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Parties at Maki and Euijoo’s had a special way of transforming a cramped apartment into a place where, for a few hours, nothing bad could happen.
That evening, about ten of them were crammed into the living room: some slumped on the couch, others sitting on the floor, their backs against the edge of the couch or their legs crossed around the coffee table littered with half-eaten snacks and cans. A playlist played in the background, not too loud, just enough to fill the silences between bursts of laughter. K and Fuma were nestled against each other in the corner of the couch, with that way they had occupied the space together without even thinking about it, as if their bodies had long since forgotten how to do otherwise.
Euijoo, for his part, was sitting cross-legged near the coffee table, a glass in his hands that he hadn’t really touched in a while. He was casting sidelong glances at the couple cuddling on the couch, a sad, pensive look reminding him that he was single.
There was no shortage of topics of conversation, but Euijoo didn’t participate in any of them, except when the topic was about college.
They’re talking about how the semester is almost over, since exam season is coming up and they’ll soon have to focus on studying. “All that’s way behind me now,” K laughs. “I still remember how you’d dive headfirst into your notebooks and flashcards,” Fuma says in his syrupy voice. “You were valedictorian, and yet you stressed out over every exam,” he finishes, reassuring him.
Everyone is snickering. Euijoo knows this situation all too well: he goes through exactly the same thing every exam season. He can’t think of anything but his studying.
Or at least, that’s what he likes to make people believe. For several months now, something else has been occupying his thoughts without paying a penny in rent. And of course, it was Maki who shattered the fragile balance of his thoughts by dropping Nicholas’s name like a stone thrown into a calm lake.
To say that no one knows Euijoo has a crush on one of his classmates would be a lie. He’s too shy to even bring up the subject in front of so many people, yet he could describe every feature of Nicholas’s face in detail for hours on end without ever stopping. “Hey, Euijoo, the school year’s almost over—how’s it going with Nicholas?” Maki asks, a hint of mischief in his voice. “You think it’s that easy?” he retorts. He holds back from telling him that he’s not like him, but he’s not in the mood to compliment him any further. “It can’t be that hard to talk to him,” he teases him again. He suggests inviting him to the last party they’re throwing before exams. K joins the conversation, “It wasn’t that hard with Fuma. You can do it, Euijoo!” he encourages him to cheer him up. He’s heard so much about this boy that he could almost draw him from memory, without ever having seen him. Euijoo smiles weakly and changes the subject. A glimmer of hope rises in his heart—will he find the courage to go talk to the boy who makes his heart race?
The university campus stretches for several kilometers, but by senior year, everyone knows their way around, and everyone has their favorite spots. Euijoo’s favorite spot on campus is a place where he can see the entire campus of his college in a 360-degree view. The campus is full of trees. The season is still a bit gray, the weather gloomy. In a few weeks, this same campus will see the trees’ foliage turn green, flowers will color the flower beds, and the sun will bathe this place in light.
Sitting there, camera in hand, he spots Nicholas chatting with his friends. His cheerful and eccentric personality instantly warms the atmosphere. Euijoo photographs him from various angles as he shifts positions, when his smile reveals all his teeth, when he runs his hand through his hair—which sends an electric shock down his spine.
Too preoccupied watching his eyes—which he’s trying to capture with the zoom at maximum, he doesn’t notice him turning his head and casting a graceful glance his way. In a split second, his camera is stowed away in its carrying case, hoping he didn’t catch him taking the photo. Euijoo doesn't know if he's been spotted, and that question lingers in his mind long after Nicholas has looked away.
Even without his camera, he can’t help but take him in. He’s wearing a loose-fitting, powder-pink knit polo shirt with a subtle openwork pattern, layered over a white shirt whose collar peeks out casually. The polo shirt, clearly too big for him, falls off his shoulders with a calculated nonchalance typical of those who know exactly what they’re doing when they get dressed. Underneath, faded gray cargo jeans with technical cutouts and visible topstitching; the kind of piece that’s as much workwear as it is fashion. On his feet, matching sneakers in the same shades of dark gray. On his head, a black cap adorned with colorful buttons of all sizes, embellished with long chains of multicolored beads that fell down along his face —an eccentric, almost childlike touch that contrasts with the rest of the outfit without ever throwing it off balance. On his fingers, several rings worn with ease.
The room where the art history class was held was one of those slightly outdated rooms that universities keep around without really knowing why: light-colored walls slightly yellowed by time, a whiteboard too large for its intended purpose, and tables arranged in a U-shape that forced the students to face each other without ever really looking at one another. This room has seen hundreds, if not thousands, of students from all walks of life pass through its doors over the past few years.
Euijoo sat at the far right of the U, as usual, where his gaze could wander without anyone really noticing. Nicholas, on the other hand, sat diagonally to his left—not across from him, not next to him, but at that precise angle that forced Euijoo, if he wanted to see him, to turn his head just enough for it to be noticeable.
The art history class is the only course the two boys have in common. Euijoo, an applied arts student majoring in photography, and Nicholas, a fine arts student majoring in painting, were required to take this class in order to graduate at the end of the year.
Every month, Euijoo would cast discreet, longing glances in the boy’s direction. Not once did Nicholas notice him. Not a single glance, not a single smile. At least, that's what Euijoo thought. Yet Nicholas couldn’t count on the fingers of one hand the number of times his eyes had also fallen on this boy, who made it a point of honor to always sit in the same seat.
Nicholas wasn’t looking for him; he simply noticed him over time, the way you notice something that stands out without making a sound. Euijoo is sitting at the far end of the U-shaped seating area, his shoulders slightly hunched, a pen between his fingers that he didn’t seem to be using. He’s wearing a black bomber jacket with colorful patches sewn onto the sleeves—a touch of personality on someone who, at first glance, seemed to be doing everything possible to avoid having any, or to blend into the crowd. Underneath, a gray hoodie whose collar peeks out casually, as if the outfit had dressed itself without him. His auburn hair, slightly tousled, falls across his forehead with a carelessness that was probably not at all careless. A thin silver necklace disappears into the neckline of his T-shirt. He has the kind of face you want to look at longer than politeness allows—not because he’s trying to be looked at, but precisely because he isn’t.
Nicholas never returned the look Euijoo gave him, because Euijoo never wanted him to know he was watching him. Nicholas preferred to stay focused on the art history class, knowing how important it was for his graduation.
Before the end of class, the professor let his marker drop against the edge of the whiteboard with a small clack that pulled the room back to attention.
"In pairs," he said, as if the word alone was enough —and for a second, it was. A beat of silence, then the room exhaled all at once. The chairs shifted. Someone muttered "pairs?" under their breath two seats down. A few students were already turning to their neighbors, the silent negotiation beginning before the instructions were even finished.
"You will create a work in your respective majors," the professor continued, unbothered by the low current of movement rippling through the room, "using the traditional techniques of that art form." He paused, surveying them with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had just complicated everyone's afternoon. "Impress me."
The noise rose the moment he turned back to the board. Euijoo hadn't moved.
How is Euijoo going to find a partner in a class where he doesn’t know anyone and doesn’t talk to anyone?
Euijoo is the first to leave class, since he’s closest to the exit. Still reeling from the instructions for the one and only final assignment in this class, his mind is racing. “I’m never going to pass this class,” he keeps telling himself. His downward spiral doesn’t end there. A few minutes after class ends, he runs into Nicholas in the hallway. Leaning against his locker, their eyes lock. A faint smile begins to form on Nicholas’s lips. Euijoo bumps into a few people, unable to take his eyes off his crush.
“Maki, how am I supposed to find a partner?” he begins in an exasperated tone, before muttering under his breath, “I don't know anyone.” Maki giggles immediately as Euijoo finishes his monologue. “Stop lying, everyone knows you know someone,” he explains, a tone in his voice that’s more than just mocking—it’s revealing, “even people who’ve never seen you could tell.”
