Part 3

The sun streamed through the thin curtains of Longtai's small apartment, casting warm beams across the room and flickering gently over his face. The brightness slowly pulled him from the depths of sleep, and he blinked groggily, squinting against the light. Outside, the cheerful chirping of birds mingled with the distant sounds of traffic, a symphony of urban life that he had almost forgotten. It was a sound he was still getting used to, having grown up in the serene mountains where nature reigned supreme.

With a soft groan, Longtai rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up from the tangled sheets. His hair was a wild mess, sticking up in all directions, a testament to a restless night. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the cool wooden floor, the chill sending a shiver up his spine. Stretching his arms above his head, he felt the familiar stiffness of sleep slowly fade away.

Shuffling into the bathroom, he flicked on the light, squinting at the sudden brightness that filled the small space. The mirror reflected his tousled hair and sleepy eyes. He let out a quiet sigh as he looked at himself. "I really need a haircut," he muttered, running a hand through his messy bangs, pushing them out of his eyes. He turned on the tap, and warm water flowed, filling the sink with gentle splashes.

Longtai stripped down, letting the cool air brush against his skin before stepping under the warm spray. The water felt heavenly against him, soothing and rejuvenating as he let it cascade over his shoulders. He tilted his head back, allowing the water to drench his hair, feeling the strands fall back against his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in the sensation, before pulling himself back to the present.

After a quick shower, he toweled off, his hair now slicked back and still dripping slightly. He quickly dressed in a comfortable outfit: a baggy black shirt that hung loosely over his slender frame and a pair of navy pants. The clothes were simple, yet they made him feel put together enough to face the day.

As he stepped out into the cozy living space, the apartment felt warm and inviting. It was small, with one bedroom and a bathroom, but Longtai loved it. The living room was decorated with a few bookshelves packed with novels, a small coffee table cluttered with various photography magazines, and a worn-out sofa that had seen many late-night reading sessions. This was home, a place where he felt safe and at ease, especially after the turmoil of his childhood.

His parents had rented this apartment for him when he moved to the city for school, a gesture that meant the world to him despite the distance between them. Longtai often reminisced about his childhood in the village, raised lovingly by his grandparents after losing his parents at a young age. His grandfather had been the chief of the village, a strong figure who instilled values of kindness and resilience in him, while his parents had both served in the military, teaching him discipline and the importance of hard work.

The morning sunlight poured in through the window, illuminating the small kitchen area. He made his way over to the counter and began preparing breakfast, the soft sounds of sizzling filling the air as he cooked. It was a simple meal, just eggs and toast, but it was comforting-a ritual that grounded him before he faced the outside world.

As he worked, a mewing sound caught his attention. He turned to see the neighborhood cat, a scruffy little tabby, peeking in through the open window. The cat had a penchant for hanging around his apartment, often visiting him when he was home alone. Longtai couldn't help but smile. He quickly grabbed his camera, a well-loved piece of equipment that had been a gift from Tian, and moved toward the window.

He lifted the camera to his eye, focusing on the curious feline, who had now settled comfortably on the windowsill. Longtai clicked the shutter, capturing the moment as the cat tilted its head in a playful manner. He snapped a few more photos, laughing softly to himself at how easily he could get lost in the world behind the lens. Photography was his passion, a way to express himself that felt both natural and fulfilling.

After snapping a few shots, he reluctantly set the camera down and went back to his breakfast. The smell of eggs filled the air, and he savored the simple pleasure of the meal as he ate.

Once he finished, he grabbed his bag and began to gather his things for the day ahead. Just as he was about to head out the door, a colorful booklet caught his eye on the coffee table. It was one of the pamphlets Tian had brought for him, advertising a few universities. Longtai paused, taking a deep sigh as he picked it up and flipped through the pages.

He felt a familiar tug of anxiety, a mix of excitement and fear at the thought of enrolling in photography classes. Would he really be ready to take that leap? The idea of stepping into a new environment filled with unfamiliar faces made his heart race. But as he stared at the pamphlet, he felt the warmth of Tian's encouragement from their last conversation wash over him.

