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The first thing Nic did was locate the enemy the second they walked into the building.

He was fuming before he even realized it. There were so many fancy people in their fancy tuxedos looking like their shit didn't stink and they had a check prepared at that very second to pay off Nic's student loans. He spent so long rooting around between groups of people at those fancy tall tables, that by the time Kieran ever caught up to him, nearly thirty minutes had gone by with no progress on finding Ronan.

"Nic, can you calm down for a second?" Kieran hissed, collecting a fistful of Nic's shirt and dragging him across the room. "People are starting to think you're being a creep and that you walked in uninvited."

"Uh, isn't that exactly what happened?" he said, squinting at his boyfriend. "Well, aside from the 'creep' part."

Kieran looked away from Nic, and it became evident that everything about this setting was clearly not sitting right with Kieran. Nic hadn't noticed it until Kieran's eyes drifted over the scene, all while he was straightening the front of his freshly-ironed suit muttering, "Yeah, well... you're making me nervous because you hardly seem nervous about this."

"Why should we be?" Nic asked, alarmed by the idea. Sure, he wasn't exactly familiar with the setting, but that was the sort of atmosphere he thrived in. No one had any expectations for him aside from quick judgements that wouldn't matter in the long run. He didn't have a whole lot of faith in Kieran's idea that anyone would want to commission him after the painting was sold, or that the painting sold at all...

Okay, maybe that was a reason to be nervous.

But wasn't that what Nic wanted? He didn't want his painting sold. He didn't want to sell it. Maybe that was where he fell short in the scheme of things—he couldn't let go of shit, not even a fucking portrait of Ronan in the nude draped in elegant silk sheets.

"Nothing. It's fine. I just hate stuffy people," Kieran confessed.

"Kind of explains why you're the complete opposite of stuffy. You don't care enough about what other people think of you," he commented under his breath as he turned to face the room. Their shoulders touched as they watched the room, and searched for Ezekiel and Eliana. They were already managing to mingle, and the fact that they could find those two so easily told Nic that if Ronan was there, he'd be noticeable. Ronan wouldn't be hiding.

The atrium in which they all mingled in was furnished with tall, vaulted ceilings paired with pure black marble columns to match the tiled floors. There was something naturally dark about the atmosphere, and yet because of it, the skylights managed to highlight the most important parts of the room—the paintings on the wall that weren't up for sale.

There was a wine bar staged in the back, with workers weaving between the tables to offer glasses to the attendees. They hadn't yet approached the two of them, considering they happened to be the youngest people there. Slowly, it started to dawn on Nic why Kieran was so hesitant to even make conversation with these people. It was starting to feel like they shouldn't have come here in the first place. Even in his best shirt and slacks, Nic still looked like a struggling college student who slept too little, showered probably less than he should have, and was desperately trying to find a reason to keep himself on his feet with the prospect of free food across the room.

Nic leaned towards Kieran's ear and asked, "You think all these snooty old guys would care if I put my arm around you?"

"Probably. But then again we're at an art auction. I can't imagine anyone who buys Ronan's portrait is entirely straight," Kieran confessed, laughing as Nic slipped hand over his lower back. He settled his hand at Kieran's opposite hip as they watched Ezekiel stride across the room to reach them.

"Boys, I believe we have our bidding number," he announced, striking up a slim white paddle with the number 69 on it.

Nic's eyes went wide as he stammered, "Wh-Why'd you get—?"

"Shit, my favorite number," Kieran said, snatching the paddle and whipping it around in a circle. "Thanks Ezekiel."

"Any time, son," the man said, his mustache curling around his smile as Nic still stood there, floundering for an answer. Ezekiel reached out and tipped Nic's jaw back up. "You'll catch flies. What's the problem?"

"Y-You aren't planning... on buying the painting, are you? Please tell me you're just looking for a cool painting to put up in the Co-Op," Nic begged, but both Ezekiel and Kieran shrugged. It answered all other questions. "I'm guessing Eliana's in on this, too."

"She's gonna help pitch in. I asked my mom to sign off on a little bit of my savings for me to use," Kieran explained, gesturing to Ezekiel with the 69 paddle. "He's pitching in a couple hundred. Just in case."

"I was just going to gamble it all anyways," he confessed shamelessly, winking at Nic before his eyes spotted a waiter walking by with a silver-lined tray of alcohol. "Pardon me," he purred, stepping away and chasing after the flute glasses. Kieran and Nic followed after him, despite how dizzy the idea made Nic. Why did it feel like he was smiling and scowling simultaneously?

Kieran, Ezekiel, and Eliana hadn't even seen the painting—why would they pitch in hundreds of dollars for it?

