Seok was pretty freaking perfect as far as Matisse was concerned. The man went to school, went out with friends, or holed up in his room.

And he had kickass clothes. As soon as he’d buzzed up to the loft and walked inside with teal hair and a leather jacket, Matisse knew they’d get along. He didn’t care if it was girly, but when Seok asked to borrow his velvet smoking jacket, he’d been flattered.

His roommate was quiet, studious. He still hadn’t figured out the furniture thing, except that every so often Seok would show up with an end table or bookshelf. The loft had come furnished, with little room for extra odds and ends, but Matisse preferred the touches Seok added. It made the space seem warmer, like home.

No.

Better than home.

Nicole called from time to time, but she seemed to understand he needed space and limited her calls to quick check-ins.

He hadn’t talked to Dad.

“Hey.” Seok broke into his thoughts, and Matisse let out a grateful breath.

“Hey,” he answered.

“I’m going to Places des Arts for a show. Want to come?”

Pushing back against the chair where he sat, Matisse shrugged. “You’re not going to see the Phantom are you?”

White teeth flashing, Seok chuckled. “No. Firebird.”

“Ballet?” He considered it, and finally, smacked his knees with his hands and stood. “I’m in. I didn’t take you as a ballet lover,” he continued as he got his coat from the hall closet. He handed Seok his.

“I’m not. But this is for business.”

The word business made Matisse’s stomach clench. “I didn’t know you had a business.”

Pushing his arms through the sleeves of his long wool coat, Seok stared at the floor. “It’s my family’s. My father has associates in town. I’m the dutiful son bringing them to the ballet.”

“Should I change?” Matisse glanced down at his black trousers and white shirt and hesitated.

Seok raised an eyebrow and flicked his teal bangs out of his eyes. “Neither one of us will impress them. It is more about being polite and showing respect.”

“Then maybe I should stay,” he went on. He’d never been good at either of those things, and they’d take a distinct and focused effort on his part.

His roommate peered up at him, twisting a scarf in his hands. “I’d appreciate it if you came. But I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.” There was no subterfuge in his words, but there was an edge of anxiety in his tone.

Reaching past him for his own scarf, Matisse nudged Seok toward the door. “I’ll do my best,” he said as he wound his scarf around his neck. “But I cannot guarantee a blunder-free evening.”

His roommate smiled, holding the door open for him to pass. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Matisse answered. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to help someone, and it felt good to do it.

A car waited for them at the curb. “We’re picking up two of my dad’s business associates at their hotel. They both speak English, but will probably use Korean. I’ll translate for you.”

“You’re Korean?”

“South,” Seok answered. “Hardly anyone gets out of the north. I’ve been in boarding school in Toronto, and then Montréal, since I was twelve, and before that I was in international schools in Seoul.”

“But your family is in South Korea?” Seok had been really young when he left his family if they sent him here without them.

“My father exports Canadian timber to South Korea, so he was often here. But yes, they live in South Korea and only visit here when business makes it necessary.” Seok’s voice became sharper. “We’re here,” he observed as the car came to a stop and the driver opened the back door for two men not much older than he and Matisse.

Speaking in rapid Korean, Seok bowed his head. He then gestured toward Matisse and introduced in English, “Matisse Boudreau, this is Ha-bin Joon and Kwang-sik Su. Gentlemen, Matisse Boudreau.”

The men bowed to Matisse. “Nice to meet you,” he said, making sure to smile pleasantly.

After the initial introductions, Seok inquired about their flight and accommodations, made sure they’d eaten and inquired after their families. Matisse listened with interest; this was a side of Seok he’d never seen. He was distant and icily polite. Studying his roommate intently, Matisse realized Seok was uncomfortable. Whatever this was, whatever he owed his family, Seok didn’t want to do this.

“Should we see how the car is stocked?” he asked when the conversation lulled. He opened the wet bar and found a bottle of gin and chilled tonic water. “Gin and tonic?” He pasted the smile he used only for the cameras on his face, but the men didn’t know him to recognize his insincerity.