With a resolute nod, Longtai tucked the pamphlet into his bag, deciding to give it a chance, at least for today. He took one last look around his small apartment, letting the warmth of home fill him up before stepping out into the world beyond his front door.

The fresh morning air greeted him as he stepped outside, and he inhaled deeply, feeling the promise of a new day wrap around him like a warm embrace. Today was just the beginning, and with each step he took, he was one step closer to discovering what lay ahead.

~

The sun had already climbed high in the sky, casting beams of light into Yok's cluttered room, but he remained blissfully unaware, snuggled deep under a heap of blankets. To anyone else, it might have seemed like the calm before a storm, but for Yok, it was simply another day of chaos. His dark hair was tousled and wild, framing his face like a lion's mane, and his strong, muscular body lay bare, covered only by a pair of boxers.

"Yok! Get the hell up! You're going to be late for class!" Gram's voice thundered through the haze of sleep, slicing through the silence like a knife.

"Mmm, give me five more minutes," Yok mumbled, burying his head deeper into the pillows, trying to block out the world.

"More like thirty! You're going to miss your class!" Gram yelled again, exasperation lacing his tone.

Yok could feel the urgency in Gram's voice seep through his sleepiness, and he finally peeled one eye open, squinting at the brightness that filled the room. With a groan, he pushed himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed, and running a hand through his disheveled hair. The moment he took a good look around, he was met with the reality of his surroundings-a chaotic disaster zone.

Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the floor, a jumble of colors and textures that spoke of late nights and creative bursts. Scattered across the room were pencils and paintbrushes, remnants of his artistic endeavors, some still splattered with vibrant paint. A large canvas leaned against the wall, half-finished with a swirl of colors that seemed to echo his mood, and a few completed paintings dotted the corners of the room, capturing the essence of fleeting thoughts.

The walls, covered in his own graffiti, showcased his talent and rebellious spirit, with bold strokes and vivid colors splashing across the surface, giving the room a unique character. Yet, in the midst of this artistic chaos, Yok felt a wave of irritation wash over him.

"Damn it," he muttered, forcing himself to his feet. His tattoos, small birds on his arm and a roman numeral below his ribcage, caught the light as he moved. He admired the intricate designs momentarily but quickly pushed those thoughts aside as he headed toward the bathroom.

After a quick shower, the water washing away the remnants of sleep and lethargy, Yok felt slightly more alert, though still groggy. He splashed his face with cold water and glanced in the mirror, assessing the reflection staring back at him. Dark circles under his eyes hinted at too many late nights and not enough sleep, but he shrugged it off, more focused on getting out the door than his appearance.

Once dressed in a dark grey oversized tank top and black pants that hugged his athletic frame, he glanced at the clock and felt a rush of adrenaline. "Shit!" he cursed, realizing he was running out of time. He tossed his bag over his shoulder, already feeling the weight of the day's responsibilities.

Yok hurried to the kitchen, where he found Gram had already left for class. On the counter sat a piece of toast that his friend had made for him, now slightly cold but still edible. He grabbed it and bit into it, the crunch echoing through the room as he rushed to gather his things.

As he chewed, he ran his fingers through his hair again, trying to tame the wild strands into some semblance of order. Grabbing his keys, he quickly scanned the room one last time to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything important.

"Let's go!" he muttered to himself, the toast still clutched between his teeth as he dashed out the door, not caring that he hadn't properly said goodbye to Gram. The sound of the world outside greeted him as he slammed the door shut behind him, the chaotic morning now a memory as he plunged headfirst into another day of university life.

He took a deep breath of fresh air as he hurried down the hallway, ready to tackle whatever awaited him on campus, thoughts of unfinished paintings and classes swirling together in a chaotic blend, much like the life he led.

~

The large lecture hall was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the late morning sun that filtered in through the tall, arched windows. Dust particles swirled lazily in the beams of light, giving the space a tranquil, almost ethereal atmosphere. Despite the serene setting, the room buzzed with quiet chatter, the hum of students shifting in their seats, flipping through notebooks, and setting up their laptops.

