By Zephyria 
I thought it was a dinner meeting just for the two of us and the Manager, but on the two-lane road leading to the restaurant’s entrance, a white SUV with a sleek design reminiscent of a sports car was parked close to the sidewalk with its hazard lights on. If my memory served me right, one of the two cars I had seen him in before was the same model.
The driver who got out of the car to hand over the keys was, as expected, him. The valet, rushing to take the keys, was so surprised by his height that he involuntarily looked up, then quickly lowered his gaze, realizing he had been rude to the customer.
Though it was a quiet street in a residential area, slightly off the bustling main road, his presence was so unique that it instantly drew the attention of everyone around—an elderly woman walking her dog, a foreign man with a baby carrier over his arm and a shopping bag, a young couple who seemed to be on a weekend date… It wasn’t just his height, which seemed to easily surpass 190cm, a rarity in Korea.
‘Listen, I saw a really handsome guy on the street today.’ — It was certain that those who saw him would tell their family or friends something like that. Once he entered one’s field of vision, he was not ‘ordinary’ enough to be casually overlooked, compelling one to turn their head and fix their gaze on him. That fact became even clearer when I saw him outside of Phantom.
When the Manager honked lightly, he turned from the back of the car towards the entrance and looked this way. The Manager waved, and he slowed his pace, offering a smile.
“Let’s really get our money’s worth from CEO Ryu today.”
Looking at him, who had stopped on the sidewalk as if waiting for us, the Manager smiled like a villain from an animation.
“Are you dining with the CEO too?”
“Oh? Did I not mention it? Ah… I only said let’s grab a meal, so you probably didn’t think of it. Sorry.”
“No, not at all.”
The Manager looked so apologetic that I vehemently denied it, waving my hands.
“I’ve been so out of it lately. I just think things in my head and don’t say them out loud.”
Lately, the Manager had been focused on finalizing the list of works to take to the Hong Kong art fair, deciding on prices and arrangements. While Yooni Noona and Juhan Hyung were in charge of the exhibition preparations, the core of it all was the artwork itself, so it was understandable that he felt the pressure.
It was a task that required foresight to predict trends in the global art market based on vast information, under the premise that no one knows which artist’s work, or which piece, will gain attention, and when or how.
Even at the Phantom office, the Manager had been spending most of his work hours in meetings with the CEO. Sometimes they agreed, and sometimes they didn’t. The two of them spoke on the phone in Korean, English, Cantonese, and Chinese with many people, sometimes greeting them warmly and gratefully, and other times frowning with their hands on their hips.
As the fair date approached, a sense of tension filled the gallery, but I could feel that all the Phantom staff were embracing that tension as excitement, making even me, who wasn’t directly involved in the business trip, feel energized.
In any case, given the situation, it was perfectly understandable that he forgot the meal was a full Phantom company dinner. He had been so busy lately that I felt it was a good decision to move in, as I could help him out a little bit right beside him.
On the other hand, it was a relief.
As busy as the Manager was, he probably wasn’t idle either, and he wouldn’t have the leisure to dwell on the incident where an employee had a breathing difficulty in his living room (and the subsequent night spent together as first aid).
Yet, at times, what happened that night felt like a dream. A dream that occurred during a brief nap, basking in the sunlight on the sofa. Even though the clock showed only five minutes had passed, it felt like a dream of a very long time, a very long story.
After exchanging smiles and greetings with the Manager, he gave a short nod to my greeting. As we walked past the entrance, guided by a restaurant staff member, the two of them discussed the art fair, and as I quietly followed behind, I felt as though our relationship had reverted to its beginning.
It wasn’t a complaint, like asking for attention.
Just as he had effortlessly isolated me within his sphere of influence with just a change in his gaze and demeanor, he seemed to be treating me with all prior familiarity completely excluded, even the shallow kind I had built. He seemed like a completely different person from the one who had given me porridge, lent me his sweatshirt, and willingly granted my unreasonable request to stay with him that night…
The first sexual experience must be a powerful memory for anyone. Not just for me. Not just because I was attracted to him.
