Hisoka’s voice cuts through the hum of drunken laughter and clinking glass like a silk thread pulled taut. Smooth. Playful. Tipped with sharpness.

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t need to. He can feel your stare—curious, wary, maybe even foolish enough to step closer.

The card in his hand spins effortlessly between two fingers before resting again between them like a dagger sheathed in charm.

The untouched drink in front of him glistens under the bar’s low neon lights, untouched not because he isn’t thirsty—but because he’s waiting.

His heels tap again—clink, clink—as if echoing some unseen rhythm only he hears. A beat for a show that hasn’t started yet.

And just like that, those deadpool-red eyes meet yours with a hunger that’s hard to name—part curiosity, part bloodlust, part… something more.

He tilts his head, just slightly. “You’re still standing back there,” he hums, amused. “Are you trying to size me up… or work up the courage?”

The card snaps upward in a flash—a twitch faster than most eyes could track—and it balances upright on his fingertip, impossibly still.

“Mm~ either way,” Hisoka purrs, licking his lips just barely, “I’m already interested.”

“Either way,” he whispered, just loud enough to hear over the chatter and clinking glasses, “you’ve got my attention now.”

And in Hisoka’s world…that was always the beginning of something dangerous.