At the front of the class stood Professor Harlan, an older man with greying hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose. His voice filled the room as he paced back and forth, gesturing toward the whiteboard, which was filled with dates, names of famous artists, and sketches of classical works. He spoke with the enthusiasm of someone deeply passionate about his subject, delving into the history of Renaissance art.

"The Renaissance was a period of great cultural change and achievement, spanning roughly the 14th to the 17th century. This era saw a resurgence of interest in the classical past and the development of linear perspective, a technique that revolutionized the way artists viewed and portrayed the world." Professor Harlan paused, letting the information sink in. "Now, who can tell me why the work of Leonardo da Vinci is considered the pinnacle of this period?"

A few hands shot up around the room. Among them was a girl named Lena, sitting near the front, her perfectly organized notes already open in front of her. She was dressed in a soft pink sweater, with round glasses that magnified her eyes slightly. "It's because da Vinci was a master of both art and science. His understanding of anatomy and geometry allowed him to create works that were both technically precise and emotionally resonant," Lena explained, her voice steady and confident.

"Very good, Lena," the professor responded, nodding in approval.

A few more students chimed in, adding their thoughts on da Vinci's use of chiaroscuro and his ability to convey human emotion in subtle ways. Yok sat near the back of the lecture hall, half-listening as the discussion unfolded. His notebook was open, but instead of taking notes, he was absentmindedly sketching the outline of a figure, letting his thoughts drift.

The room around him was large and filled with about fifty students, each one varying in levels of interest and engagement. Some were eagerly following the lecture, while others stared blankly at their screens or doodled in the margins of their notebooks. Despite the noise, a sense of academic focus lingered in the air.

As Professor Harlan moved on, he asked a more controversial question, "Now, some critics argue that the Renaissance idealized human beauty to an unrealistic degree, turning it into an almost unattainable standard. Do you think this had a negative impact on art and society at the time?"

The room fell quiet for a moment before a student near Yok, a guy named Malcolm, spoke up. Malcolm was tall, with dark skin and dreadlocks that hung over his shoulders. He had a sharp, articulate way of speaking. "I think that the Renaissance's focus on beauty, particularly in the form of the white, European male, definitely had a negative impact. It established a standard of beauty that excluded other races, women, and those who didn't fit the mold."

Several students murmured in agreement. Yok, leaning back in his chair, his hand still loosely holding his pen, raised an eyebrow. He listened as the discussion continued, Malcolm going on about how Renaissance art laid the foundation for exclusionary beauty standards that persisted for centuries.

Yok, never one to shy away from saying what was on his mind, raised his hand. When Professor Harlan called on him, he straightened up in his seat.

"I disagree," Yok said plainly, his voice cutting through the room. "I don't think it's that simple. Sure, the Renaissance idealized beauty, but it was more about celebrating the human form in general, not about excluding people. You can't judge those artists by today's standards-they were products of their time. They weren't intentionally creating harmful standards. They were trying to elevate humanity, to show us at our best."

A few heads turned toward Yok, some students exchanging glances. Malcolm frowned, clearly not agreeing with Yok's perspective.

"But that's the problem, Yok," Malcolm argued, his tone sharpening. "You can't just excuse it because it was a 'product of its time.' The fact is, that period set the stage for centuries of exclusion in art. They may not have done it consciously, but that doesn't mean the impact wasn't there."

Yok's eyes narrowed slightly, his calm demeanor masking the intensity beneath. "Look, I'm not saying there wasn't any exclusion. But the point of Renaissance art was to explore what humans could achieve-intellectually, artistically, and physically. They wanted to show people at their most aspirational, not create a model for everyone to live up to."

Malcolm folded his arms, his jaw set. "That's easy for you to say. But you're ignoring the fact that for people who didn't fit into that mold, the message was clear: you're not part of this celebration of humanity."

The tension in the room rose as students leaned forward, sensing the brewing conflict. Yok could feel the weight of their stares on him, but he didn't flinch. He was used to being misunderstood, used to having his opinions met with resistance. But that didn't stop him from speaking his mind.

Before the argument could escalate further, Professor Harlan stepped in. "Alright, alright, let's keep it civil," he said, raising a hand to calm the room. "Both Malcolm and Yok raise valid points. The Renaissance did, indeed, idealize certain forms of beauty and humanity, but it's also important to consider the context in which these works were created. Our job is to study these pieces critically, not necessarily to pass judgment."

