By Zephyria “What’s wrong?”
“What’s what?”
“You’re not saying anything… you’re just smiling.”
Still showing no intention of explaining the reason, he glanced back at Choi Hong-seo over his shoulder and feigned ignorance.
“It’s been a while. Idol Hong-seo.”
His gaze, seen from beneath lowered eyelids, held a coexistence of warmth and heat, the warmth of his heart and the passion of his body. While chuckling at his seriousness, as he deliberately used formal speech, Choi Hong-seo’s mouth also felt dry.
Fiddling with his face, which was elaborately made up for the stage, Choi Hong-seo lowered his gaze to Lee Hae-sung’s shoulder.
“I didn’t have time to wash off my makeup before rushing out…”
“If you have more events like this in the future, tell me. Places like music show broadcasts… are a bit difficult for me to visit.”
“Why?”
“It feels like I’d be an insensitive chaebol uncle, showing up where young people are having fun and stealing the spotlight, making things awkward…”
Choi Hong-seo laughed at his slightly disgruntled tone.
He clearly acknowledged that his presence would instantly make him the center of attention, yet Choi Hong-seo understood his disposition of not being fond of such attention.
“You came to the music video set last time.”
“That’s why I stayed outside the studio. I couldn’t even watch the filming. It was just a brief secret meeting in the car… that’s all.”
He paused slightly at the word ‘secret meeting,’ narrowing his eyes. He was clearly recalling their rendezvous at the time.
They had shared a very long kiss in the back seat of his sedan. It was a kiss so long and passionate that Choi Hong-seo’s lipstick had smudged and smeared all over his lips afterward. The kiss, which began with them sitting side-by-side, grew increasingly intense. Without either initiating, Choi Hong-seo rubbed his thigh against Lee Hae-sung’s, and Lee Hae-sung pulled his thigh onto his lap. Facing each other, they embraced and greedily savored their kisses.
Rubbing their lower bodies together suggestively, they tangled and intertwined their wriggling tongues, their inverted lips meeting as they sucked on each other’s mucous membranes. In that moment, their lips and tongues felt like genitals experiencing only pleasure. It was a kiss that was a miniature version of sex, a kiss more intense than sex.
Just recalling that time made his waist feel weary. Choi Hong-seo, who had been lost in memory, gripping Lee Hae-sung’s suit sleeve, snapped back to reality at the touch of a finger on his lips.
“What were you thinking to make your face turn red?”
“No, it’s just… a bit hot.”
Watching Choi Hong-seo fan himself, Lee Hae-sung smiled with a hint of indulgence, as if he believed him.
“You asked why I keep smiling?”
Finally seeming willing to tell the real reason, Choi Hong-seo straightened his body, which had been leaning towards him.
“This is the first time I’ve seen Hong-seo’s stage directly since we became boyfriend and girlfriend. Actually, I…”
He smiled sheepishly and leaned his head down deeply. His warm lips touched Choi Hong-seo’s ear, and he felt his lips pull tighter with a smile. His voice, lowered in volume, whispered only to Choi Hong-seo.
“I got hard while watching your stage.”
“……”
Even after hearing the reason, he couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t avoid his gaze either. His face just turned redder.
“At first, the dancing seemed a bit provocative… and I didn’t like it that people liked Hong-seo so much. But then I thought, no matter how much they love and want Hong-seo, I’m his boyfriend, right?”
Even while explaining the reason for what could be considered a perverted phenomenon—getting aroused while watching Choi Hong-seo on stage—he didn’t show an ounce of embarrassment. He was composed, casual, and even seemed a little proud.
Lee Hae-sung’s right hand reached for Choi Hong-seo’s left and intertwined their fingers. He pulled their joined hands and pressed his lips to the back of Choi Hong-seo’s hand, continuing to speak in that position.
“Thinking that such a cool, talented, shining… superstar that everyone wants is my boyfriend… I couldn’t stand it.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Why? Aren’t we boyfriends?”
“It’s just… I’m surprised you use that kind of abbreviation, Mister.”
He, who still had his lips pressed to the back of Choi Hong-seo’s hand, gently bit the thin skin covering his hand.
“Not Hae-sung-ssi, not Darling. Am I Mister again?”
Gazing at his disappointed face, Choi Hong-seo wrapped his right hand around Lee Hae-sung’s waist and pulled him closer. To break the awkwardness, he rested his forehead on his shoulder and said aloud.
“Hae-sung-ssi.”
If he wanted it, he wanted to give it to him. It wasn’t difficult at all.
“I want to hear Hae-sung Hyung too.”
“Hae-sung Hyung.”
“Try saying Hae-sung-ah.”
“That’s a bit…”
“Later, if we fight, I want to hear Hong-seo yell ‘Hey, Lee Hae-sung’ in anger.”
His voice sounded happy even when talking about the hypothetical scenario of them fighting. He lifted his head and looked up at him.
“Why would we fight?”
“Hmm… probably because I’m too possessive and Hong-seo got angry.”
Choi Hong-seo chuckled.
“Where are you now? Why aren’t you answering? It’s been two hours since I got your last message… If you bother me like that, Hong-seo will eventually explode from holding it in.”
His detailed imagination kept Choi Hong-seo laughing.
Choi Hong-seo’s arm, which had been around Lee Hae-sung’s waist, slipped inside his suit jacket. Then he embraced his waist over his shirt. Perhaps it was because they had revealed more primal sides of themselves during their two nights together. This kind of bold physical contact, which they hadn’t initiated before, was now possible.
“I don’t get angry over things like that. And, Mister, you don’t say things like that.”
As he embraced Choi Hong-seo’s shoulders, which were fidgeting inside the jacket, Lee Hae-sung laughed with delight. He hugged him tightly, like a parent holding a child.
