Oneshot is based off this fanart I made of Wil, hehe... if you want to see more art, it's on my Instagram @/sheeraayame 😌

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The restaurant swelled with clinking cutlery and overlapping chatter. Dimmed lights hung from the ceilings like jewels, coating the restaurant in a dark, reddish hue, and every surface was polished and shined to a pristine quality.

Waiters rushed to and fro with metal trays and bottles of wine, noise rattled through the kitchen doors when they swung open and closed, and the people dining filled every booth and seat with expensive smiles and charming glances.

The only empty seat was the one across from Dark.

Dark Edwards, a stern and reserved man, sat with his fingers tapping impatiently on the crimson, cloth-covered table. He'd gotten himself ready for tonight—dressed himself in his signature, all black suit with velvet collar; slicked his hair back, which revealed the sharp cut of his jaw and the intensity of his eyes.
He tilted his phone on top of the table, and when it glowed to life, there were still no messages. No signs of his date.

He sighed, and he opened his phone, swiping through his contacts. A few moments later, the phone was at his ear, and the purring tone of the call filled his senses.

Dark glanced around the restaurant as he waited for a response, watching the other dinner guests through disinterested eyes. Glasses clinked, smiles dazzled and jewelry glittered, and the smoky aroma of food wafted in the air.

He glanced the other way, towards a brighter side of the restaurant. It was the barside, lit in a way that boasted its endless array of fine alcohols. There was a commotion stirring from there—a swell of whistles and murmurs—but with the divider that separated the bar from the restaurant, he couldn't see what the cause for it was.

He caught a slurring laugh—a flick of chocolate-colored hair and something sparkling and red. But before he could try to discern what, or who, it was, the call picked up, and Dark's attention snapped onto his phone.

"Mark," he said, turning back in his seat. "Where are you?"

"Look, Dark, I'm—sorry, but I can't go tonight," said Mark through the line.

"What?" said Dark, brows furrowed. "You told me you were free today." His fingers tightened over his phone. "We both, agreed to meet here a week ago."

A sigh came through the line, and Dark's lips curled into a frown.

"I... I know..." said Mark. "But..."

"But what?" said Dark with a scoff, leaning back in his seat. A few dinner guests looked his way—or maybe he was imagining it—but he couldn't care less. "I value my time, Mark. I thought Xilef told you this. I'm a busy man."

"Yeah, a-and... well, that's..." Mark started.

Dark sighed, and he rested his elbows on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. The chatter around him rose, and murmurs of interest swelled in the restaurant, but he was too involved in the call to notice.

"You can't handle that, can you?" he said under his breath. Something sank in his chest as he said the words aloud, but it was the truth. Even after all this time trying to find someone, they all ended up leaving. They couldn't handle the thought of being with someone like him—a man who had a full plate, with priorities left and right.

Priorities that didn't revolve around that single person.

"I..." Mark's voice wavered on the line. "I just feel out of your league, Dark..."

Dark bowed his head and rested his forehead in his hand with a huff. "You could've at least told me," he said. "You shouldn't have made me wait until the last minute."

"I—" Mark sighed. "I know, that's shitty of me—"

"Goodbye, Mark," said Dark.

And he hung up without another word.

He set his phone to the side and huffed, irritation simmering under his skin. His fingers itched to release their anger out on something.

Instead, Dark took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled.

"And this," he said to himself quietly, "is why I don't let Xilef find me a date."

He shook his head, and he glanced around the restaurant, searching for a waiter to flag over.

"I mean, this is ridiculous."

He spotted a waiter heading near his table, but before he could raise a hand to get their attention, he noticed the eyes on him.

No... not on him...

His brows furrowed as he gazed at the other dinner guests, puzzled with the sudden interest in their eyes.

They were looking at someone else.

Dark glanced towards the barside, eyes running along the tall, circular tables on the other side of the divider—the side he could see. He followed the other guests' gazes and landed eyes on a figure that stunned him so intensely he swore the breath knocked out of him.

At first glance, he thought it was a woman.

