to the grave, a bossnoeul story

yearning for you

"Excuse me? Noeul Nuttarat?"

Noeul's shoes scraped the ground as he stopped to turn towards the gravelly voice, furrowing his brows at the unfamiliar figure. He felt no pulse of recognition as he took in the man's appearance, the black mask covering his face unhelpful. The cat like eyes weren't cold, but not welcoming either. They didn't know each other, that was certain.

Still, Noeul offered a polite smile and wai-ed at the man. "Yes?"

The man let out a small hum before shrugging off the bag hanging on his shoulder, rummaging through it without saying anything else.

Noeul watched him warily for a moment, feeling uneasy with what little time he had to get to his next class. That, and he had absolutely no fucking clue what this guy was doing.

He slowly twisted his body to hopefully ditch the man, but the other called out before he could completely turn away.

"Wait! Just—Please wait. I have something that belongs to you."

Oh? Noeul thought, his body relaxing, attention brought back to the man and whatever he was returning. He was curious now, and the stranger didn't seem too out of his mind to have Noeul scared just yet.

But just in case, he took a quick glance around the area, where a handful of other students were walking to and from class. Noeul spotted a few peers on their way to his next lecture, reminding him of his precious time slipping away.

He really didn't want to deal with Mr. Son lecturing him about punctuality over missing two second worth of a funeral management course. It was as if Mr. Son liked reminding Noeul how he didn't need to take the class.

Before Noeul could grouch to himself some more, the man spoke up. "Here you go."

Noeul's eyes widened when he saw what was being held in front of him—a canvas.

It was textbook sized, the front facing away from Noeul, raising his curiosity. He eyed it with pursed lips. He didn't paint, at least not on surfaces like a canvas.

It didn't belong to him, and he wondered what gave the man the impression that it did.

He took a step back, a way of uninviting himself from their exchange. "This isn't mine?"

The stranger sighed as if he was expecting Noeul to say that. "It's a gift. Not from me, but it's for you."

At that, Noeul raised a brow. "Not from you?"

"Yeah."

Noeul squinted his eyes.

This guy really didn't know how to give context. He kind of hated him.

He took a breath. Stay polite. "May I know who it's from then?"

The stranger scratched the back of his head, eyes downcast. He spoke in a soft, almost unsure voice. "He wants to stay in the shadows."

Noeul didn't respond.

Tossing the somewhat unnecessarily ominous words in his head, he decided he didn't like that answer. The logical side of his brain was telling him to leave, but when he glanced at the canvas again, the inquisitive part of him made him falter.

He realized that the man's arm must be starting to hurt from how long he's been holding the canvas, but still, the stranger remained persistent, waiting for Noeul with dark, bored eyes.

Fuck it.

Biting his lip, Noeul took the canvas, letting it hand down by his side. He didn't know if he wanted to look at it before he threw it away.