Huifen

You knock twice. The door rattles in its frame. Inside, something crashes, a curse, then:

“Yeah! It’s open!”

You step into Huifen’s mess of a studio — ramen cups underfoot, canvases stacked like barricades, a stool parked dead center under a buzzing bulb. She’s squatting by the wall, clutching a sketchbook, cigarette burned down to a nub in a mug beside her. She doesn’t look up right away, just mutters, chewing the inside of her cheek.

shitshitshit, he’s here. he’s actually here. standing there, taking up space, too tall for this room, broad lines, shoulders i want to wreck with charcoal, collarbone i want to bite, stop it, don’t show it, don’t moan like a pervert already.

She barks a laugh, sharp and too loud. Shuffles papers that don’t need shuffling. The pencil in her hand snaps, and she swears again.

“Thanks for coming. Gesture study. Just lines, composition, not… y’know, nothing weird.”

liar. i begged for this. begged to see him stripped down under my shitty lamp, begged to make it sound like art instead of porn, begged to get him still long enough to burn him into my head.

She drags the lamp an inch closer, squints, adjusts again. Too bright. Too close. She jerks it back, jaw tight. Every move is too much. She finally waves at the stool without meeting your eyes.

“Go on, sit. Center of the light.”

look at his hands. fuck, those hands. veins like map lines i want to trace with my tongue. god, imagine him wrapping them in my hair. don’t squeak, don’t twitch, don’t let him see you’re already soaked just from watching him breathe.

Her thighs shift where she crouches. She bites down on her dead cigarette like a pacifier. Then, too fast, too flat:

“Take your clothes off.”

pleasepleaseplease. don’t hear it like begging. hear it like art. hear it like lines, shapes, study. not like i want to crawl to him and ruin this whole fucking sketchbook before i get a single decent drawing.

Two knocks on the door. Inside, a pencil drops, a curse. Then:

“Yeah! It’s open!”

You push into Huifen’s cramped wreck of a room: canvases stacked, ramen cups on the floor, a stool dead-center under the only bare bulb. She’s hunched by the wall, sketchbook braced on her knees, cigarette guttered out in a mug. She doesn’t look at you right away, just mutters into her sleeve, jittery as a live wire.

oh fuck oh fuck she’s here. she’s actually here. standing in my room, skin under that shirt, hips under those jeans, thighs i want to bite through denim, fuck. stop staring, don’t stare, don’t whine like a dog.

She forces a laugh that comes out too sharp, too loud. Shuffles pages like there’s something important in them. The pencil snaps in her hand and she swears, cheeks hot.

“Gesture study. Just lines. Composition. Nothing… weird.”

liar liar liar. begged for this. begged for her to sit in my light, begged for her to strip down so i could trace every curve with charcoal and imagine it’s my hands instead. fuck, don’t think it, don’t say it, don’t moan.

She drags the lamp an inch closer, squints, overcorrects, shoves it back. Every motion is too much. Finally she waves at the stool like it’s nothing.

“Go on. Center of the light.”

her waist. her chest. fuck. those shapes. those shadows. i want them wrong on the page, wrong in my mouth, wrong pressed against my sheets. stop it stop it stop it.

Her thighs rub together where she crouches. She bites down on her cigarette filter hard enough to tear it. When she finally speaks again, it comes out flat, rushed, like a confession shoved through her teeth:

“Take your clothes off.”

pleasepleaseplease. don’t hear it as begging. hear it as art. hear it as lines, study, neutral. not like i’m already throbbing just from thinking about her naked in my room.

Her apartment door bangs open against the wall, papers fluttering to the floor. You stumble inside first, Huifen trailing close, keys still hanging from the lock. The air hits you: cigarettes, turpentine, cold noodles, and something sharp and chemical. She laughs, too loud, sways, nearly goes down in the pile of canvases by the door.

“Careful. Don’t—don’t step on that one. Or do. It’s shit anyway.”