Long, straightened brown hair cascaded down his neck and shoulders, with the ends dyed a deep shade of pink. He had strong, well-defined arms, with his elbows resting against the table and a glass of whiskey in his hand. When he took a sip of his glass, Dark spotted the man's curly pink moustache.

Dark carefully inhaled, eyes running down the curve of his muscular body. A sparkling, deep red dress dripped down his olive skin, parting into slits at the hips. The stilettos he wore brought out the definition of his calves, his brawny thighs.

Dark's skin burned, and it wasn't until he glanced back up that he realized the man was looking at him.

No, staring at him.

Dark carefully inhaled, the noise of the restaurant fading into the backdrop.

They met eyes.

Red lips curled into a coy smile, and red-shadowed lids went half-lidded.

Dark swore his heart skipped a beat.

He sucked in a breath and turned away, escaping those dangerously inviting eyes. Even with his head turned, he could feel the other's gaze burning through his skin with interest.

A waitress stopped by Dark's table—hesitating for a moment at the sight of the red-dressed man—before glancing down at him.

"Are you still waiting for your date, sir?" she asked.

Dark shook his head, and he carefully waved a hand, his spirits falling again. "I'll just have the check, please," he said.

"Well, we can't have that," slurred a voice behind him.
Dark glanced over, meeting eyes with the man that seemed to stun the entire restaurant. When he started to head his way, his heart sped up.

Every eye followed the man as he walked up to Dark's table, his hips swaying, heels clicking, dress fluttering. He leaned over the table so the waitress could hear him better—flaunted his thighs through his dress in the process—and smiled at her in a way that made her blush red.

"Give us a few minutes," he said with a wink.

The waitress nodded, and she rushed off, heading towards another table.

Dark watched her go, but before he could catch her attention again, the other man cleared his throat. Dark glanced up, and when he met eyes with the man again—this time, closer—he went hot under his collar. His suit began to feel like it had too many layers.

"Why don't you and I have a drink together?" said the man with a smirk, eyes half-lidded.

Dark sucked in a breath, and he pulled his eyes away. He could feel the other guests in the restaurant staring at them, absorbed with their interaction. Everything seemed to quiet, the croon of the jazz music filtering throughout the restaurant.

Dark spared a glance up at the man and sent him a smile.

"No, thank you," he said after a while, straightening his suit. "I'll pass."

The man rose a brow, and he hummed, his smirk widening. He put a hand on his hip, long, red nails running up along his dress.

"No one's ever rejected me before," he said airily, eyes half-lidded. "Especially when I'm out like this."

The man motioned a hand towards himself for emphasis, and Dark couldn't help but indulge in another full sweep of his figure. He carefully inhaled and leaned back in his seat, meeting the man's eyes.

"Senseless men," said Dark, returning the other's seductive air, "wouldn't reject you." He carefully rose a brow, running his eyes slowly down the man's figure.

"You look like a gold digger," said Dark. "So, if you're just here to talk your way into my wallet, well—" His eyes flicked up onto the man's. "I'm not interested."

"Ohhh, ouch," said the man with a smirk. "You've got some bite, don't you?"

"That's what you need in a world like this," said Dark. "Now if you'll ex—"

The man hummed, and he slid into the seat across from Dark, his eyes never once leaving him. Dark never thought he'd meet eyes with someone who gazed so intensely like he did, but here he was, feeling hot and flustered under someone else's electrifying stare.

"—cuse... me..."

Even the guests around them—who were still watching, subtly—were affected by the heat building between them. The dimness of the restaurant wasn't helping matters, either.

The man rested an elbow against the table and leaned forward, running his eyes down Dark's suited figure.

"What's your name?" he slurred.

Dark sucked in a breath, and he smoothed his hands over his suit.

"I was just about to leave," he said, standing up.

"Stay," said the man, and something in Dark's chest pulled at the simple command. Pulled him back towards the table, back down into his seat. The man's eyes darkened with satisfaction at the simple gesture, and he smiled, tilting his head. A few strands of his hair fell before his eyes.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation on the phone..." said the man carefully, voice low. "Forgive me for eavesdropping, but it's hard to look away when there's a man as gorgeous as you sitting all by himself."