Maki is right. Euijoo knows someone. It’s just that he doesn’t want to do this assignment with his crush. But does he really have a choice? Euijoo’s brain suddenly clicks, and he realizes that if he doesn’t have a partner to turn in this final, graded, mandatory assignment, he won’t be able to pass the course. Failing a course means having to take a makeup exam, and that’s out of the question for him.
“Give me a Plan B, I beg you, Maki!” is what Euijoo dreams of shouting at him, shaking him and begging him to get him out of this situation. He can already hear an echo shouting back at him, “The only solution is to talk to him,” which will never happen.
Maki kept talking—he was saying something about his own midterm, some story about an exam he hadn’t opened in three weeks—when something clicked in Euijoo’s mind with the unpleasant clarity of a realization he would have preferred not to have.
He had photos of Nicholas.
Dozens, maybe more—he’d taken so many on campus. At moments when Nicholas wasn’t looking, wasn’t posing, simply wasn’t aware. Nicholas laughed too loudly for the space around him. Nicholas from behind, his face turned three-quarters toward someone the camera hadn’t focused on. Nicholas stood still, his gaze fixed on something off-camera, with an expression he only wore when he thought no one was watching.
Euijoo didn’t answer Maki. He grabbed his bag and left the apartment.
Euijoo spent two hours at the media center—two hours selecting, cropping, and applying filters that aged the photos just enough to give them an old-fashioned, painterly look. Something that looked like art, or at least like what an art history professor might accept as such for a final assignment.
“It’s not entirely dishonest, is it?” he told himself. The photos were good. Nicholas was a good subject—he’d always known that.
The next step: he then headed straight to the darkroom without stopping.
He spends two hours in the darkroom developing the photos he has just printed. The room is plunged into darkness; only a red light illuminates the faces of the people inside who have come to pick up their own prints.
Several groups of people enter and exit the room in a never-ending stream. The hallway running alongside the room seems even busier than a beehive in full swing. Euijoo pays no attention to the people around him, too focused on developing his photos.
Nicholas arrives at the door of the red room, visibly out of breath, his hair a mess. The boy he’s looking for is indeed in the room. The friend who tipped him off was right, though he wasn’t sure where he’d need to go so quickly.
With quiet steps—though the ambient noise might mask his heavy breathing—he approaches Euijoo, who has his back to him. When he’s level with him, he leans in close to his ear, “You’re very talented,” letting his breath brush against Euijoo’s ear, “at photography, I mean,” he chuckles as he stands up, taking a moment to inhale the scent of the photographer’s floral shampoo.
His fragile plan is already falling apart before the structure is even finished. Euijoo freezes, unable to react. “Even when you're sneaking around, you look pretty good!” accompanied by a hand resting on Euijoo’s shoulder, is the final straw. His body jerks, and his hand knocks over a tub of water where he’d been developing his photos.
His eyes meet Nicholas’s. He tries to come up with an explanation, but he can’t. “It’s nothing, I’ve always known I was a good model,” Nicholas smirks.
“It’s not what you think,” Euijoo finally whispers. Nicholas’s hand leaves Euijoo’s shoulder, and he relaxes a little more.
“I think, above all, that you,” Nicholas now points a finger toward Euijoo’s chest, coming dangerously close to touching him. Euijoo swears he can almost feel an electric current in the narrow space between their bodies. “are cheating on the art history assignment,” one eyebrow now arched and a smirk on his face. Euijoo looks down, unable to contradict him. “Don’t you want to play fair and work with me instead?”
Euijoo suddenly looks up, taken aback by the proposal. Nicholas locks eyes with the cheater now standing before him like a child caught doing something naughty. That look is a challenge. He knows Euijoo can’t refuse.
The thought lodged deep in Euijoo’s mind whispers that it’s now or never.
He accepts.
The living room floorboards creak under the hundreds of paces Euijoo has been pacing back and forth for over thirty minutes. After Nicholas saved his number in his phone to give him the details of their next business meeting, Euijoo rushed home. The stress weighing on his chest is making it hard to breathe and clouding his thoughts.
For forty minutes now, he’s been trying to convince himself that everything is fine with positive affirmations. “You can do it!” he tries to reassure himself, as if he were about to bungee jump from a 30-meter-high platform. “He’s just an ordinary person,” he tells himself, trying to forget that he’s been obsessing over this boy for months.
It’s Maki who pulls him out of his downward spiral. Hearing him mumble while he’s working on a project of his own is unbearable. “Come on, Euijoo, stop mumbling and just go for it,” he begins, pushing him a little further toward his ordeal. “You've had a crush on him for months; someone had to make a move,” he finally explains.
Euijoo’s stomach drops to his heels, stiff as a board. What did he just say? “Excuse me? Don’t tell me that…” he tries to say before being cut off by Maki.
“Hate me all you want, but I beg you, do it after you've hit on him!” Maki says, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“Easy for you to say!” he replies, his voice still tinged with mischief, though it soon changes. “Just look at yourself—you’re handsome, with a jawline sharp enough to cut paper and a dream body,” he compliments him as a blush rises to his cheeks. Maki, standing before him, seems to pose like a model accepting every compliment. “Everyone’s at your feet,” he finishes his monologue, resuming the incessant tapping of his footsteps on the hardwood floor.
“Why would he have asked me where you were if he wasn’t interested, you idiot?” He also tells him that Nicholas must have texted him his address so he could find him soon. He’d asked him earlier to keep him updated on any developments. “It’s not shyness that’s going to stop him,” Maki tries to cheer him up and calm his nerves. He grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulders, “so you take your cute little ass and head over to his place, right now,” he finishes, practically throwing him out of the house and slamming the door behind him.
Euijoo wasn't exactly sure what to expect when he rang the doorbell at that address, but certainly not this.
Nicholas’s house is grand without being ostentatious—the kind of place that doesn’t try to impress but does so anyway. The ceilings are high, the windows wide, and the afternoon light streams through the rooms with an ease that makes it feel as though the house itself is breathing. Nothing is superfluous: plants placed here and there, books stacked on surfaces that aren’t bookshelves, a few vintage finds arranged for decoration. It’s the kind of interior that resembles its owner—eccentric in the details, but cohesive as a whole.
After Euijoo has taken in every corner of the entryway and then the kitchen, Nicholas offers him a snack and a hot drink. They chat for a while in the kitchen—or rather, Nicholas does the talking.
He then invites him into his studio to get to work.
What Nicholas called his workshop was a room in its own right, tucked away in the rear wing of the house, bathed in afternoon sunlight streaming through large windows with metal muntins. The light-colored hardwood floor was speckled with old paint splatters that no one had ever thought to remove—they were part of the decor, like a reminder of Nicholas’s talent.
A mirror ball hangs from the ceiling between two exposed beams, anachronistic yet perfectly at home, casting tiny flecks of light onto the walls here and there.
And the walls, precisely. He noticed them last, because the rest of the room had first absorbed him—the unfinished canvases lying on the floor, some facing the wall, others turned toward the room as if they were still waiting for something. The long table leaning against the back wall was buried under hundreds of paint tubes, dried-out palettes, and jars filled with brushes of all sizes soaking in murky water.
Potted plants spilled over their pots onto the windowsills, oblivious to the chaos reigning around them.
Then Euijoo looked up at the canvases hanging on the wall and froze.
There were dozens of them—bodies. Nothing but bodies. Sometimes with a face he didn’t recognize, others faceless ones.
Bodies lying down, sitting, standing, from behind, from the front, in poses that oscillated between classical grace and something more raw, more immediate. Bodies rendered with a precision that betrayed years of practice and total ease with the subject.
