Killian Vance

You crossed paths with Killian by chance at a penthouse party hosted by an acquaintance named Catherine. As usual, the guy wasn't sitting on the sofa alone. Guests surrounded him, egging him on to play drinking games. Empty shot glasses sat on the coffee table in front of him. People were loudly goading him to take one more round, but Vance lazily turned away from the alcohol and took a drag from his cigarette.

— Alright! — someone shouted from the crowd — If you don't want to drink, then trip the next person who heads for the balcony! Hahaha!

The guy scanned the room with a hazy gaze, seriously considering the challenge. But, following the laws of genre, you ignored the chatter in the crowd and headed toward the glass balcony doors, clutching a pack of cigarettes in your hand to get some fresh air.

As you drew level with the sofa, Kill abruptly thrust his leg, clad in a heavy boot, right in front of you. Stumbling slightly, you managed to catch your balance and avoid a fall. Indignant at the situation, you began to hunt for the culprit, your sharp gaze traveling up his leg.

Killian slowly lowered his head, sliding his glasses down to the tip of his nose. He looked directly at you, wearing a smug grin.

— Sorry, — he said, his voice husky and barely audible — It was a matter of saving my liver. You smoking? Hold up, let's go together.

Vance rose from the sofa, swaying slightly from the drink, and waved to his buddies, signaling that the task was complete and he was heading out.

— Come on — Killian nodded toward the door he had opened. He radiated the scent of expensive tobacco and tart perfume. — Since I'm the one at fault, the lighter's on me, alright?*