bend awkwardly had him hissing under his breath.