Beneath the Surface

Part 21

Yok's room was a world of its own-dimly lit, warm, filled with the scent of paper and charcoal. Sketches covered the walls, pinned haphazardly in a way that spoke of passion rather than organization. Some were finished masterpieces, others abandoned ideas, all of them a testament to the way Yok saw the world.

Longtai had been here before, but tonight, it felt different.

His chest felt tight as he stepped inside, his heart drumming against his ribs. There was an intimacy to this moment he wasn't prepared for, a weight to Yok's words that still lingered in his mind.

"I want to draw you. The way I see you."

"Sit here," Yok said softly, pulling a chair toward the small corner where the light hit just right. His voice had lost its usual playfulness-there was something quieter about him now, something serious.

Longtai swallowed and did as he was told, hesitating only for a second before perching on the edge of the seat. He shifted slightly, unsure of what to do with his hands.

Yok chuckled, noticing the way Longtai fidgeted. "Relax," he murmured, moving to grab his supplies. "You're not posing for royalty, you know."

Longtai huffed, looking away. "I've just... never been drawn before." His voice was quiet.

Yok paused, glancing at him. "No one's ever wanted to capture you?"

Longtai shook his head. "Not like this."

A small, unreadable smile flickered across Yok's lips before he sat down in front of him, setting a blank canvas on his easel. "Then I guess I'll be the first."

Longtai's heart skipped a beat.

He forced himself to sit still as Yok picked up a charcoal pencil, his fingers rolling it between his thumb and forefinger before pressing it lightly to the canvas.

And then, the world around them faded.

Yok's focus was absolute. His brows furrowed slightly, lips parting just a little as he traced the first lines. His fingers moved with practiced ease, yet there was something different in the way he worked tonight. His strokes were slower, more deliberate, as if he was afraid of getting something wrong.

Longtai watched him, mesmerized. The way his hands moved, the way his eyes flickered between him and the canvas, the way his jaw tensed when he was deep in concentration-it was intimate in a way Longtai wasn't sure he knew how to handle.

But even more overwhelming was the way Yok looked at him.

Not just like an artist studying his subject, but like someone seeing him-truly seeing him. Every detail. Every shift in expression. Every breath.

Longtai swallowed hard, his fingers twitching in his lap. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Yok, oblivious to-or maybe deliberately ignoring-Longtai's growing nervousness, continued to work, his fingers smudging the charcoal, blending the shadows into softness. He caught the way Longtai's lips parted slightly when he was deep in thought, the curve of his jawline, the way his cardigan fell around his frame.

He had tried to draw Longtai before, had sketched him more times than he cared to admit. But it had never felt right.

Now, though... now he was capturing it.

The quiet beauty of him.

The way he existed, not just in stillness, but in every breath he took.

The way Longtai sat on the bed, his cardigan slipping slightly from his shoulder, its folds catching the dim light. The way his fingers curled and uncurled over his knee, restless, betraying his nervousness. The way his lips parted ever so slightly, as if he were about to say something but thought better of it.