The silence that settled in the room spoke volumes, enough for Nicholas to look up from the canvas he was moving.
“Ah.” He paused, then chuckled softly at the sight of Euijoo’s expression—frozen, pale, somewhere between shock and panic. “Maybe I should have mentioned that detail.”
Euijoo slowly turned his head toward him. “You painted that?”
Nicholas made a small affirmative sound, his lips curled into a smile that wasn’t really meant to be apologetic. Then, as if he’d only just realized the magnitude of the problem, he set the canvas against the wall and stood up straight.
“Listen, if I’d told you from the start that I specialized in nudes, you never would have agreed to work with me.” He wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it. “I’m not asking you to pose nude, okay.”
Euijoo let out a breath. His shoulders slumped suddenly, as if someone had just cut a string.
Nicholas waited exactly two seconds—two seconds during which his face wore a perfectly innocent expression—before adding, “Unless...?”
The first session is awkward, despite Nicholas’s apparent ease. He positions his muse near the window so that the afternoon light will bring out the contrasts. Before getting to work, Nicholas makes a point of explaining to Euijoo why he specializes in nudes. “I’ve always loved Léon Bonnat’s painting ‘Samson’s Youth,’” he says, holding the painting up on his phone for him to see. It depicts a young naked man in the violent throes of a struggle with a lion, which he is in the process of subduing with his bare hands. “The male human body is fascinating,” he says, pointing to the muscular, taut form, each muscle group rendered with cutting-edge anatomical precision. “I’m almost obsessed with it,” he finishes, stepping away from Euijoo and lightly brushing his shoulder with his fingertips.
Nicholas settles into his workspace in front of a blank canvas, surrounded by brightly colored paints, all sorts of supplies, and rags. He doesn’t explain his concept to him, but still instructs him to remain as still as possible.
Euijoo is stiff. He doesn’t know what to do with his body or his gaze when someone stares at him so openly. Nicholas, on the other hand, is in his element—this time, he’s the one observing. The roles are reversed.
After an hour and a half of work, Nicholas shows him the first sketches.
Euijoo's reaction is mixed: he doesn't seem entirely comfortable, but he isn't exactly uncomfortable with the idea of seeing himself for the first time through someone else's eyes.
Especially through the eyes of his crush.
After several sessions, Nicholas’s stream of conversation—usually very focused on his painting—becomes richer and more rapid.
He takes advantage of Euijoo’s situation to share anecdotes about his personal life or to ask him questions about photography.
What unsettles Euijoo during this session are Nicholas’s remarks about Euijoo’s face. Always phrased in a professional tone, but he knows exactly what he’s doing, shifting them toward more subtle undertones. Sometimes he addresses a technical challenge: “Your jawline is hard to capture; it changes depending on the light.” Other times, he slips in a compliment: “You have a way of furrowing your brow when you’re thinking that’s very useful for painting.”
Euijoo never really knows if this is artistic observation or something that could be interpreted as flirting. Nicholas takes advantage of the situation since Euijoo has been ordered not to move an inch.
Over time, the physical distance between them naturally shrinks—for example, when Nicholas gets a little too close to Euijoo’s face to examine a detail up close, brushing against his lips in the process.
Nicholas’s hair was still damp from his shower when he opened the door—Euijoo had noticed it without meaning to. He’s wearing a loose-fitting tank top with thin white and sky-blue stripes that falls off his shoulders. His arms are exposed, and Euijoo does his best not to stare at them. It’s a lost cause.
The session begins as usual. Nicholas paints, observes, returns to the canvas. Euijoo holds the pose, hands on his knees, eyes somewhere between the window and the wall. It’s when Nicholas leans toward the canvas to work on a detail that the tank top opens slightly at the side, and Euijoo looks away a split second too late.
It is at that moment that Nicholas says, without looking up from his canvas: “Have you ever really looked at the Bonnat?” He is referring to the painting he has hung near his workspace—Samson’s Youth, from 1891. Euijoo had noticed it during the fourth session. Nicholas sets down his brush and approaches the painting, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like someone rediscovering something he knows by heart but never tires of.
“Actually, Bonnat doesn’t care about painting a hero. He’s painting a body. In the effort, in the tension—someone who is winning but could still lose.” He pauses. “The nudity isn’t there to shock. It’s there because a clothed body would have been a lie.”
Euijoo doesn't answer. He stares at the painting.
“That's the whole academic tradition, really,” Nicholas continues, still facing the Bonnat. "It’s the most serious subject there is." Euijoo thinks he could talk about this painting for hours on end. He hangs on his every word and listens intently. It’s almost more interesting than all his art history classes. “Not because the body is beautiful—even though that’s often the case.” Nicholas smiles slightly, “But because a body without clothes can no longer defend itself,” he pulls his tank top over his head and finds himself shirtless before Euijoo’s astonished eyes.
He tries to contain himself as best he can. “It can no longer hide behind what it’s wearing. That’s what interests me. The truth of a body that’s no longer putting on a show.”
He turns back to Euijoo and looks at him for a moment—that same look he had when he was painting.
“I’d like to paint you like this.”
Euijoo opens his mouth then closes it again. Nicholas steps dangerously close to him, cupping his face in his hands. “But before that, I’ll give you this.”
He suddenly presses his lips against Euijoo’s. They’re warm, full. He dreams of melting into this kiss, but Nicholas pulls back almost immediately.
“I don’t want to—” Euijoo manages to say. “I know,” Nicholas replies, a faint smile playing on his face nonetheless.
“No, I mean, I want you to paint me naked.”
Today’s session ended a few dozen minutes later. Nicholas hadn’t pressed the issue, leaving the offer open.
And despite his refusal, Euijoo couldn’t stop thinking about it. For three days—Nicholas’s absence, really—the offer kept running through his mind.
The vision of Nicholas’s naked body before him, his rippling abs, and the vulnerability he’d conveyed in that brief kiss.
Ever since then, he couldn’t contain his excitement at the thought of being with Nicholas again. That was what he looked forward to most now: being admired by Nicholas, through his eyes, as he captured every detail of his face with masterful precision.
That feeling of being valued, of being observed in the best possible way by the person you cherish deeply.
It’s a completely different Euijoo that Nicholas finds on his doorstep after his absence. His muse, who’s usually bundled up in layers of thick, baggy clothes, is now wearing nothing but a simple short-sleeved polo shirt with a mandarin collar.
Nicholas, for his part, is wearing a tank top similar to the one he wore before, once again revealing his muscular physique.
During the session, Nicholas doesn’t mention his proposal at all. He focuses on his work, while letting his soul wander in a stream of melodious words to soothe his muse.
He’s rather shocked that it’s Euijoo who takes the initiative. “Can’t we open a window a little? I’m in the sun and it’s horribly hot,” he complains, a disillusioned look on his face.
Nicholas’s ploy might just pay off in the end, thanks to Mr. Weather.
“There’s only one window I can open to let some air in,” he reassures him, getting up to let the air into his studio. “But as for the sun, there’s nothing I can do about that,” he sings with barely contained pride.
Euijoo says nothing. In fact, he doesn’t even realize that he has unconsciously taken off his shirt while Nicholas had his back turned.
“Don’t turn around,” he orders, still sitting on his stool, the sun caressing his skin. “Actually, you’re right,” he finally admits. Nicholas responds only with a questioning sound.
He stands up, walks over to the canvas Nicholas is painting of him, glances at it, then turns his gaze back to the object of his desire.
“The vulnerability of a naked body with nothing to hide it.”
When Nicholas senses Euijoo’s presence behind him, a wave of tingling runs down his spine.
Euijoo slowly places his hands on the painter’s hips, rolling the low hem of his tank top between his fingers. “We have nothing to hide from each other, right?” he asks.