They started to head for the far side of the room that was pitched into the darkness of a velvet black curtain. Nic stared up at the halfway point of the walls, where the curtain stopped and caught the light of the skylights over its metal pole. Kieran followed his gaze skyward before saying, "I figured... I have nothing to lose by asking my mom. And if she said no, she said no. I'm surprised she agreed."

"To give you money for this?"

"Yeah. She'll probably see where it goes and piss herself," he laughed, rubbing a hand over his exposed forehead. He had his hair slicked back into a half-bun, the remainder of his black hair swept against his neck. "I hope you don't mind?"

"Are you kidding? This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," Nic admitted. "But I don't want you guys to waste money on this. I just... sort of want to see what happens. So don't fucking raise the paddle if you don't want to, okay?"

Kieran laughed and tipped his head to bump Nic's shoulder. "Yeah, sounds good. I'm kind of excited."

"Really? Why?" Nic said.

"Well—" and he would have finished, had one of the hosts not called everyone's attention by starting a melody of clinking glasses. Everyone joined in—Ezekiel included, after he retrieved his flute glass, anyways—and soon the hall faded out of the high-pitched bells made of silverware against glass.

Everyone's eyes were turned towards the curtain as it pulled aside to reveal the remainder of the auction room. There stood the stage, the hosts and their assistants, all backed by art sheltered under black sheets. There had to be thirty pieces up there behind the stage, and suddenly Nic realized this wouldn't just be an Anxiety Fest waiting for his portrait to come up—he'd get to see other artists' works to go alongside his.

People started to filter between the isles and rows of seats. Kieran ran off to get Eliana and Ezekiel, telling Nic to find them a spot. He walked towards the outskirts of the seats, and figured his best bet was to stay away from all the action. People weren't expecting him to bid—he was just there as a spectator for all they knew. Nic claimed one of the farther seats in the back, but before he could shimmy into the row, he caught sight of one of the attendants striding towards him from the front.

He'd recognize that white hair anywhere.

"So you made it," Ronan said, his light smile addressing him with some form of fondness Nic wasn't familiar with.

"Uh, yeah," he blurted out, unsure whether or not the tension in his brow was accurately portraying the hostility he felt churning in his chest. Seeing Ronan's carefree smile was infuriating. How could he just do that?

"While I'd love to stand and chat, I have people to mingle with. Hope you don't mind that I leave you now—I'll be back at the end of the auction," he said, drifting all too close to Nic just to breathe it into his ear.

Ronan jerked away, the abruptness throwing Nic off until he realized Kieran had shoved Ronan away from him. He stood between them, seething under his breath, "You absolute piece of shit. What do you want from us."

"I want nothing to do with you. Is that so hard to believe," Ronan said to him, eyes flickering over to where Ezekiel and Eliana were marching over. "Hello again! I wasn't expecting you two."

"You're a piece of work, aren't you?" Eliana snapped. "I imagine you get off making boys half a decade younger than you miserable. Is that it?"

"Eliana," Ronan laughed, feigning astonishment. "What makes you say that? You've always been so crude."

"I'll show you crude," she snarled, bunching up the sleeves of her dress only to be held back by Ezekiel.

"As much as I'd love to chat with you all... I have to get back to work," Ronan said, waving farewell to them on his way out of their group. Eliana tried to block him off unsuccessfully, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in preparation for a brawl.

Nic watched the back of Ronan's head retreat among the people moving closer to the front of the auction hall. He was still fuming internally at the sight of Ronan. He wished he had some cunning remark to spit at the man. He wasn't he wasn't such a pushover—

"God I want to punch him," Kieran muttered under his breath.

"A whole lotta good that'll do," Ezekiel snorted, tapping Kieran on the shoulder. "C'mon, grab a seat. We'll deal with Ronan later."

While Nic was internally fuming and burning up the inside of his esophagus—it as probably just acid reflux due to the stress of the past few days—, Kieran was showing every aspect of it without actually punching something. At some point Nic could actually feel the heat radiating off of him from where their shoulders touched. Kieran had his hands clenched furiously on his lap, twisted together with white knuckles.

Nic tapped one of his hands and asked, "What's the matter?"

"I can't believe that fucker kissed you. I'm still pissed about it," Kieran snarled out through clenched teeth, looking behind him as if preparing shoot lasers out of his eyes if he saw Ronan standing there.

"You never said you were pissed about it."

"Yeah, well I am, okay?" he said, turning back around and only catching Nic's startled stare briefly. "Don't look at me like that."

"You're cute though. Being all angry like that."

"Am not," Kieran bit out.

Ezekiel and Eliana were in their own little world talking about some television show they were both watching, so they weren't exactly paying attention when Nic said, "Well... you remember what I said. You can kiss me whenever you want I don't—mm!"

