Ethan holds Jacques's hand, pulling him away from his bitterness to join his friend. Suspiciously, Jacques examines the man. He's much older than Ethan, with noticeable grey hair and wrinkles. He appears to be of a different race—an Asian man with no facial hair and a slight double chin from age.
Naturally, Jacques is suspicious.
"Mr. Sanada, this is Jacques—my friend," Ethan introduces Jacques politely.
"And Jacques," Ethan turns to him, "this is Mr. Sanada, also my friend."
Jacques shakes Mr. Sanada's hand, though it feels odd. Very odd. If Ethan had introduced him as a lecturer or even a stepfather, it would've made more sense. But a friend? How could Ethan possibly be friends with a man who looks to be in his mid-to-late forties?
Are they… dating or something?
A few weeks ago, when Jacques first met Ethan, the connection had been instant. They clicked just like that—as if they'd known each other before. Jacques tried asking him out, but Ethan always refused. Said he was busy. Said he didn't have time.
But then Jacques visited his flat… and found him cooking, trying out new recipes.
He had all the time in the world!
That's when Jacques assumed Ethan just wasn't interested in him.
Apparently… now he knew why.
What was a seventeen-year-old pretty boy doing at a festival, at nearly 9 p.m., with an older man dressed nicely—when they were clearly unrelated—and Ethan introduced him as just a friend?
Definitely suspicious.
"Mr. Sanada, do you mind if Jacques comes along with us?" Ethan asks, suddenly clinging to Jacques's hand. Then he side-eyes Jacques. "He looked devastated when I found him by the lake. If I'd left him alone, he might've jumped into the water—and tomorrow they'd find him floating."
"Hey, my boyfriend just broke up with me. Of course I'm sad, but why would I harm myself?" Jacques replies, a little offended.
"Then..." Ethan plucks the cigarette from Jacques's fingers. "Don't do it."
Then he throws the cigarette into the lake.
"Hey! Come on…" Jacques grunts.
"It's not healthy! Remember what you said? You want to fly among the stars. You need a healthy body so you can survive anything in the future," Ethan nags.
Jacques folds his arms and looks away, sulking.
"Jacques, I don't mind if you tag along with us. It's better, actually," Mr. Sanada says with a warm smile.
Ethan lights up with delight, but Jacques can't help interpreting it another way—as if Mr. Sanada was perfectly fine having a second sugar baby to accompany him tonight.
"Uhh… on second thought, I—" Jacques starts to walk away from the mess, but Ethan grabs his arm.
"Then it's settled! Let's enjoy the festival together!" Ethan cheered, dragging Jacques along with him into the crowd.
Mr. Sanada really acted like a father to them. He bought them snacks, drinks, cotton candy—but Jacques refused everything.
"Not even your favorite drink?" Ethan twirled around to face him, smiling brightly as he gently pressed the cool soda can against his own cheek. His shoulders shifted with a playful flair, making the whole gesture feel almost like a little dance.
But what caught Jacques's attention wasn't the soda—it was the way Ethan looked at him. The way he smiled. The combination was striking, especially with his makeup. Apparently, androgynous people were incredibly captivating.
Was he flirting with me?
Ethan had been holding his hand, leaning in, smiling when their eyes met. Honestly, the mixed signals made Jacques confused.
Was Ethan into him or not?
Maybe he needed to test it.
Jacques glanced around before stepping into Ethan's personal space. Now they were standing very close—so close that Ethan gasped.
"My favorite drink is right there," Jacques murmured, leaning in to kiss him.
But just before their lips could meet, Ethan flustered and shoved the lime soda into Jacques's face. That's where his lips landed—on the cold, watery cup.
"There." Just that one word—then Ethan walked away and stood close to Mr. Sanada.
Jacques grunted. Every time he made a move, Ethan dodged it. But when he did nothing, Ethan would touch him, smile, flirt—subtly, but undeniably.
He was very difficult to understand.
Lime soda in his hand, Jacques sips it while following Ethan and Mr Sanada from behind.
After the lime soda was empty, Jacques thought to himself, I can use this as an excuse to walk away and go home. I don't understand why he dragged me along only to ignore me. He's being flirty, then he rejects me. If I still can't figure out what he wants by the time this soda's finished, I'm leaving. I don't care. This is just a waste of time.
He kept watching the age-gapped couple in front of him. Now they were checking out accessories. Mr. Sanada offered to buy Ethan a beaded necklace, but Ethan politely refused—visibly flustered.
What are they? Why are they friends? How did they even become friends? Jacques thought—not in a jealous way, but more out of genuine confusion. To him, it was just really, really weird to see two people with such an age gap hanging out like this and calling it friendship. If Ethan had introduced him as a "senior" or "mentor," Jacques could've understood. After all, Ethan was in medical school.
But friend? That was too weird. He couldn't figure it out.
Mr. Sanada excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Ethan alone on the bench, now sitting side by side with Jacques.