The professor's words diffused some of the tension, though the air still buzzed with quiet murmurs. Yok glanced down at his notebook, the rough sketch of a figure barely visible beneath his pencil strokes. He didn't regret what he said, but he could tell from the looks around him that some of the students were put off by his perspective.

As the class moved on, Yok leaned back in his chair again, tapping his pen against his notebook absentmindedly. He wasn't one to care about fitting in, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the conversation had hit a nerve-both with Malcolm and with himself.

His fingers traced over the half-drawn lines of his sketch, his mind drifting back to the familiar, calm face of Longtai that he had drawn in a moment of distraction. It puzzled him why that face kept appearing in his sketches, why it lingered in his thoughts even now.

The class continued, but for Yok, the rest of the lecture was little more than background noise as he wrestled with his thoughts.

~

Longtai sat at the small wooden desk in the corner of his cozy bookstore, the late afternoon sunlight casting warm golden hues over the rows of neatly arranged books. The air was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of paper or the soft tap of a customer's footsteps. His head rested heavily on his folded arms, and his face was half-hidden by the stack of glossy university brochures sprawled out in front of him.

He let out a deep, frustrated groan, his eyes scanning over the booklets for what felt like the hundredth time. "Should I really do this?" he muttered to himself, huffing and gently tapping his forehead against the desk. His bangs fell messily over his face, a result of constantly ruffling his hair in anxious thought. He was torn. Enrolling in university felt like the next logical step-it was time for him to choose, time to move forward-but something about it filled him with unease.

The idea of change unsettled him. Would university life really be different from high school? He had kept to himself for so long, happy in his own quiet world of books and stories, never really fitting in with others. It wasn't that he disliked people; he just never knew how to find his place among them. His fear of not fitting in gnawed at him.

His fingers clutched at the booklets as he pouted, scrunching his face in frustration. "Why can't things just stay the way they are?" he whispered to the empty room. He didn't mind his routine. The small apartment, the quiet bookstore, the familiar streets-everything was in its place.

Longtai groaned again, pushing himself up and ruffling his hair in an attempt to stop the spiraling thoughts. "Stop thinking about it," he muttered. His hair now stuck up at odd angles, messier than before, but it gave him a charmingly disheveled look. Just as he sat up straight, the soft chime of the bell above the store's door rang, signaling a new customer.

Emma walked briskly toward the bookstore, her purple cardigan swaying lightly in the spring breeze, her shopping bag bouncing against her leg. Beside her, Yok trailed lazily, his hands in his pockets and a look of exasperation on his face. The sky was bright and clear, the warmth of the sun seeping through the buildings and casting a glow over the neighborhood.

"Do we really have to stop here?" Yok groaned, side-eyeing Emma as they neared the bookstore.

"Yes!" Emma chirped, her tone cheerful. "It's on the way to Sean's, and I need to pick up that book I reserved. You won't even notice the time passing."

Yok rolled his eyes. "I hate that you dragged me along," he muttered, though there was no real bite in his words. His voice was more resigned than annoyed. He sighed and shoved his hand deeper into his bag, pulling out a jacket. Without explanation, he shrugged it on, covering the tattoos that adorned his arms.

Emma gave him a puzzled look. "Why are you putting that on? It's warm out."

Yok adjusted the collar, tugging the sleeves down as if to hide something. He glanced at her briefly. "I don't know," he muttered, "I just... felt like it."

Emma furrowed her brow but shrugged it off. "Whatever, let's go. Sean's going to complain if we're late again."

Yok took a deep breath, pulling on the jacket more firmly, as if steeling himself for something. They stepped into the bookstore together, the bell above the door chiming once again.

Longtai, having just barely composed himself from his earlier sulking, quickly straightened up when the door opened. His messy bangs still clung to his forehead, but a soft smile appeared on his lips as he greeted the customers. "Welcome," he said, his voice gentle as always, though his eyes still held a hint of tiredness.

Emma greeted him cheerfully, bouncing up to the counter. "Hey! Did that book I reserved come in?"