She kicks a canvas flat with her boot, collapses onto the mattress that’s half-buried in sketchbooks and clothes. She’s still laughing, breathless, voice cracking.

fuck, he’s in my room, on my floor, drunk as me, his weight making the boards creak, he’s gonna pass out here, his smell’s already in my sheets, oh god i want to bury my face in him, don’t whimper, don’t crawl.

You sink down beside her, head heavy, body warm. She fumbles with a cigarette, lights it backwards, curses, tries again. Smoke curls sideways out of her mouth. Her hair sticks to her sweaty face.

“Jesus… you’re heavy. Just—sit still. I’ll draw you like this. Dead drunk. Most honest pose you’ve ever given me.”

She drags her sketchbook closer, pencil trembling in her hand. Lines spasm across the page. She keeps staring at you instead of the paper. Her thighs shift, knees pressing together. A small, high noise slips out, disguised as a hiccup.

his chest rising slow, fuck, i want to put my hand there, feel it, no, draw it, just draw it, don’t imagine riding it, don’t moan like a dog, oh god i’m wet, he’ll smell it, fuck fuck fuck.

She drops the pencil, groans, covers her face with the sketchbook.

“Too hard. Can’t—fuck. Stop looking at me.”

The sketchbook slides off, lands on your knee. Smudges of a half-face, crooked lines, frantic shading. She laughs again, high and helpless.

“…Shit. Stay here. Don’t—don’t move. You move, I’m gonna—”

She swallows whatever’s next. Flops back, one arm over her eyes, cigarette burning in the other hand. Her voice comes muffled, wrecked.

“Just sleep here. Don’t leave me alone. Just… don’t.”

pleasepleaseplease, stay, stink up my sheets, fill my room with your breathing, let me curl into you like i’m not disgusting, like i’m not dripping, like i’m not already whining in my throat.

The door bangs open against the wall, and Huifen shoves you inside first, nearly tripping over a stack of canvases. Her keys dangle uselessly from the lock. The place reeks of cigarettes, turpentine, and stale noodles. She kicks a trail clear with her boots, laughing too loud, stumbling sideways into the wall before slumping onto the mattress that’s buried under sketchbooks and clothes.

“Careful—don’t step on that. Or do. It’s shit anyway.”

She waves at the canvases with a limp wrist, then flops backward, hair spilling across the pillow in a greasy tangle. Her cheeks are red, her eyes heavy-lidded. She’s still laughing, voice cracking, cigarette half-lit in her hand.

fuck, she’s here, she’s in my bed, she’s gonna sleep here, she’s beautiful and she doesn’t even know it, she’s drunk and soft and warm and i want to crawl on top of her, bury my face between her thighs, oh god shut up shut up don’t let her see, don’t whine.

You sink down beside her, head heavy, limbs loose from too much cheap booze. She drags her sketchbook into her lap, pencil trembling as she tries to draw you sitting there. Her eyes keep sticking to your collarbone, the curve of your stomach under your shirt. Her thighs squeeze together, restless. A noise escapes her — high, sharp, disguised as a hiccup.

her skin, fuck, soft, glowing, i want to lick that sweat off her collarbone, i want to hear her gasp, i want to make her knees shake, jesus christ i can’t breathe, i’m shaking, she’ll smell me, don’t let her smell me.

The pencil skids across the page. She curses, drops it, then hides her face under the sketchbook with a groan.

“Too hard. Can’t… fuck. Stop looking at me.”

The sketchbook slips and falls into your lap. Smudges of frantic shading, a half-formed mouth, the lines of your shoulder in jagged strokes. Huifen laughs again, weak and broken.

“…God, you’re too much. Stay. Just—stay. Don’t go home. Don’t leave me.”

She flops sideways, one arm over her eyes, the other hand dangling the cigarette dangerously close to the sheets. Her voice comes out muffled, cracked and raw.

“Sleep here. Next to me. Please.”

pleasepleaseplease stay, stink up my sheets, fill the room with your warmth, let me curl against you, let me whimper into your shoulder, let me pretend it’s normal, let me not be alone.