"So, how did you meet him?" Jacques asked in a casual tone.
"Oh? Why do you ask?" Ethan looked at Jacques.
"Because, honestly, it's weird to see a 17-year-old befriend a 45-year-old and then call him a friend. I can't help but think you guys met at—" Jacques raised his eyebrows, hiding the end of his sentence with a sly, teasing smile.
"Wait—" Ethan picked up on the implication. "You don't think me and Mr. Sanada are—?"
Jacques's smile grew wider as Ethan started to freak out. He loved it when Ethan reacted like this.
"I told you to stop watching p0rn!" Ethan pinched Jacques's arm.
"Hey, this isn't a porn thing. It happens in real life too! Especially on dating apps—for gays..." Jacques grabbed Ethan's wrist, casually wrestling with him.
"No! It wasn't like that! He lives next door, okay? We didn't meet on a dating app."
"Even better," Jacques continued to tease. "Imagine a video titled: My Neighbor Is—"
"I said stop it!" Ethan poked Jacques with his fingers—this time with no mercy.
Of course, Jacques had to defend himself from the assault. They both giggled as the play fight escalated, Ethan fighting for his pride.
Jacques pretended to bite Ethan's fingers, and it worked—Ethan quickly pulled back.
He stepped away from the bench. "Looks like you need a second lime soda. It worked to make you behave, though."
"I don't need lime soda—get your ass back here!" Jacques reached for Ethan. It didn't matter what part of him he grabbed—his skirt, his hand, his wrist—he just wanted him to sit and vibe with him again. But the femboy twisted his body like he was dancing out of reach.
"I'll be back," Ethan said, walking off. "Wait here, okay?"
"Where are you going?" Jacques stood up, about to follow Ethan, but then he understood why he had to wait—Mr. Sanada was still in the toilet. They couldn't leave him behind.
Ethan's smile faded the moment he turned away. His steps slowed down until he came to a stop.
"Fuck it, Ethan. Stop engaging! You'll only hurt yourself," he muttered, frustrated with himself. Then, he began to monologue: "Okay, you go buy something, go back, and treat him like a little brother. Don't cross the line. I'm good. I got this."
At the fruity juice stall, Ethan ordered a fresh guava smoothie. While waiting in line, he felt something—like a presence behind him. That specific kind of tension when someone's been watching you too long from a distance. Uncomfortable, but… oddly magnetic.
"Excuse me," a voice said.
Ethan turned around and saw a big guy—taller than him, blonde, handsome, and clearly athletic. The guy was holding Ethan's cat ear hairband.
"You dropped this," the boy said, offering it back.
"Oh, thanks," Ethan reached to take it, but the boy caught his hand—and didn't let go.
"What's your name?" he asked, grins, making him looked like a pervert.
Ethan stared at him with a vicious glare. If this guy didn't let go soon, Ethan swore he'd stomp his damn toes into mush.
"ROGER," Ethan said in a low, bassy growl—dropping his voice and puffing up his chest like a bodybuilder. Even though… he had zero muscle.
"That's sweet, Roger," the boy said smoothly. "My name's Mourice." He still wasn't letting go. "Can I have your number?"
Ethan really wanted to slap him. But then, a better idea sparked.
He rattled off a string of digits. Mourice saved the number and immediately dialed.
Ethan's stomach sank. Shit. It was his uncle's number. He had thought that giving it would make the pervert let him go, but it seemed that pervert had been through this enough times to see it through.
Mourice hung up slowly, then tightened his grip on Ethan's wrist.
"See? Your cheap tricks won't work, darling."
"Bro, seriously, why me?" Ethan gestured dramatically toward a group of pretty girls nearby. "There's a lot of hot girls out there."
"Fuck girls—" Mourice looked at him like he didn't even see anyone else. "I've always wanted a femboy for a date."
"That's cute. But I'm not interested. Let me go, or I'll beat you up," Ethan threatened, trying to yank his hand free again. No use—Mourice's grip was like a damn vice.
"Oh yes, beat me up, baby. I bet that'll be a lot of fun. We can wrestle on the bed if you want—"
"Why don't you pick someone your own size?" Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed Mourice's gluteus maximus. The unexpected touch made him jump sideways in surprise—and finally, he let Ethan go.
Mourice looked offended, he check his butt and pats it, as if trying to wipes away the remaining taste of Jacques's grab, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Feeling some tight ass," Jacques laughs.
Ethan of course, he trying to get as far as he can from Mourice. He hides behind Jacques, "come on, let's go."
Following Ethan who is pulling him away from Mourice, Jacques gives finger gesture flipping on Mourice.
Feeling embarassed by the situation, Mourice challenges Jacques, "I bet he wont be around soyboy like you!"
Jacques stops walking.
He slowly turn his head around at Mourice with a death glare.
It worked! Mourice feeling impatient now. It's round two, Jacques!