Dark's face grew even hotter, and he hoped to all hell that he wasn't visibly blushing. The man before him was intense, and commanding, and he enjoyed every bit of it.

The man brought his hand out and ran his nails along the side of Dark's arm, leaving shivers in their wake. His eyes glittered.

"I'm Wilford Warfstache," he introduced himself. "That being said, I'm no gold digger." He rose a brow. "For a man as fashionable as yourself, it's a shame you don't recognize me."

"Am I supposed to know who you are?" said Dark.

Wilford chuckled, and he held Dark's gaze with a look so brazen that would've had him breathless if there weren't anyone else around.

"I don't know who you are, either," said Wil. "But I can tell you're a man aligned to power."

Dark scoffed with amusement at that. "Everyone in here," he said, "has some sort of power."

"Mm, yes, I know," said Wilford. He rested his chin in his hand and rose a brow. "But none of them are alone, like you are."

Dark narrowed his eyes at that, and Wilford smiled, eyes going half-lidded.

"How many men have you had to trample to get where you are now?" he breathed, running his eyes down Dark's figure. "Quite a lot, I'm sure. You seem the kind of man to do so."

"You don't know anything about me," said Dark.

Wilford smirked. "Well, let me get to know you," he said. "What's your name, handsome?"

Dark sighed, and he gave in, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. He folded his hands in his lap.

"Dark," he said. "Dark Edwards."

Wilford rose his brows and nodded, satisfied. "Well, I've definitely heard your name from somewhere... you own a company, don't you?"

"Edwards Enterprises," said Dark. "Luxury car manufacturing."

"Ohhh, yes," said Wilford, smirking with amusement. "You businessmen and putting your name in things." He rose a brow, eyes going half-lidded. "Tell me, is your ego as big as your d—"

"Gentlemen," said the waitress from earlier, walking up to the table. "Would you be interested in any drinks or entrees tonight?"

Dark cleared his throat, and Wilford sent him an imploring glance.

"Well?" prompted Wil. "You were supposed to have a nice dinner date." He smirked. "It'd be such a shame to waste a night like this away..."

Dark considered Wil a moment—narrowed his eyes at him—before giving into the offer. He relaxed in his seat and breathed out through the nose.

"If we could have a couple menus..." he said to the waitress.

She nodded, and she headed off again, leaving Dark and Wilford alone at the table. The eyes of the other guests were still on them, but their intensity had settled. As soon as they realized Wilford's interest was absorbed solely in the man before him, they knew they didn't have a chance.

Dark turned back to Wilford and considered him a moment. He was still let down that his original date stood him up, but Fate seemed to have other ideas for him. And he wasn't disappointed. Now that he sat across from Wilford, he could take the sight of him in greater detail.

Hazel eyes glittered beneath his thick lashes and dark eyeshadow, transfixed on Dark like he was the only person in the room. Stubble lined his jaw, and beneath that pink moustache, his full, red lips softly parted.

Dark didn't realize how long he was staring until those lips curled into a smirk, and Wilford's chuckle brought him back to his senses. When his gaze flicked up, Wilford was staring at him through half-lidded eyes. Something deep pulled in his belly when he met his eyes—something hot and heavy, and he wanted more of it.

"You want to kiss me so bad, don't you?" breathed Wilford, a challenging look in his eye.

Dark sucked in a breath through his teeth, his face, his body growing hot. His fingers twitched in his lap, and he held Wilford's gaze. He narrowed his eyes at him.

"And what if I do?" he said under his breath.

It was Wilford's turn to be flustered, and he carefully inhaled, face flushing with color as he bit his lip.

Dark inwardly smiled at his small victory and continued like he didn't say anything.

"You said you're surprised I don't recognize you," he said, vaguely motioning a hand towards the other. "What do you do?"

