What I love the most about my Master of Fine Arts at Pratt Institute is that the Painting and Drawing Curriculum offers students a broad but rigorous studio practice, which, to be honest, I can't have enough of.

Our Professors highlight our individual development and focus on an understanding of the significant concerns that make up contemporary art today. The two-year program culminates in a written thesis and solo thesis exhibition that will prepare me to join the art world as a professional.

Today's class is a surprise. From the moment I set foot in the studio, I see faces I haven't seen before. Lots of people gather around Professor Milton, and another one I am not quite familiar with.

I stand there in confusion until I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Bro, where the hell have you been?" Ethan, one of my closest friends. He approaches me with a broad smile, his eyes asking loads of questions about my vanishing from the face of earth I can't even ask myself.

"Hey, man," I slap his broad back and get a push in return. We measure one another, his curiosity spiked by my silence. I'm tongue-tied. Not knowing how to dodge that bullet, I try changing subjects fast. "What is this gathering all about?"

"No idea, but by the looks of Professor Milton over there, it seems like a big deal." He snickers, and I remember why I enjoy being friends with him. He's so easy-going the world can't have enough of my freckled sidekick.

"Yeah." Fuck, I'm sucking at being evasive. How am I supposed to avoid being questioned if I can't think of better words than monosyllabic answers?

"So... Where have you been? You had Tyler and Simon worried too. I mean, after your text, we just assumed you were on your way to The Spot as usual." He's relentless, as every good friend would be if you had promised to be some place and never showed.

Shit, I remember now. We were to hang out at the pub after meeting with my dad. The thing is, our harmless conversation had escalated fast, resulting in a full-on inquisition about my tattooing apprenticeship with Alexei and other life choices. I had lost it; my old man had lost it. I had stormed out and texted Ethan before getting so inebriated that I ended up almost drowning. 

How the fuck do I tell him that? Easy, I don't. I lie instead.

"Oh, crap. I'm so sorry, man. I just forgot I had made dinner arrangements with Savvy, and if I didn't show up, she'd go ballistic. You know my sister." I shrug and stare at Ethan's face. He looks convinced, thank fuck.

"Yeah, how is your sister by the way? Still hot as hell?" He chuckles.

"Erm—fuck off?" I snort back. Tyler and Simon join us, and having overheard the conversation; we end up laughing like morons.

"Morning to you all, let me welcome you today by introducing Professor Shannon Green, also Chair of the Photography Department here at Pratt."

I look at the woman standing next to Milton with curiosity as he proceeds,

"We're designed to encourage a wide variety of cross-disciplinary studies. Hence, we expect that this broad-based education will arm our students to affect change in the world with the art they create during their time at Pratt and beyond."

"Shit just got real, guys," Tyler whispers, making Simon snigger a bit.

"Without further ado, I'll let Professor Green take over so she can explain the entire purpose of this joint project."

"Good morning everyone, delighted to meet you all." She introduces herself with a kind voice. "Pratt Institute's MFA in Photography was a concentration in the MFA Fine Arts, but that has evolved into a two-year, four-semester terminal degree in Photography."

As she continues to explain, my eyes drift to the new crowd to find a pair of azure eyes fixed on me. My heart races for no reason, making me nervous and clumsy altogether. I try concentrating on something other than this boy's sculpted features, or how his eyes drop to the floor the second they meet mine. His hair is gelled to a messy perfection and when our gazes meet for the third time, he bites his lower lip as crimson creeps up his high cheekbones.

Noah, for fuck's sake. Turn off the gaydar for five seconds now, will you?

"Am I the only one that thinks Professor Green has a nice rack?" Simon lets out in a hushed voice.

"I second that," Tyler says.

"Same," Ethan grunts.

I'm thankful for the diversion, so my eyes can focus again on the woman in front of us and her speech.

"We've gathered you today because we are looking for advanced applicants with interests in contemporary art practices of all varieties that rely heavily on the role of photographic imagery and imaging, blending it with canvas painting—which is where you guys come in."