Nicholas doesn’t know this playful side of his muse. He knows how shy he can be around strangers.
He doesn’t move. He refuses to let this moment slip through his fingers.
His tank top folds up, caught between Euijoo’s hands, and finally slips over his head. Euijoo tosses it into a corner of the room.
Their bodies are now on equal footing. Naked, to the same degree. Their skin is warm.
Euijoo places his hands on either side of Nicholas’s lower abdomen and embraces him tenderly. They connect with one another. Euijoo’s breath cools Nicholas’s neck, tickling his ear.
“What’s going on, Euijoo?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns the boy to face him. Now it is their lips that connect in an unstoppable surge.
It feels like something they’ve been putting off for far too long. Nicholas’s lips against his have none of the lightness Euijoo had felt just a few moments ago.
Euijoo isn’t thinking. His hands find their way over Nicholas’s body, one in his hair, the other roaming across his back.
That’s how Euijoo vaguely realizes that Nicholas is giving it his all—completely, unreservedly, as if hesitation were a concept that didn’t apply to him.
When they pull apart—for a second, just long enough to breathe—Nicholas keeps his forehead pressed against Euijoo’s. He doesn’t say a single word. Neither does Euijoo.
Then Nicholas kisses him again, and again. Euijoo lets him.
Their bodies fall onto a canvas that isn’t quite dry yet, one Nicholas had painted quickly that morning. A luminous landscape in which fairies wander, free as the air.
They stay there kissing for several minutes, as if nothing else mattered. As if the art history assignment were no longer mandatory.
“You look beautiful like this,” Nicholas compliments Euijoo.
Euijoo can only respond by letting a little laugh escape his lips.
It isn't until the sun begins to set that the two lovers wake up. They are in the simplest of canvases, the one Nicholas is particularly fond of. They are still lying on the canvas, covered in paint from head to toe.
“You'd make a nice model for my assignment, what do you say?” Nicholas brings up his proposal again.
Euijoo rubs his face with his hands covered in blue paint. “Why not,” he begins, “but if you want the same result every day, I'll have to make love to you every day,” he announces cheerfully.
The more their work sessions went on, the more they noticed that Nicholas’s assignment wasn’t getting done. They were far too busy playing with paint and painting each other’s bodies, as their clothes were becoming increasingly scarce.
Nicholas painted a canvas in the style of Andy Warhol. A canvas depicting his boyfriend’s face four times over—was he his boyfriend?—which he couldn’t help but admire.
The other students in the class hadn’t put as much effort into their designs. It wasn’t actually mandatory for them—fate works in mysterious ways. They received the highest grade, along with the professor’s congratulations, who immediately offered to display their respective works in the university’s gallery.
The end of exams brings a sense of relief for everyone. It’s never an easy time, and even less so when you’re nearing the end of your studies and have to decide what to do next.
To celebrate the end of exams, and to keep up the tradition of parties at Euijoo and Maki’s shared apartment, the group got together once again. These parties are never really organized—they aren’t even planned; everyone just grabs whatever they like and brings it back to the apartment for everyone.
As Euijoo steps through the apartment door, he can already hear all his friends chatting and laughing among themselves. Right behind him is Nicholas. He didn’t tell anyone he was bringing a +1—but he’s at home, so why mention it?
The two lovers join the group of friends. They’re all sitting comfortably around the coffee table—on the sofa, in the armchair, or on the cushioned floor mats.
Euijoo notices that one person is missing. K came alone, which means Fuma must be busy with a shoot or a casting call.
Instead of making a big announcement about their relationship—the nature of which Euijoo is still unaware of, since neither of them has put it into words yet—he joins the conversations already underway. He also includes Nicholas, who naturally finds his place among the group of friends.
As usual, the music is playing at a certain volume, but not loud enough to disturb the neighbors. The snack bags and bottles of juice or alcohol are emptying as the evening goes on, a sign that everything is going smoothly and that everyone is letting go of the pressure that had been weighing heavily on their shoulders.
Euijoo’s face relaxes when he notices that Nicholas is naturally included by the whole group, even when he happens to be busy with other people. Nicholas sends him flirtatious glances and smiles as a sign that everything is fine.
And what would a night at Euijoo and Maki’s shared apartment be without Maki having had a few too many drinks? There are telltale signs when that happens: he starts talking nonsense. But even worse, he tries to drag the others into it.
Tonight, for his “endless shot game,” he sets his sights on the newcomer to the group: Nicholas. And he uses K, the adult of the group, to try to convince him. K refuses, as usual. Nicholas politely declines in turn, explaining that he doesn’t drink alcohol. Although he’s drunk and alcohol is clouding his brain, one thing remains clear to him—his stream of compliments. “You’re a good guy,” he begins, one hand now resting on his companion’s right shoulder, “don’t hurt him,” he concludes politely, trying as hard as possible not to appear threatening to his best friend’s new partner. Nicholas nods in agreement.
The two men must have spent several dozen minutes—or maybe even several hours?—talking in the kitchen, because it wasn’t until Euijoo came to join them that they realized their friends had left one by one.
And all the while, Maki kept drinking. Nicholas didn’t know what to do or what to say to him; he’d only known him for a few hours, really. Euijoo looked at the beer cans littering the kitchen table, mixed in with the other trash that the others hadn’t bothered to throw in the trash can a meter away.
“You’ve had too much to drink again, Maki,” he scolds him in an authoritative tone, “go sit down.” But he’s not in any condition to do anything. “Ggnh,” he mumbles with the laziness that defines him perfectly. “Come on, I’ll walk you there.” Nicholas takes the lead and guides his new friend toward the living room couch.
Euijoo hates this. He throws away the remaining trash in the kitchen so he won’t have to do it first thing in the morning, then joins them in the next room. “Sorry, I should’ve been more careful.” He sighs. “Don’t worry, I know how it is,” Nicholas reassures his boyfriend, “the truth is, I used to be just like him, that’s why I quit.” Euijoo raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t seem to know that Nicholas used to drink in the past.
“Oh. I didn't know, sorry...” Euijoo stammers, looking down at his mustache. Nicholas stands up and wraps his arms around his neck. “Hey, it's nothing,” he says, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Really.” He looks at him with barely concealed pride.
He gently presses his lips against Nicholas’s. Nicholas melts into the kiss, and his hands find their way down Euijoo’s back. A growl interrupts them.
Euijoo’s role when his best friend has had too much to drink: to take care of him and look after him. A pang of unease settles in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that what he's about to do might not please Nicholas—but he can’t leave Maki in this state.
He lifts him off the couch where he’s slumped heavily, wraps his arm around his neck, and carries him to his bedroom. Maki doesn’t notice a thing, like a child who’s been carried to bed because he fell asleep in the car during a long drive.
Lying on his bed, Maki mumbles something that sounds like “thanks,” putting off what he has to do for a few split seconds.
He didn’t close the bedroom door when he came in—would it be weird to go close it now? Yes, probably.
Nicholas can’t take his eyes off his boyfriend. Deep down, he knows that Maki is Euijoo’s best friend, but why does their closeness bother him so much? It’s probably not the first time they’ve been this close, and his roommate’s muscular body has felt the touch of EJ’s delicate hands before.
Still, an even stranger feeling settles in his stomach when he sees him undressing Maki; first, he takes off his T-shirt, which he’d spilled alcohol on—Nicholas could smell it clearly when he helped him sit down. Then he pulls down his sweatpants, leaving him in his boxers on top of the comforter. Isn’t that gesture reserved for him, personally, when they’re in bed together? Nicholas shakes his head to clear his thoughts. After all, he’s his best friend—and drunk, too; anyone would have done the same, right?
