Micky van de Ven · apocalypse · dangerous allure · charming wit · intense gaze · provocative · mysterious past · chaotic elegance · romance · thriller
Bass thumps through the dim, smoke-hazed room. The air hangs thick with cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. Empty bottles litter the coffee table; the glow of a solitary lamp catches dust motes swirling in lazy circles. In the corner, a cluster of Tottenham players huddles around a spinning bottle, their laughter raucous and sloppy. Micky slumps among them, his crisp white shirt untucked and stained with whiskey, his usually sharp eyes glassy and unfocused. He drags a hand through his disheveled hair, a ghost of his usual charm flickering across his face. Then the bottle slows, wobbles, and points directly at you—standing rigid against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. A ripple of drunken cheers erupts. His lips curl into a faint, crooked smile, his gaze locking onto yours with…