They nodded enthusiastically while Matisse made them all drinks, sure to add more gin and less tonic to Seok’s.

“Thank you,” he said when Matisse passed him the glass. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes for a brief moment then leaned back into the seat. “We’ll be seeing Les Grands Ballets perform Firebird. Tonight is opening night, and my father has secured for you two of the best seats this theater offers.”

Business Seok didn’t suit his roommate. As the night wore on, Matisse watched the fire fade from Seok’s eyes, leaving them glassy, empty. Before the ballet, they’d had drinks in the pavilion at Places des Arts. Matisse absently people-watched, one ear tuned to the conversation taking place in Korean. Seok had done his best to include him, and Matisse had done his best to be polite, but eventually they reached a tacit agreement that Seok would entertain his father’s associates, and he would smile politely.

Having never been to the ballet, Matisse wasn’t sure what he was in for. Two hours of nonstop tiptoe boredom with an atonal soundtrack or something more?

Firebird was something more. As soon as the first notes sounded, he was hooked. The sheer athleticism amazed him. He was man enough to admit ballet was hard. At intermission, Seok’s guests spoke excitedly about the dance, and bowed often to Seok. It seemed the night was a success.

The principals took the stage for a second curtain call, and Matisse caught Seok’s eye. His friend smiled tightly, clapping politely then, when the applause died out, gestured to the men to proceed in front of him.

“You okay?” Matisse whispered low, studying his friend’s pale face. The bright lights of the theater reflected off Seok’s hair and the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

“Yes.” Nodding once, he walked faster to the coat check to hand in their tickets at the counter.

The ride back to the hotel was much less boisterous than the drive to the theater. The businessmen stared at the brightly lit city streets, replying briefly to whatever polite comment Seok made.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Matisse as the car pulled into the hotel drop-off.

Through the window, Matisse watched his friend walk, stiff-backed to the front doors. He bowed deeply, shook the men’s hands, and returned to the car. Seok slammed the door shut, and then, as if exhausted, he dropped his head into his hands. When he finally peered up, his dark eyes glittered angrily. “I fucking hate business. Ass-kissing and kowtowing.”

“I get it.” Didn’t he, though? Here he was, living a life he’d never expected because of his family’s business.

“I figured you would. Both of us are at the mercy of our family, dependent on their money. Doing what they want us to do.”

How did Seok know that? “But—I’m not dependent.”

“Aren’t you? You affording this loft on your own?” He gestured to the building where the car had stopped.

Rather than answer, Matisse got out, brushing past Seok to reach for the door. As Seok passed him, he replied, “You’re right. I am. I don’t want to be, and I am. I’m not even sure how I’d live. I have a trust fund set up by my grandparents. It kicks in at twenty-one, but even then it trickles out. A monthly payment to offset any inclination I might have to spend it all at once.”

“If I refuse to follow the path my family has chosen for me, I’m cut off,” Seok whispered distractedly. The elevator chimed, and the steel doors slid open. The two of them got inside, silent as the numbers flashed by.

Once inside the loft, Matisse went to the kitchen, found a bottle of wine in the cabinet and opened it. “You?” He held up the bottle and Seok nodded.

Pouring a glassful, he stayed silent, thinking about what his roommate struggled with. It struck him with no small amount of irony that they were in the same situation.

“I’m majoring in fine arts and engineering,” Matisse said. “They’ll pay for school and expect I return to Mississippi. Because of my situation, my dad’s business is being monitored, but a smaller off-shot, one my grandfather started, that’s where I’ll focus. I don’t hate it.”

“I will be the Canadian arm of my family’s business, visiting Korea when I am called. All of my actions impact my family,” Seok whispered the last part, swallowed his wine and shook his head. The smile he fixed on his face was false, tense. “At least we have a five-year plan, right?”

Chuckling politely, Matisse nodded. “Right.” But at the edge of his mind an idea was forming, one that could put him back in control of his life.