With the apartment now quiet, free of the noise made by Euijoo’s group of friends, the two of them find themselves sitting on the living room couch. “I’m sorry,” he stammers, “it’s late, and I don’t like you walking home alone at night.” He apologizes.
Nicholas tells him it’s no big deal. “It’s not very far, anyway.” He reassures him.
“Are you sure? It’s pitch black out.” EJ’s fingers reach out to touch his boyfriend’s, and he begins to stroke the back of Nicholas’s hand. The light caresses on his skin send a shiver down his spine.
“I mean, you could...” Euijoo doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before Nicholas presses his lips against his to kiss him. Nicholas snorts, “I thought you’d never ask,” before melting back into the kiss.
Getting up from the couch, Euijoo takes his hand to lead him into his bedroom. He pushes him onto the bed, then climbs on top of him to straddle him. Both of his wrists are held tightly by the hands of the one who is showering him with kisses.
They kiss for several minutes before Euijoo pulls Nicholas’s T-shirt off and tosses it onto the floor of his bedroom.
His lips leave his partner’s to trace their way downward. They pass over his Adam’s apple, move up to his earlobe, which he nibbles on. They continue their path downward, lingering for a moment on his boyfriend’s pecs. Meanwhile, Euijoo’s hands dance a waltz with rapid movements across Nicholas’s hips.
It has the desired effect, as Nicholas’s skin is covered in hundreds of tiny goosebumps, a sign of a shiver of emotion running through his body. The tip of his tongue lightly but lingeringly teases the man’s now-hard nipples as he savors every sensation Euijoo is giving him.
As he continues to cover his body with kisses, his hands now linger on his belt, loosening the buckle before undoing the button on his jeans to reach the elastic waistband of his boyfriend’s boxers.
Euijoo knows this isn’t the time to go any further. They’re both tired, and it’s already very late at night. But it’s always comforting to know that Nicholas desires him so much.
It seems Nicholas feels the same way, because with his free hands, he cups his face and lifts it toward his lips.
“We should sleep,” he whispers between kisses.
Euijoo nods. They both slip under the bed's summer comforter after changing into something more suitable for sleeping—that is, boxers and... that's it.
Their first night together is interrupted by a steady stream of alerts from Nicholas’s phone.
“Ggnh,” he grumbles as he wakes up after the eighth one. He feels groggy from being woken up like this after such an evening—and such a night.
REMINDER: MEETING WITH MY FRIENDS AT 10 A.M.
That’s just Nicholas for you—setting reminders on his phone so he doesn’t forget anything—only to end up forgetting them entirely.
The notification from his phone was sent five minutes ago. It’s 9:15 a.m. He’s supposed to meet his friends in exactly 45 minutes. He hasn’t showered or gotten dressed—and, most importantly, he isn’t even at home.
He jumps out of bed, waking Euijoo in the process. “What’s going on?” he asks, taken aback that Nicholas is in such a hurry. “I’ll explain. Can I take a shower?” Euijoo points to the bathroom, and Nicholas runs in.
He comes out ten minutes later, a plain white towel wrapped tightly around his waist. “I have a meeting with my friends at 10 a.m. this morning.” Euijoo listens attentively, without any judgmental reaction. His finger points to his boyfriend’s closet, “Can I borrow some clothes? I only have yesterday’s dirty laundry…” Euijoo nods again.
While Nicholas picks out a complete outfit from Euijoo’s closet—a white tank top, a light flannel shirt, and loose-fitting pants, along with underwear; what? A brand-new box is lying around here, and it’s his size, after all.
Euijoo must have thought about buying some for him—just in case...
“I didn't want to force you to come and have you meet them without any preparation...” he explains, a hint of sadness in his voice.
“Hey, it's nothing,” Euijoo reassures him, “I kind of dragged you here last night.” A small laugh escapes his lips. “Can I still come? I just need ten minutes.”
A bright light illuminates Nicholas’s face. His angelic face breaks into a smile from ear to ear. He didn’t think he’d agree to meet his friends so quickly, knowing how shy Euijoo is around people he doesn’t know.
They arrive at the meeting place two minutes early. They aren’t the first ones there, but they managed to get there early thanks to Euijoo, who knows the quickest routes from his place.
Nicholas doesn’t want to make Euijoo uncomfortable, so he doesn’t make a big announcement—since Euijoo didn’t do that for him, after all, they still haven’t discussed what they are to each other? So Nicholas introduces him as his art partner and explains to his friends that it seemed natural to invite him since it’s thanks to him that they got the highest grade in the class.
The conversation flows freely, and just as Euijoo’s friends have accepted Nicholas, his friends do the same for him. They ask him about his studies and what he plans to do next.
Euijoo learns that Sera hasn’t graduated yet. She has thick black hair that falls in waves over her shoulders. As he listens to her speak, Euijoo notices that her gaze reveals a little more than what she chooses to say aloud; her facial expression complements her gaze with a delicacy that, he is sure, everyone notices.
He also learns that Aaron, the boy to his right, wants to switch fields entirely because he’s bored. Like Sera, he has damp black hair, but combed back. He wears a tight-fitting black T-shirt paired with a gold link chain.
Someone else asks him why he wants to change careers—and, more importantly, what field he’s interested in. Without a hint of pretension, he replies, “I thought my muscles would give you a clue,” in a slightly teasing tone, flexing his biceps for everyone to see.
Euijoo’s eyes instinctively turn toward his boyfriend. All he sees is a flirtatious smile and a pair of eyes fixed on Aaron. Should he be jealous? After all, Aaron looks serious, he’s quite handsome, and his muscles are so defined they’d make anyone swoon… He shakes his head to shake off these unwelcome thoughts.
It’s Nicholas’s turn, and he mentions the possibility of continuing with painting—he’s pretty talented, from what Euijoo has seen, and he also expresses a desire to hold his first exhibition soon.
Jade, the girl with curly brown hair, a ray of sunshine, though a bit nonchalant, turns to Euijoo, “What about you? We haven’t heard much from you.” A little surprised by the tone of her voice, he replies proudly, “I love photography more than anything,” he stammers, hesitating, “but I don’t really know where it’s going to take me.” Jade responds with a simple nod.
“You'd make a perfect model!” Sera said this with barely concealed excitement.
Of course she’d say that. In the group, Sera is the one who notices things about others first. She’s been friends with Nicholas for a long time. She knows him well enough to tell when he’s being sincere, or when he’s putting on an act.
And they’ve been sitting around this table long enough to have noticed the glances, as well as the discreet hand Nicholas uses to gently squeeze EJ’s forearm to reassure him.
“I signed up for a drawing class,” she continues proudly, “it runs all summer!” A flood of compliments follows about EJ’s posture, his delicate yet perfectly defined features, his measurements—she’s at ease, even though they’ve only known each other for two hours...
His face flushes and the heat rises to his ears. He apologizes politely and explains that he isn’t sure he’s the right person for her. He escapes to the restroom to calm his heart, which threatens to trigger a panic attack.
“You know,” Nicholas begins, turning to Euijoo, who’s standing there with a frying pan in his hand, cooking rice, “it could open up new opportunities for you.” EJ looks at him questioningly, his right eyebrow now raised at his out-of-context remark. “With photography, I mean. And the drawing class,” he adds by way of clarification.
Euijoo lets out a disillusioned sigh. The truth is, ever since Sera mentioned that class and how perfectly suited he is to be a model, the idea has been constantly on his mind.
“I didn’t even dare talk to you one-on-one a few weeks ago,” he retorts. He knows this argument is almost unbeatable; his shyness is his weapon for hiding from situations that embarrass him a little too much. “How could I pose in front of dozens of strangers, huh?” His question comes across to Nicholas as a bit snarky.