As if he couldn’t help but cherish him, finding him beautiful and precious. For a moment, they just held each other quietly. They did it without any prior agreement.
Choi Hong-seo closed his eyes. He etched and re-etched into his memory and instincts the miracle of ‘Lee Hae-sung’s embrace’—the strong arms that held him, encompassing his shoulders, chest, and body, and the world’s safest refuge they created, a place where no worries or anxieties could intrude.
In the comfortable silence, Lee Hae-sung pressed his lips to Choi Hong-seo’s temple and whispered softly.
“I might just be holding myself back because I want to.”
When Choi Hong-seo tilted his chin up to look at him, he smiled as if it were a joke. Yet, there was no trace of playfulness in his voice. And then, hugging Choi Hong-seo’s body tighter, he changed the subject.
“Ah… I thought I was getting a bit used to sending Hong-seo overseas, but I guess not. It’s particularly hard to say goodbye this time.”
He rested his chin on Choi Hong-seo’s shoulder, pressing down, and grumbled. His words, that saying goodbye was particularly difficult this time, spread like dark ink on Choi Hong-seo’s chest. Unable to say anything, he just clutched his shirt tighter.
“Ah… maybe I should just escort you to the airport.”
“You… you were supposed to meet your cousin, weren’t you?”
“I briefly said hello inside a little while ago. Hmm, we agreed to meet again inside. He said he has someone he wants to introduce me to.”
“Then you should go.”
“Yes, I should.”
With a reluctant sigh, as if admonishing himself, he patted Choi Hong-seo’s shoulder a few times and released him from his embrace. Then he pulled a bundle from the other side of the seat.
“Since I can’t go with Hong-seo, take this.”
It was clearly a dedicated camera bag.
“We’ll be apart for a while this time, so I thought it would be good if you could take pictures of what you see with this.”
He explained the simple operating methods of the DSLR camera, which was much easier to handle than a film camera.
“Let’s not share photos taken with this via messenger. Let’s show them to me directly when we meet again, okay?”
Following his instructions, Choi Hong-seo turned on the camera and zoomed in with the lens, nodding his head.
“Or, we could have a joint exhibition later.”
“The photos I take will be terrible anyway. I can’t show them to anyone but you.”
“My photos aren’t great either. I just take them for my own satisfaction.”
The lens of the camera Choi Hong-seo was holding suddenly turned towards Lee Hae-sung, who looked at him comfortably without looking flustered or avoiding the gaze.
“You haven’t forgotten that you promised to come to my next exhibition, right?”
Looking at the screen where his face was captured ‘out of focus,’ Choi Hong-seo nodded.
“I’m really not going to tell you when it is?”
Looking directly at Lee Hae-sung, who was seeking reassurance again, Choi Hong-seo responded with a smile.
California, USA, between LA and Long Beach. In a small gallery in a quiet town, Lee Hae-sung was affiliated under a pseudonym. It was a fringe gallery that primarily sold replicas of famous works or pieces by new artists to wealthy individuals who wanted to decorate their summer villas built in Long Beach.
‘It’s more like a shop than a gallery, isn’t it? If you pay to rent the space, anyone from an old man in the neighborhood to a seven-year-old kid can have an exhibition. After one or two more exhibitions there, I plan to move the gallery to another city. I’ll change the name then too.’
At first, he had only mentioned that he was secretly holding exhibitions under a pseudonym. Choi Hong-seo hadn’t known what that pseudonym was. One day, during their nearly daily phone calls before bed, after discussing countless topics, he had told Choi Hong-seo his artist name.
Lampas.
He explained it was Latin for ‘comet,’ or ‘Haesung,’ and seemed uncharacteristically a little embarrassed, feeling the meaning was too grand.
And Choi Hong-seo had promised then. Now that he knew the gallery and the artist name… he would go to the next exhibition without Lee Hae-sung telling him. Because it was their secret. They would be there without saying anything about it. Like a secret. Like a miracle.
Since then, at least once a week, and sometimes three or four times a week, Choi Hong-seo had been accessing the gallery’s website to check for updates.
He had imagined it many times.
The exhibition schedule would be announced, and he would secretly book a flight ticket accordingly. On the day of the flight, he would have his usual daily conversations with him. Talk about the weather, his office schedule, the reaction to ARA’s new product launch, the lyrics of the song Choi Hong-seo was working on…
And that afternoon, he would board a flight to LA, and after an eleven-hour journey, arrive at LAX airport the next morning. The gallery wasn’t far from the airport; a taxi would be sufficient.
A modest two-story brick building with plastered walls, with no high-rise buildings around, was the gallery exhibiting ‘Haesung’s’ photographs. Passing the first floor, where a stylish grandmother with glasses perched on her nose manned the counter, he would ascend the narrow, steep stairs to the second floor where the photos were displayed. Sufficient sunlight poured in from a large window at the far end of the long, vertical hall, illuminating ‘Haesung’s’ photographs.
He would spend a very long time there, perhaps until the gallery closed. He wanted to absorb, one by one, the world seen through the eyes of the human Lee Hae-sung, not ARA’s Lee Hae-sung.
If he happened to meet Lampas, ‘Haesung,’ in person, as the artist’s visit coincided with his, that would be wonderful, of course. But even if that didn’t happen, he wouldn’t feel the least bit disappointed.
Upon returning to Seoul, he would tell ‘Haesung,’ his lover, about his trip to LA for the exhibition. He would honestly convey the clumsy emotions he felt while looking at the photographs, and proudly show him the coasters, bookmarks, and eco-bags he bought on the first floor of the gallery. He would tell him he had become a fan of the artist ‘Haesung.’
Just imagining it was enough to give Lee Hae-sung a kind of happiness he had never given anyone before. In a loving relationship, such things were surprisingly possible.