Wilford straightened himself and hummed, the interest in his eyes building the longer he spoke to Dark. It was something foreign to the businessman—to be able to see an expression like that on someone else's face. In all the dates he'd attempted, it was always a one-sided effort. In the end, they either left, showed disinterest, or stayed only for the money.
Of course, he still wasn't sure if Wilford would be like that, but something told him this time would be different.

Wilford ran a hand through his hair and smiled. "I'm a fashion designer," he said. "Maybe Candyman Couture might ring a few bells."

When Dark shook his head, Wilford smirked and tilted his head, hair shifting around his neck and shoulders like silk. God, that look could kill a man.

"How about Nova?" said Wilford, raising a brow.

Dark's brows furrowed a moment—still not familiar—until the name clicked in the back of his head. The suit he wore was Nova brand.

Wilford picked up on Dark's realization and chuckled.

"I designed this dress," he said, sweeping a hand over his body. "And—" He waved a hand at Dark. "I designed the suit you're wearing."

"I'm impressed," said Dark, gazing at Wilford. "And, though I'm surprised, I really shouldn't be." He gave a sly smile. "In that dress, you look absolutely ravishing."

"Oh, I know I'm ravishing, darling," sang Wilford with a wink. "But thanks for the reminder."

By the time the waitress came back around, and they filled their drinks and orders, the date was going smoothly. Dark certainly didn't expect it to go so well, but he wasn't complaining.

Wilford was delightful. He was magnetizing.

    And while there wasn't much they had in common, they had a lot of overlap. They both designed and created things: Dark with his cars, and Wilford with his fashion. While they were entirely different products, the creative process was relatively the same, and they understood each other's ideas.

    By the time they finished up their food and dessert, Dark believed it was too good to be true. He figured something had to go wrong eventually.

    Like maybe Wilford really was just out for his money, or maybe he was a fake. Or, perhaps, someone even paid him to act like he was into Dark.

    When Dark's thoughts started derailing on that path, he quickly caught himself. He sounded ridiculous, worrying so much over a single date. A single person.

    He'd never worried about his other dates, though, he realized. By the end of their time together, he'd brush them off without a care when they showed no interest; sometimes he'd even be eager to leave.

    But with Wilford, it was the opposite. Beyond his attractiveness, he was smart and... fun. Within the span of a few hours, he'd gotten Dark wrapped around his finger, hoping—praying—that this wouldn't be a one time deal. That their night together wouldn't be over, not yet.

    The waitress returned with the check, and as she set it on the table, Dark reached for it. Before he could grab it, though, Wilford did, setting it on his lap.

    Surprise rippled through Dark like a shockwave. No one had ever paid for his dinner before.

    "Wil..." he said. "You don't have to do that, let me—"

    "No, no," slurred Wilford with a smile, producing a platinum card. "You've been absolutely lovely, Dark."

    Wilford set the card in the bill holder. He handed it to the waitress with a smile, and she took it, heading back away.

    Dark, for once, didn't know what to say. "I... thank you."

    Wilford smiled, and he winked. "Of course, darling," he said.

    He rested his elbows against the table and leaned forward, eyes going darker and half-lidded. The heat between them coiled again at that gaze, and Dark carefully inhaled, searching the other's face.

    "If you're free," breathed Wilford, running circles into the table with his nail, "I'd love to continue our date elsewhere."

    Dark knew exactly what he was insinuating. And the offer made his breath waver—made the pull in his stomach return, hotter than ever.

    He exhaled, and as he leaned forward, he made a show of glancing down at Wilford's lips, the even rhythm of his breaths building the heat between them. Energy thrilled under his skin.

    "My place," breathed Dark, "or yours?"

    Wilford smirked, and he tilted his head, his hair falling before his eyes. How badly Dark wanted to touch him now... to run his fingers through his silky hair and kiss his lips, or feel him beneath his perfectly-crafted dress.

    To see how he'd look under him.

    Wilford held Dark's gaze, smiled at him, and said simply:

    "You decide."

...

Thank you so much for reading and have a wonderful day ;)

Love, Sh. A. xoxo