A smile begins to form on Nicholas’s lips, and he responds only with a “Mmh. Okay.” He sets down the frying pan he’s holding and turns off the burner at the same time. “Who says there’ll only be strangers?” He pauses after asking this. He turns around again and wraps his arms around Euijoo’s waist. “First of all, there’ll be Sera, whom you know now,” he pauses again, kissing the back of his neck. “And besides, I signed up.”
Euijoo gasps, stunned by what Nicholas has just told him. He’s now leaning over the table, his head in his hands. “You’re not serious, are you?” Nicholas shrugs and explains that he’s leaving the decision up to him.
“If you accept,” he strokes his back with the palm of his hand, “I’ll be there to cheer you on.”
Another sigh. This time, EJ feels a little stronger. He asks Nicholas for his friend’s phone number so he can get more details about the class.
“So you’re going to accept, then?” asks Nicholas, trying to sound encouraging. Euijoo responds with nothing more than a “Mmh.”
The next day, he has a brief phone conversation with Sera. “Can we meet tomorrow to talk about it?” she asks, explaining that she can't tell him everything over the phone.
“Can you come alone?” she asks without explaining why. He wonders why she is asking, but agrees.
The next day, the two of them meet up again at the same spot where they’d first met earlier that month. Euijoo instinctively feels that Sera has changed—she seems more cheerful, more radiant than usual, and above all, much more talkative.
“I was sure you’d refuse to pose,” Sera says, “but I’m glad you’re curious!” EJ smiles politely and replies, “I’m not sure yet,” he pauses while the waiter takes their order, “I’m not entirely comfortable with it.”
Sera then launches into a long explanation. She tells him she stumbled upon this group that organizes classes every year after exams end and throughout the summer. She also tells him she’s passionate about visual arts and art in general.
“This year, the group is focusing on drawing,” she taps her phone screen to turn it on and holds it in front of her to unlock it with her face. “Look, in previous years it was sculpture, and before that, photography,” she scrolls through photos of students’ work from past years. “They said they were looking for one or two models for this year,” she shows him the post on social media and hands him her phone so he can read it. “The idea is to dress the model in different costumes and then draw them.”
She pauses to give Euijoo a moment to process the information. He looks up to show her he’s still listening. “Hmm, interesting,” he replies. “I’m not really comfortable with the idea of being undressed—” She cuts him off, almost rudely. “There’s no obligation!” she objects.
She explains that they needed to submit photos for inspiration. She picks up her phone and opens the Photos app on her iPhone, scrolling through hundreds of photos before finding the ones she suggested.
She shows him three photos: the first photo is of a man dressed in white clothes, with a golden bow—probably of poor quality—between his eyes and a pair of fake wings made of white feathers; he wears a pink ribbon around his neck; he looks like Cupid.
The second photo shows a man dressed as an elf; he’s wearing prosthetics that stretch his ears into points, and he’s wearing an outfit that barely covers his arms. He looks like he stepped right out of a survivalist video game. The third photo is simply a face covered by an eye patch and a touch of blush.
She looks up to observe Euijoo’s reaction. He seems more animated than before. She stares at him, waiting for a response. “You have good ideas,” he smiles, “if I get to choose the outfits, why not!”
The two strike a deal, and she promises to talk to the teacher to let him know that they finally have a model.
The two continued talking for several more minutes before parting ways.
The following week, Euijoo receives the details for the first class. He doesn’t tell Nicholas—he doesn’t want to let him know that he’s agreed to participate and model for the class.
When Nicholas asks him, almost every day, if he’s made up his mind, Euijoo dodges the question, ignores him, or keeps him waiting a little longer by explaining that he doesn’t feel like it, that he’s not comfortable with it, or that he’s too late and the spot’s already taken. These conversations always lead to an endless stream of compliments from his boyfriend, who ends up listing all his good qualities.
A few days later, all the students enrolled in the course gather together.
Euijoo is backstage; he hears the professor delivering his welcome speech, as well as the instructions for this first class.
EJ watches the workshop from behind a door. The students are seated at individual tables arranged in a circle—isn’t it strange that this layout reminds him of the art history classroom where he used to spend hours watching Nicholas?
According to the instructions, when the professor invites him into the room, he must sit on the high chair in the center, strike a pose of his choice, and turn around every 30 minutes.
The verdict is in: “Now, let’s welcome our model,” the professor turns toward the door, raising an arm as if to beckon him into the room, “Byun Euijoo!”
The students clap in unison. Euijoo relaxes a little upon hearing such enthusiasm from them. Nicholas has his eyes fixed on a single spot: his boyfriend—that liar, he thinks—walking proudly dressed as an angel, holding a bow and arrows in his right hand.
After pinching his arm several times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and picking his jaw up off the floor, Nicholas and the other students get to work.
At the end of the session, they each hand in their drawing sheets to the teacher, who files them into individual folders labeled with their first names.
By the second session, Euijoo is already a little more relaxed and isn’t quite as nervous about posing in front of other people—mostly strangers he’s never seen before in his life and will never see again—which is what helps him choose a more casual outfit this time; one that shows off his bare arms.
Nicholas is so fixated on his arms that he almost forgets to draw on his sheets of paper.
If there were no one else in the room, he’d jump on him—because seeing him gain confidence is incredibly sexy, he thinks to himself.
The next three sessions go as usual. Nicholas hones his technique and commits the graceful curves of his boyfriend’s body a little more deeply to memory.
“It’s torture that we can’t see each other right now,” is the thought that keeps running through his mind during every class.
He can only put into words exactly how he feels every time he sees him in a new outfit each week, each one sexier than the last.
EJ enjoys the exercise. He knows he looks irresistible to Nicholas. He also knows he’s planning a surprise for him.
The next class takes place in early July, a day Nicholas will never forget.
July 9. Euijoo has come up with all sorts of excuses to avoid seeing Nicholas today. It’s cruel—he knows it—but he needs time to prepare his surprise.
Plus, his friends are keeping him company, away from home, for the whole morning.
First, he heads over to his boyfriend’s place, where he meets up with K and Maki, who are always ready to lend a hand, as well as Aaron, who has some time to kill and who, even if he doesn’t show it enough, cares deeply about Nicholas. And his strong arms will come in handy to help them set up the spotlights.
It takes them about two hours to set everything up in Nicholas’s living room. EJ thanks his friends for their help and walks them to the door, making sure to tell them what time they’re supposed to meet up here with Sera.
Once he’s alone, he looks for his phone in the living room. He’s certain he left it there, but he can’t find it.
It’s not until 15 minutes later—and he’s already running quite late—that he finds it on the coffee table in the living room. He quickly sends a message to Sera to give her some details.
I’m going to stop by Urban Threads, Modern Metro, and Elite Wave
He locks his phone and heads toward downtown. He picks it up again once he’s behind the wheel before starting the car.
Thank you sooooo much!!!!
He and Sera planned this surprise together. She already had an idea, and Euijoo helped her finalize the details of the surprise birthday party for Nicholas.
Nicholas has always dreamed that his friends would throw him a party. And every year, he perfectly acts out his disappointment at having to organize his own birthday.
Euijoo goes around the stores to find what he needs. He spends about two hours there before heading to the workshop for the day’s class.
It’s 2 p.m., and class is about to start. Everyone settles down at a table covered with drawing paper and supplies laid out in open cases.
The teacher gives Euijoo the green-light to enter the room. Confident, he takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and walks into the room with a confident stride.
The fireworks go off almost immediately inside Nicholas. His eyes, wide open, take in every detail of his boyfriend’s outfit, his physique, and the clean lines of his body. Euijoo is wearing white satin pleated pants, which fit his body perfectly and hug his waist just right.