My eyes drift away again to the crowd from the Photography MFA students. He stands out. A whirlwind of emotions crossing his face as a smile teases his lips. I suck in a deep breath. 

 Damn it. 

I try harder to zoom in on the woman's face so that my peripheral vision won't screw me over. She is still going on.

"During the next semester, these joint classes will focus on all artistic approaches that fall under the umbrella of the photographic and painting rubric. This includes research and critical positions with relation to the histories and practices of photography and fine arts."

Professor Milton takes over. "Look around and get to know each other better; you must partner up with a fellow student from your opposite MFA. Remember, as part of this community of peers and mentors, you are working at the highest level in the most dynamic art city in the United States. Now, go on, mingle, and choose your partner. See you all in a week for further information on the upcoming project."

We all scatter to mingle; I see people here and there, sharing ideas, exchanging phone numbers, it's hectic. I feel a soft tap on my left shoulder; I turn around, and he is right there, standing in front of me, with huge puppy eyes and a lopsided grin.

Fuck me, that smile.

"Hello. I see you look quite lost in this whole venture, same here by the way." His voice is husky and as he speaks, one of his hands flies to his longish, black hair. I'm rooted to this spot in the middle of the classroom. I yearn to touch his curls. Flashes of my dream barge in. My nostrils picking up the same minty scent from before. 

What's happening?

I want him to keep talking to me. I don't have to think, because I know I'd love to hear his voice some more.

"Hi, yeah. I wasn't expecting this new joint studio perspective, but I'm loving it, to be honest." Wow, it seems I'm blurting out whatever pops in my mind now. 

Shit, Noah, take a hint. He looks bemused.

"Oh, yeah? Loving it, huh?" he says, two dimples accompanying his lopsided grin and the works.

Oh, you have no idea how much I am loving it. "Yeah." I'm beaming back at this stranger as if we've been friends since forever, his kind voice soothing a part of me I didn't know I had.

"I am Park. Park Jones," he says, extending an elegant hand for me to shake.

"Noah. Noah Riley," I say, shaking his hand, the touch sending a zillion different sensations down my arm. I gasp.

"What is it, Noah?" His voice. His touch.

"Nothing, just—you look familiar, that's all."

He grins at my comment, staring with molten blue eyes right into mine. His lips part a bit. Those plump lips.

"I guess it's because I'm the one who took your picture two nights ago, then another yesterday by the same shore—couldn't help myself. I swear I wasn't stalking you... Wait, that's what a real stalker would say." He burst out laughing and it is the most beautiful sound in the room.

"You took the Polaroids?" I wish I could say so much to this boy in front of me. Words fade, the floor beneath me fades, and I'm swimming in a sea of raging waves. One second I resurface, the next I'm sinking under his stare.

"Yes, and I'm also the owner of that hoodie you are wearing. Hope you don't mind me lending it to you back then. You were shivering so much, your tee was drenched and I had to go or my mother would kill me. So, I left you with it."

My jaw drops as I faint a little in my head. So he cared. He had to leave, but he cared about me... I think I'm smiling so broadly my face might split in half.

"Looks better on you, Noah." The way he whispers my name has me spiraling in and out of myself. Fuck me, but this is the first time in months I've felt alive.

"Noah, bro, let's get the hell out of here, hit The Spot for a couple of beers." Tyler beckons from the studio door. I don't want to leave without him. It sounds stupid, but I need more time with him. An eternity would suffice. Maybe?

I nod, and gathering what is left of my neurons, I dare to say, "Wanna come, Park? I think I owe you a lot more than a drink." Plus, if you don't come, I might disintegrate right in front of everyone.

His mischievous grin takes my breath away as I walk right next to him towards the door. Our arms barely touch on the way out, and all I smell is his cologne that still matches the inside of this black hoodie, his black hoodie. The one I've washed carefully so the scent wouldn't fade away.