I DON'T PLAY WITH BOYS | AMBM | BL

2. Justin: Caught In The Moment

Jino was quieter today. Not that he was ever particularly loud, but there was something off. He usually sat with that casual, unreadable expression, the one that made me wonder if he ever thought about anything at all or if he just floated through life, totally unbothered. But today? His shoulders were tighter, his jaw clenched, and his earbuds were in from the moment he walked into photojournalism class, shutting out the world with whatever angry music was blaring.

I stole glances at him while Mr. O'Connell droned on about our next assignment, a pair project where we had to "capture the essence of people." Some vague, pretentious shit that made me wish I'd picked an easier elective. Normally, I could get away with phoning it in, but today, fate decided to screw me over.

"Justin. Jino. You two are paired for the project."

I blinked, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. I looked over at Jino, but he didn't even react, just pulled one earbud out and gave Mr. O'Connell a half-hearted nod. Cool. So, I guess this was happening.

We headed out to the courtyard after class, where the other students were already scattering to take pictures of trees, benches, and each other. The afternoon sun spilled over the campus, casting long shadows, and the breeze was just enough to make the moment feel... cinematic.

Jino walked a few steps ahead of me, his broad back framed by the sunlight, the black ink of his tattoos standing out against the pale skin of his arms. I was supposed to be taking photos of people, finding something real in the moments between poses, but all I could focus on was him. The way he moved, so sure and yet so distant.

We didn't talk much. Jino didn't seem to be in the mood, and honestly, I wasn't sure I could handle a conversation without saying something stupid. So instead, I stayed behind, my camera dangling from its strap, waiting for the right moment to start shooting.

He paused near the fountain, glancing around like he was trying to figure out what the hell to do. I raised the camera to my eye, the viewfinder framing him in a way that felt more intimate than it should've. The curve of his neck, the sharp lines of his tattoos, the way his shoulders slouched slightly like he was carrying some invisible weight.

Click.

The shutter snapped, and I froze, half expecting him to turn around, but he didn't. He just stood there, oblivious. I felt a weird rush of relief, and maybe something else I didn't want to name. I took another picture, this time of the ink that wound down his forearm, dark against his skin, stark in the light.

Click.

I told myself it was just part of the project. I was supposed to capture people in their natural state, right? But through the lens, the moment felt like something more, like I was seeing Jino in a way no one else did. The camera made it feel distant, safe, like I wasn't really doing anything wrong. But the way my heart picked up speed said otherwise.

I moved closer, angling the camera just right as he turned slightly, catching the side of his face in profile. His expression was hard to read, but there was something about it—something lonely, maybe. And I couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop imagining what was going on in his head, why he looked like he was somewhere else entirely.

Click.

I was too focused, too caught up in this weird trance of seeing him through the viewfinder, romanticizing every movement he made, every shadow that played across his skin. The background noise of students laughing and snapping pictures barely registered. All I saw was him.

Then a voice cut through my focus, sharp and familiar.

"Justin?"

I flinched, lowering the camera so fast I almost dropped it. My girlfriend, Britney, stood a few feet away, her head tilted, eyebrows raised in confusion. She had that look, the one that said she'd been watching me for longer than I was comfortable with.