His bare torso is simply covered by a sheer tulle veil sprinkled with red rose petals. Around his neck, he wears a white lace necklace that matches the headband that steals his eyes. A crown of golden leaves rests on his hair.
What strikes him about this image isn’t the suit. It’s him—the way he wears it, the way he stands, his arms slightly away from his body, his chin tilted downward with a reserve that seems less like shyness and more like concentration.
Concentration. That’s what Nicholas is lacking right now. He can’t take his eyes off Euijoo. How could he stop scrutinizing him? How could he ignore the effect he has on him, and that bulge threatening to tear the seam of his pants?
It’s the longest class since this drawing workshop began. When he arrived, Euijoo sat down across from him, giving him plenty of time to observe his torso, his abs, and his barely defined pecs, and a smile curving his lips just enough.
Thirty minutes later, Euijoo turned around. Nicholas is now facing his right profile. He can see the skin of his sternum barely covering his ribs. He has struck the pose of Auguste Rodin’s “The Thinker.” This pose requires him to flex his biceps, and at the same time, to make the tent in Nicholas’s pants bulge a little more.
For the last thirty minutes of this endless class, he’s been sketching Euijoo’s back. He’s been sitting at this table for what feels like an eternity, studying every curve, every muscle of Euijoo’s body—when will he be free to pounce on him, to kiss every little detail of his body and melt into him?
The ache in his groin won’t subside. He’s wondered several times if he should go to the bathroom to take care of it and relieve the pressure. He told himself that would only make it worse. He shifts in his chair, trying to draw blood to another part of his body; it seems his boyfriend has drawn all the blood to his penis.
When the teacher announces the end of class for today, Nicholas can finally feel the sense of freedom he’s been craving for the past two hours. He hands his drawing sheets back to the teacher and leaves the studio.
The sun is beating down intensely today. He waits for Euijoo for several minutes in front of the building. When he finally sees him come out, the blood drains from his head again, heading south.
Euijoo is still wearing the outfit he had on during class. Nicholas doesn’t realize that this outfit is one of his surprises. He’s actually quite comfortable wearing it on the street, the sun’s heat warming his half-naked body.
“You're not really going to walk around shirtless on the street, are you?” Nicholas asks, his jealousy barely concealed behind that sarcastic tone.
Euijoo looks at him, a smile still frozen on his lips. He licks them. “Why not? Don’t you like it?” He wraps his arms around his partner’s neck and kisses him on the forehead. “It’s not... Yes, I like it a lot, but...” He takes off his coffee-brown cardigan and drapes it over his shoulders. “You’re my work of art,” he whispers in his ear.
They set off for Euijoo’s place. During the drive, Nicholas hurriedly tries to hide the bulge in his pants that refuses to go away. The pain intensifies a little more each time Euijoo’s hand brushes against his thigh as he shifts gears.
Euijoo isn’t fooled—he knows Nicholas is uncomfortable being in a situation like this. To tell the truth, he enjoys seeing the effect he’s capable of having on his boyfriend—because, yes, he thinks he can safely say that he and Nicholas are dating now, right?
Euijoo has no choice but to take Nicholas to the apartment. And dressed like that, Nicholas can’t help but be tempted, but he resists. He fights off the growing attraction—he battles it all the way to the front door of EJ’s place.
Fortunately, Maki isn’t there; he had planned it that way, too.
The door slams shut after they enter, and Nicholas presses EJ against it in half a second. With his hands on EJ’s cheeks, he presses his lips against the object of his temptation.
Nicholas kissed him as if he had something to prove. And when they paused, it was he who couldn’t breathe.
His hands also find his boyfriend’s hair, which he pulls to gain access to his neck, eliciting a growl from his partner.
The more the kisses followed one another, the more frantic they became. He moved from his lips to his cheeks, down to his neck, leaving dozens of red marks around his Adam’s apple, and back up to Euijoo’s earlobe, which he nibbled on.
When his brain tells him to move on, he surprises Euijoo by grabbing his waist and lifting him up. EJ wraps his legs around Nicho’s waist.
He resists the urge to nibble on the nipple right in front of him as he carries Euijoo into his bedroom and lays him down on the bed.
He stretches his body fully over Euijoo, kissing him all over—alternating between his lips and his still half-naked body.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” Nicho whispers, tracing a line with the tip of his tongue from Euijoo’s lower abdomen up to his chest.
A pause. Nicholas is almost out of breath, his eyes taking in Euijoo once more. Euijoo lies sprawled on the bed, letting his boyfriend take care of everything.
It’s only a few seconds later that Euijoo notices the tears streaming down Nich’s flushed cheeks.
To be honest, Euijoo knows that Nicholas can take control if he wants to; it’s not a problem for him. He also knows how to drive him wild, how to build the tension until he can’t take it anymore.
This is his moment. As Nicholas sits astride him, Euijoo grabs his waist and flips him onto the bed in turn, his body finding his like a natural magnetic pull.
He slowly kisses Nicholas’s lips, giving him time to collect himself.
His tongue sensually asks permission to enter Nicholas’s mouth—Nicholas lets it in willingly.
Their tongues intertwine, dancing energetically, already knowing every corner of each other’s mouths.
Euijoo slides his hands under Nicholas’s tank top. He can’t see it, but beneath his touch, Nicholas’s skin is burning hot, like a forest fire devouring everything in its path.
When he pulls up his tank top to reveal Nicholas’s stomach, Euijoo pulls his lips away and sits up to admire Nicholas.
His thumbs slowly massage Nicholas’s lower abdomen, eliciting muffled moans from him.
Straddling Nicholas, Euijoo begins to grind his hips against Nicholas’s fully erect penis. Nicholas’s moans grow louder and louder.
Instinctively, Nicholas’s hips begin to move in synchronicity with Euijoo’s, thrusting back and forth against his buttocks.
“Gggnh, s-stop,” Nicholas cries, almost in tears, begging Euijoo to stop, “I'm g-gonna c-come.” His hands dangerously grab the back of Euijoo’s neck to force him to pull his erection away from his own and reconnect their lips.
Within seconds, both of them are shirtless. Euijoo nibbles on Nicholas’s nipples, and he lets out intense groans.
“I…” Nicholas sighs as Euijoo grabs his waist and digs his nails lightly into his skin. “I want you, so much,” Nicholas finally whispers.
Euijoo giggles, “I know, baby.” His body lifts slowly, his arm moving toward his boyfriend’s crotch. His hand firmly grips the rock-hard bulge, eliciting a growl even louder than before.
In his pleasure, Nicholas feels like he’s discovering a different version of Euijoo at that very moment—he’s more dominant, rougher. Is it Nicholas who has given him so much confidence? In any case, Nicholas doesn’t hide his pleasure when Euijoo starts masturbating him through the fabric of his boxers—their pants having left the scene a while ago.
“I-I need it, please.” He almost chokes, his boxers stained with fluid, the sheets wet beneath him. He starts to slide his boxers down his thighs when EJ grabs his wrists, “Tsk tsk. No chance, pretty boy.” He does it for him, quickly, his erection springing free, long strands of precum at its base.
The thought running through Euijoo’s mind is “Magnificent,” but he doesn’t say a word.
Standing erect and dripping with pre-cum, Euijoo simply licks its length while reaching under the mattress for the tube of lube.
He generously coats his fingers with it, his eyes locked on his lover’s.
His fingers gently drag on his penis, making it contract and sending a shiver down Nicholas’s body.
He slowly pushes a finger into Nicholas, watching his face contort under the combined effect of pleasure and the slight burning sensation caused by the stretching.
With measured care, he opens him up, methodically adding a second finger, then very quickly a third, mimicking scissors. He stretches his entrance until Nicholas is nothing more than a being writhing in pain and begging beneath him.