Longtai gave her a small nod. "Yes, it did. I set it aside for you," he replied, walking over to the shelf behind the counter and pulling out the book with practiced ease. "Here it is."

"Awesome!" Emma grinned, taking it from him. "I'll just take a quick look around to see if there's anything else I need."

Yok groaned softly, leaning against the counter. "Didn't you say you were only getting the book?"

Emma winked at him. "I'll be quick, I promise!" She darted off into the aisles, leaving Yok standing at the counter, staring after her.

Longtai, having returned to his usual task of organizing the counter, glanced at Yok, who was now aimlessly looking around the store. Longtai's hair, still in disarray, caught Yok's eye. Cute. The word slipped into Yok's mind without warning, and his brow furrowed immediately. "what..." Yok muttered under his breath, slightly bewildered by his own thought. He shook his head as if to clear it, trying to focus on something else.

After an awkward beat of silence, Yok cleared his throat. "Uh... do you guys have a section for paints?" he asked, his voice casual as he scanned the rows of books, trying to look disinterested.

Longtai blinked and looked up at him. "Yes," he said softly, pointing toward the back of the store. "It's upstairs. I can show you if you'd like."

Yok nodded, still a bit confused by his earlier thought but trying to act normal. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Longtai stepped out from behind the counter, leading Yok up the narrow staircase that creaked under their weight. Yok followed closely, his eyes drifting toward Longtai's back. His back is small, narrow, kinda delicate-looking. Longtai's baggy shirt hung loosely around his frame, the fabric swaying with each step he took. His hair, messy and slightly damp at the edges, clung to the back of his neck, revealing the soft curve of his nape. Would be an interesting subject to draw.

Yok blinked hard, mentally kicking himself. What the hell's wrong with me today?

They reached the top of the stairs, and Longtai gestured toward a shelf lined with different paints, brushes, and sketchbooks. "Here's the paint section. You can find any colors you need here."

Yok rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a slight tension in the air. "Thanks," he muttered. He quickly grabbed a pencil from a nearby shelf, then hesitated before speaking again. "Do you guys have any art history books or something? Like on painting techniques or artists?"

Longtai paused for a second, thinking. Yok couldn't help but notice how cute Longtai looked when he was deep in thought-his brow furrowed just a little, and his lips pursed in concentration. Dammit.Yok cursed internally again.

"I'm not sure right now," Longtai replied, his voice soft but thoughtful. "But I can check if we have any in stock later."

Yok quickly nodded. "That's okay. I'll probably come back another time anyway." He tried to sound casual, but there was a strange, unfamiliar warmth in his chest that he couldn't quite place.

Just then, Emma returned, her arms full of spray paints and color palettes. "Found what I needed!" she chirped, oblivious to the strange tension between the two boys. "Let's check out."

They returned to the counter, Longtai quietly scanning the items. As he did, Emma's eyes landed on the university booklets that were still strewn across the desk. "Oh, are you enrolling in this university?" she asked, her voice excited.

Longtai hesitated, glancing at the brochures. "I'm still thinking about it," he admitted shyly, biting his lip. "I haven't decided yet."

Emma grinned. "You totally should! Yok and I go there, and it's a great school! If you don't know anyone, you can hang out with us."

Longtai's cheeks flushed slightly, his nervousness apparent as he shifted from foot to foot. Yok, noticing the awkwardness, stepped in. "Emma, we're gonna be late. Let's go."

Emma rolled her eyes but nodded, handing over the money for their items. Longtai packed up their purchases with a small smile, still shy but grateful for the brief conversation. As they left, Yok took one last glance back at Longtai. Their eyes met for a second, and Longtai offered a polite nod and his usual gentle smile.

Yok turned away quickly, following Emma out the door. His mind was racing with thoughts he couldn't quite understand, and for the first time in a while, he felt truly off balance. What the hell was that? He rubbed the back of his neck again, feeling strangely flustered.

~

Fate brings Yok and Longtai together once more, the unspoken connection growing stronger. Yok feels compelled to immortalize Longtai in his art-but will he take the risk to bridge the distance between them? 🎨✨

Thanks for reading!

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Love Yoon ~