Kieran crushed his lips into Nic's, and the angle was wrong and it wasn't soft at all, but it was definitely a kiss that Nic remembered. They stayed there for a solid two seconds before Nic tipped forward and pressed his lips against Kieran's again, the movement gentle and encouraging. Kieran barely reacted except for his pink cheeks, red ears, and nervous eyes looking anywhere but Nic after they parted. "Sorry," he muttered, looking away.

That was so hot, Nic all but cried internally, smiling ridiculously wide as he covered his mouth with his hand.

The auction started not long after that—not that Nic was paying attention. He was still thinking about that fucking hot kiss holy shit. They may have been surrounded by old, snooty rich guys but Nic just didn't even give two flying fucks. It was like his brain just detached itself from the world and was rolled through fluffy romantic red powder and sprinkled with everything to do with Kieran and Kieran kissing him. He sunk into his chair into a fire hydrant-red mess, smiling idiotically to himself.

The second they skipped over introductions and got to the bidding, Nic jumped back into the world and straightened up, listening to the auctioneer chant and call out numbers. There was a small painting up front, positioned on a display easel, and someone's paddle went up across the room. It started a snowball effect—another number went up before the end of the call, followed by another, and another, until it was sold for four-hundred-something that Nic could never afford.

Given the price of the first, people who had more money than they could fit in their pockets started to get ballsy. They started with what Nic realized were the "mediocre of the bunch"—paintings and drawings that were likely to sell for less. Those flew faster than Nic thought possible because he only ever thought of paintings being admired on gallery walls for five seconds before the viewers walked off and never considered buying the pieces. But this was insanity to him. It was exhilarating, and these people were buying paintings they could only see from afar—aside from the projector screen displaying massive, high-resolution photographs overhead.

Ezekiel was just as intrigued as Nic was, and he was certain Eliana would be too had she not already mentioned offhandedly, "Oh I've been to dozens of these—it's nothing new. Usually the artists are long-dead and were never framed so they sell for very little."

Ezekiel and Nic leant forward in their seats, watching painting after painting go by as they reached final bids ranging over a grand. Nic dragged his hands down the sides of his face as he uttered, "I can't believe this is how people buy paintings. I can't believe it."

"Yours hasn't showed up yet. Are you worried?" Kieran asked.

"What? No—this is so exciting!"

At some point Eliana walked off and nabbed a brochure that dealt with the auction and the pieces exhibited in it. It wasn't extensive by any means, and not nearly everything was mentioned in it—the last few pieces were highlighted and the artists were given little blurbs. Nic wasn't in there, nor was Ronan, but the donors were mentioned in a list on the back—and that was where Ronan's name was brought up.

So my piece is here today, he realized. Why else would Ronan's name be there if not to actually sell Nic's painting?

"—And here we have an acrylic twenty-four by thirty-six portrait painted on a stretched linen canvas—"

"Holy shit—holy shit you painted that?" Kieran hissed—loud enough for the people in front of them to turn around and look.

Ezekiel and Eliana looked instantly at Nic, eyes wider than Nic imagined a painting could be the cause of. He shrunk in his seat as one of the strangers in front of him asked, "How old are you?"

"Eighteen—?"

"And that's your painting?"

The numbers around them started flying up in a blur. Nic sat, struck by the realization that Kieran was bidding at every shift of the prices that he could sneak in on. Nic felt numb, his brain going wild at the dizzying motion of people bidding for him. The number hardly even started at a grand, and was already up beyond two—

The people around them didn't necessarily care what the content was aside from the fact that it was expertly painted by a eighteen-year-old sitting behind them. Ezekiel let Nic cling onto his hand as the numbers jumped to three-thousand.

He wondered how many people recognized Ronan in the painting. He wondered how many of them were purposefully bidding for the painting in hopes of having a nude portrait of Ronan hanging in their fancy, elaborate sitting room. He tried to picture a canvas that size in the Co-Op—

"Wait, Kieran—" Nic said, grabbing Kieran's arm and yanking it down from the air.

"What? Someone's gonna take it—"

"I don't care," he insisted, forcefully ripping the paddle from Kieran's clutches. "I don't want—and you probably don't want—a nude portrait of Ronan. I don't care if we get it or not."

Kieran stared at him, all hyped up on adrenaline that it took a moment for him to even relax under the storm of people bidding in front of them, and a pocket of people on the other side of the room continuously raising their numbered paddles.

The bidders started to thin out after five-thousand, but they strung along as the auctioneer jumped the price to six-thousand, skipping at five-hundred intervals to eight-thousand. A man in front of Nic got the painting at a price of seven-thousand five-hundred.