“Please, Juju, now... I-I'm r-ready...” Nicholas gasps, the sheets clenched in his palms.
EJ can't wait another minute. His boxers fly off, and he positions himself at Nicholas's entrance, looking down at him, at his face flushed with pleasure and desire.
“Look at me,” Euijoo commands softly. Nicholas’s eyes are misty, yet they still lock onto Euijoo’s. “I love you,” he whispers, without a sound.
He pushes in slowly. Nicholas adjusts quickly. The tight, warm heat feels even better than before. He stops when he’s buried deep inside Nicholas, leaning in to kiss his boyfriend’s lips.
“Are you okay?” he asks against his lips.
Nicholas nods, his voice choked with sobs. “Move. I beg you, move.”
He didn’t have to ask a second time. His slow, deep thrusts turn into a violent torpedo that makes Nicho scream with every stroke. He tilts his hips, twists them, searching for that precise spot inside Nicholas. He knows he’s found it when Nicholas screams, convulsions of pleasure making his entire body tremble.
“Arg, right there!” Nicholas cries out, his legs wrapping around Euijoo’s waist, inviting him deeper inside him.
He complies, his thrusts now relentlessly striking that sensitive spot inside Nicholas. From Nicholas’s thigh, Euijoo’s hand wraps around his rock-hard cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.
“Juju, I'm—I'm going to...” He couldn't finish his sentence. His words dissolved into a hoarse cry as an orgasm surged through him, his body arching in every direction.
He came all over EJ's hand and his abs.
The sight of Nicho collapsing completely beneath him, that heat tightening around him even more, sends Euijoo over the edge.
With one final thrust, he floods Nicholas’s insides with his own seed as he moans his name against his sweat-glistening skin.
He collapses on top of Nicho, careful not to crush him, his face buried in the crook of his neck.
The minutes tick by, their bodies intertwined, their ragged breathing the only sound filling the room.
When he has enough strength to move, Euijoo slowly pulls out, causing Nicholas to moan at the loss. EJ drags his body over to Nicholas’s side, grabbing an old T-shirt from the bedroom floor as he goes, and cleans them both, his movements much gentler than they were a few minutes ago.
Nicholas is exhausted in Euijoo’s arms. He plants a light kiss on his forehead, then on his lips.
“Let’s go get cleaned up,” Euijoo suggested.
Before accepting the invitation, using what little energy he has left, Nicholas grabs his partner by the nape of the neck and whispers in his ear, “You know I love you too, right?” before leaping off the bed and jumping into the shower.
It’s 7 p.m. when they’re finally ready to leave Euijoo’s apartment. Euijoo had promised to take him somewhere for his birthday, without telling him exactly where.
Before getting into the car, EJ blindfolds Nicholas with a black satin headband, which contrasts with the outfit he’s wearing.
True to form, Nicho is wearing faded denim jeans with a red-and-white bandana tied around one of his belt loops. A short-sleeved jacket over a white long-sleeved T-shirt covers his upper body. The outfit is completed by white platform sneakers, a black “LA” cap, and jewelry adorning his hands and wrists.
Euijoo leaves the parking lot, making Nicholas promise not to cheat.
“You know, I've already had my share of surprises today, baby,” he tells him, letting out a sarcastic laugh, which makes EJ giggle in turn.
This surprise is more Sera’s idea than his, but he knows he’ll be happy to see his friends, some of whom he hasn’t seen in years. That’s why she wanted to see Euijoo alone that day.
Sera had asked him to get the phone numbers of the people she wanted to invite to his surprise birthday party. She had convinced him to search through Nicho’s phone book after a struggle during which he insisted he didn’t want to betray his trust.
He had finally managed to get those numbers—eight people in total—and without digging any deeper into his phone; Euijoo isn’t that kind of person.
When she called, only half of them answered, and they’re currently in Nicholas’s living room waiting for him to surprise him.
“I have no idea where you’re taking me,” he raises an eyebrow beneath his headband, his fingers tapping the roof of the car, the passenger window open. “I don’t recognize this road at all.”
Euijoo replies only with a “You’ll see.” Did he think he was that stupid? The route from EJ’s apartment to Nicholas’s house, they both know it by heart, from going back and forth between the two homes so often.
Euijoo had taken care to take a detour, driving through streets where traffic was practically nonexistent, certain that he would confuse and disorient Nicholas.
Forty-five minutes later, EJ parks his car a short distance from the house. “Don’t move,” he orders, unbuckling his seatbelt. He gets out of the car, walks around to open the passenger door, “if you’d be so kind, sir…” He gently takes hold of his lover’s wrists to keep him from losing his balance.
With his hands now resting on his shoulders, he guides him, pointing the way behind his head. His fingers press lightly against his trapezius muscle.
As they enter the house, it’s dead quiet. No one moves, no breathing, no light, no sound. The living room is full of Nicholas’s friends—and EJ’s, too; they insisted on tagging along to the party to join in the fun.
EJ positions Nicho at the entrance to the room, telling him not to move. “You can take off your blindfold in 3... 2... 1...” The blindfold slides down slowly; when his eyes finally open, they’re assaulted by the light, and his ears ring with the sound of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”
Music blasts from the speakers, and spotlights cast blinding beams of light all over the room.
He stands speechless, unable to utter a word. His eyes scan the entire room.
First, EJ’s friends—he recognizes Maki, K, and Fuma, of course; then his friends—Sera, Aaron, Jade, and Tae—are there, along with others he recognizes easily: Mia, Isabelle, Evelyn, Noah, and James have come to his birthday party—which he didn’t organize this year—and the realization clashes with the happiness he feels in his heart. His friends did all this for… him? He can hardly believe it.
He hugs each person present. He refuses to give a general greeting after the surprise they’ve organized for him this year—his dream, he might say.
The evening unfolds quietly. Nicholas is monopolized by all his friends, sometimes one at a time, sometimes all together. EJ watches him from afar; he can sense his joy and happiness from across the living room, feelings that are etched on his face and a smile as silly as it is sincere plastered on his lips.
“You really love him, don’t you?” It’s Maki who asks him this, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. Euijoo’s answer is unequivocal, “Of course,” he pauses, patting his hand to shoo him away, “do you think I would have organized all this for you?” he replies sarcastically before running off to the kitchen.
His birthday cake is magnificent. It’s a replica of one of his favorite paintings. Strawberries and chocolate—he couldn’t have chosen any other flavors—the two obsessions Euijoo had noticed in Nicho.
It’s just before midnight when the cake arrives in the living room, lit candles sitting atop it, two other sparkler candles lighting up the giant platter.
A chorus of “Happy Birthday” then begins.
When he blows out his candles, the birthday song turns into a special request—one that has become a habit for Nicholas: “A speech, a speech!” chants the crowd in front of him.
He stands there for a moment without saying a word, his eyes sweeping the room—the raised phones, the smiles, the faces he hadn’t seen in far too long.
“I know I’m supposed to say something nice here,” he laughs softly, running a hand through his hair, “but honestly, I’m still coming to terms with it.”
He pauses. “Thank you. Really. The fact that you’re here tonight—some of you, it’s been years—means more than you know.” His gaze settles on Sera. “And you. I know you’re the one behind all this, so don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
A few laughs ripple through the living room. Sera raises her hands as if to defend herself, smiling despite herself.
“Thank you, Sera.”
He then turns around, scanning the room with that quiet confidence he has when he knows exactly what he’s going to do.
“And then, there’s you.”
He crosses the living room, reaches out to Euijoo, and gently pulls him toward him. A second passes without a word—just a look that EJ knows all too well.
“Thank you for being here.”
He kisses him, right there in the middle of the living room in front of their friends. Not for long, not to put on a show. Just long enough for everyone to understand and cheer them on at the top of their lungs.