Unlike Poles | One

When Kiba first sees her, there's music blasting.

She's sitting alone at the bar, an untouched drink before her. She keeps lifting a hand to flick her dark bangs out of her eyes, and it is the flash of silver at her wrist that first catches his eye, that makes him focus and give her the customary once-over.

His eyes travel over the short skirt, makeup, glittering fingernails. Only the conservative sweater wrapped around her slender shoulders throws him off, sets her apart from the usual chicks that draw him in.

Well, it will be nice to talk to a girl who isn't calling for attention for once. With a smirk, Kiba saunters over, taking the seat next to her and calling for a drink. His expression is relaxed as he sits back and waits for her to check him out, just as he knows she will.

Sure enough, her pale gaze eventually darts to his face, down to his body, his face, and back to the crowd. A flash of irritation passes through him at the aura of disinterest she exudes, as if her poise and good breeding counts in a place like this.

"Hey, you all alone tonight, kitten?" he drawls, letting loose a slightly feral smile, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the counter.

She turns fully to look at him, studying him, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Hello," she says coolly, a small tilting her lips as she appraises him. She doesn't make any move to touch him, to lean forward to bare her cleavage, to engage in some dirty talk; her smile suggests polite interest and nothing more.

She holds out her hand, a gesture completely out of place in the dancing, sweaty crowd of young people. "I'm Hinata."

For the first time, he notices the calluses on his hands, the bitten fingernails, the dark tan of his skin next to the glowing white of hers. He takes it as a challenge—Kiba loves challenges.

"I'm Kiba." His smile widens in surprise at the firm grip of her soft hand, amused by the look of distrust that flits across her face. But he is caught up in her voice—sweet, high, confident. The kind of faux confident that suggests she is actually nervous as hell and trying to keep her voice from shaking.

How cute.

"Don't come here often, do you, Hinata?" Kiba keeps his voice carefully casual, employing the I-don't-give-a-damn drawl that always brings girls flocking. He already knows what her answer will be though. It's obvious close-up; one look at the uneasy way she continually smoothens her short skirt and her wide-eyed looks at the noisy, excited people around her tells him what he wants to know.

"Not really, I'm just here with some of my friends." Her laugh is embarrassed, and she keeps fiddling with her fingers rather annoyingly.

Kiba nods absently as his focus drifts to her glossy, enticing lips; how she will look like without that sweater; how she will feel without anything on at all. He smirks at the thought, swiveling his chair so he is facing the bar, staring aimlessly at his almost-empty glass as he gradually loses interest in this pretty but too-proper girl sitting beside him.

Kiba doesn't even like shy girls anyway. He greatly prefers the confident, shameless ones who grind their hips against his when they dance and fall on him when they're drunk and follow him back to his house, making out the whole time. He's good at sweet talking, but these girls don't require actual conversation, which is a pretty much a necessity for a guy who refuses to commit.

Movement at the corner of his eye makes him turn. Kiba watches, amused, as Hinata slips off the stool and dithers for a bit, clearly torn about how to reach the exit of the club. Her steps are hesitant as she edges along the side of the building, keeping close to the walls, shying away from close contact with anyone.

Kiba follows the dark-haired girl out, his interest renewing at her amusing awkwardness. He shoves roughly past drunken guys with groping hands, tipsy girls with half-lidded eyes, not even noticing the familiar smell of sweat and sex thick in the air. He decides that maybe he kind of likes her after all; she's such a novelty, a high-class little girl in such a sleazy nightclub.

He wonders if she'll be different—special—in bed. Or maybe all women are the same once you get them hot and bothered, eager to please and always begging for more.

"Hey, where're you off too, kitten?" He lays a hand on her shoulder, making her squeak in surprise. "Sure you know your way around here? It can get pretty damn dangerous some nights."

Her eyes shine in the light of the moon as she stares up at him and stiffens under his grip. "I'll be fine, thank you," she replies, polite as always as she subtly takes a few steps back so that his hand slides off her shoulder.

"I'm serious, y'know. All those rapists and muggers, they love places like this, and they love defenseless little girls even more," Kiba reiterates irritably, his smile twisting momentarily into a grimace. He just wants a reaction, to ruffle this composed girl. For some reason, he wants her to prove him wrong, that not all filthy rich kids think they're so much better than everyone else.

"That's quite alright," she repeats, taking another step back. "I'll call my driver to pick me up."

Now genuinely annoyed, Kiba sneers and shrugs. "Just trying to help, alright? Guess I'll see you around, Hinata." He spits her name out condescendingly, as if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Rejection of any sort doesn't sit well with a self-proclaimed ladies' man like him.

Without waiting for a response, he stalks away, already on the prowl for another girl who will appreciate his loving more.