Ezekiel patted him on the hand as Nic pried his fingers from around Ezekiel's palm. He didn't feel nearly as numb as he thought he would, especially when the older man twisted around in his seat to peg Nic with his piercing blue eyes. "You have so much talent, young man."

"Th-Thank you," he stammered, blushing.

"Is your name Nicolas Sandoval?" the man asked, and as their interest peeked, the man stretched a hand over the back of his chair to shake Nic's hand. "Daniel Ryce. I donated to the addition on Ryce Hall nearly a decade back. My daughter goes to Arnette and said you might be here."

Nic leant forward, not sure if he heard the man right. He laughed nervously before saying, "Are you—serious? Ryce Hall is named after—"

"You're Olivia's father," Kieran said, and if possible, Nic was even more confused by it.

Daniel smiled at them, and nodded to Nic again, "Olivia told me about what happened with your painting up there. I can't imagine your professors even know the extent of your artistic abilities."

Nic was so incredibly flattered that he couldn't even formulate the words to say so. He suck into his chair with a meager, "Thank you, sir." Ezekiel laughed and Eliana leant over him to rub her hand against Nic's shoulder. It wasn't until she did that that he felt how hot his eyes were. Oh God, please don't cry here. Please don't cry.

The auctioneer started listing off the prices for the next painting, and one of the assistants came over to write down Daniel's name and contact information for Nic's painting. Eliana cooed, "Oh, sweetie... I'm so proud of you." Nic laughed a little, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he took deep breaths and tried to calm the fuck down. It wasn't every day he was complimented by a donor of the University.

* * *

Ronan wasn't around at the end of the auction, and Nic figured that he didn't even care whether or not Ronan followed through with what he said earlier—to come talk with him after the auction. Olivia's father took Nic around and introduced him to the other people who bid on the painting. It was all a blur of Nic constantly surrounded by the thought of having his name mentioned to such powerful people, of how surreal the whole experience was, and how Daniel Ryce talked to him like he was already a professional in his field.

At the end of the day around dusk, they turned on the chandeliers as everyone started to file out of the building. Daniel gave Nic his champagne, but it didn't taste as good as Nic expected so he just took one sip and that was it.

"Olivia had so many excellent things to say about you," Daniel said. "Yesterday, actually."

"Really?" Nic was surprised—he hadn't thought Olivia would even want to be on good terms with him, especially after everything that happened with his roommate. "Well that was nice of her."

"Yes. I was actually wondering if you'd want to paint a portrait of her—of course, not as sultry as the one up there, but if you'd like... I would like to commission you for it," he said.

Once again, Nic laughed nervously and asked, "Um, really? I don't—I don't know what to say."

They were interrupted by Kieran swinging in saying, "He says yes." He slipped his arm around Nic's waist as Daniel threw his head back and laughed, and Nic silently thanked Kieran for bursting in like that. He felt his brain sparking and flashing against the back of his eyes.

"Great, I could call you and give you more information—"

"My phone is actually... out of commission," Nic confessed. "But you can email me if you like! Or I could talk to your daughter the next time we see each other!"

He wrote down his contact information on a napkin and handed it to Daniel before the man said his farewell for the night and walked off. Nic and Kieran watched him go, and later they said goodbye to Ezekiel and Eliana on the sidewalk. The temperature had lifted, but still warranted gloves and hats as they walked outside together.

The second they were out of earshot from all the women in fur coats and men who deserved top hats, Nic threw his arms in the air and yelled, "That was ah-mazing!"

"You really need to get a business card or something," Kieran told him, grinning as Nic ran up and twirled around a lamppost. "And... you also need to run off some steam. Let's go for a walk."

Nic did leprechaun hops all down the street past their parking garage. He jumped off garden ledges and jump-attacked Kieran from behind. It was still light out, but all the street lamps were on and there was dirty brown slush on the sides of the road. Street signs were lit up and glowing against the slick asphalt, and the tracks Nic's feet made as they slid across the sidewalk.

He was already at the stoplight when he realized that Kieran wasn't even behind him. Nic twisted around, looking for his boyfriend, only to find him standing farther up the sidewalk staring across the street. "What are you looking at?" Nic asked, marching back over and standing beside Kieran.

They both stared across the street. Nic had been down this way before to know that Blick's Art Materials was down the road and around the corner two blocks down. It was on the colorful side of the downtown where rainbow murals colored brick and concrete walls, topped with bright, obnoxious pink lights for dance bars and strip clubs.

Kieran was staring at one of the club signs with his wide eyes. The neon lights reflected on his pale cheeks.

Kieran turned to Nic, grabbed him by the shoulders and said with complete and utter certainty, "I want to try pole dancing."

n/a: The end :)