When I recalled the sensation of his breath warming my ear with his hot lips, my hand would unconsciously reach for my ear. I wondered if he, my partner that night, had similar moments. Moments in his daily life when, perhaps, the reaction I showed that night flashed through his mind, causing his hand to pause while flipping through documents, brushing his teeth, or handling his phone. While returning to our original relationship was much better than acting awkwardly after sleeping together, I was simply curious.
His back, as he exchanged pleasantries with the restaurant owner who had come to the entrance to greet him, as if this wasn’t his first visit, seemed to answer ‘No’ to that curiosity.
It was just curiosity; I didn’t mean to hope or expect that he shared the same aftereffects. There was no room for disappointment.
We were led to a private room with a sign that read ‘Samcheonri’ above the door. It was a restaurant converted from an old family home, and the interior was simple and cozy, like stepping into the living room of a traditional house, with minimal structural changes. From our second-floor room, we overlooked a small but well-maintained garden. I smiled inwardly, thinking how it contrasted with his garden.
“CEO Ryu said you were sick, so he suggested this place for you to get your strength back,” the Manager said, flipping through the menu as he sat next to me, opposite him.
He didn’t deny it. He just looked out the window at the garden, as if he hadn’t heard the Manager.
“I’m all better now… Thank you for your concern.”
“I don’t know if you’re stronger than you look, but you’re quite thin. Kwon Joo-han and Baek Yuni are both like walking sticks. Are they all on diets intentionally?”
He said this seriously, frowning as if he couldn’t understand, and the Manager leaned back against the chair, laughing.
“You say that knowing how much Joo-han eats? He eats like he hasn’t eaten in three days. Yuni is a bit picky, but she eats a normal amount. What can you do when they all eat but don’t gain weight?”
It was unexpected that he had arranged this meal specifically because I had collapsed, but it probably wasn’t a special kindness just for me. It was more like an extension of his kindness towards Juhan Hyung and Yooni Noona, including me. I wanted to hide my disappointment at that fact. Wanting to be special compared to others… That wasn’t me.
“Juhan Hyung and Yooni Noona are late… Should I call them?”
“……”
In the sudden, stiff silence that filled the room, my hand, which had been reaching for my phone in my jeans pocket, froze awkwardly.
“I didn’t call them today. This is for you to build your strength, so eat without worry. If Kwon Joo-han were here, you wouldn’t even get to taste the eel.”
Adding a touch of playfulness, the Manager quickly called someone over to order the food. As if they frequented the place, he and the Manager ordered without hesitation.
While waiting for the food, the two of them had to discuss work, making me feel like an elementary school child stuck among adults at a family gathering, with no cousins my age.
The Manager argued that the artist Shushu’s works had a greater impact domestically than internationally, and that they should promote a different artist as the main focus at this art fair, while he, though not directly disagreeing, seemed reluctant to concede.
Meanwhile, grilled eel with garlic and braised short ribs were placed in the center for us to share, and a restorative soup with abalone and octopus was served individually. The soup, served in a thick earthenware pot that looked easy to eat from, had a subtle herbal scent, likely from the dates and ginseng.
“Eat all of that, if nothing else. Think of it as medicine, not food.”
He said this in a slightly stern tone, pointing to the pot in front of me, but he barely touched his own portion.
The two of them resumed their conversation, and I focused on eating. I tried to focus. But it was my first time eating with the two of them without Noona and Hyung, so I couldn’t really savor the taste. It was like a meal between top executives and a junior intern.
As if monitoring whether I was eating well, he glanced into my pot intermittently, so I had no choice but to diligently empty my bowl.
“Look at this one, no matter how composed she is, she’s still a child.”
Thinking I had done my best, I put down my spoon, but the Manager laughed, pointing into my pot. In the bowl, after I had diligently eaten the abalone and octopus, dates and ginseng floated on top. He was also looking at me and smiling.
His face was no longer as indifferent as it seemed at first, but my face flushed with embarrassment at my ‘childish behavior,’ as my own words had inadvertently revealed.
‘Do you feel like doing that to someone ten years younger than you?’ — A remark he once made to Inwoo Hyung suddenly came to mind. That statement implied that someone ten years younger wasn’t seen as ‘that kind of person.’ Therefore, either I was an exception to him, or… the events of that night were strictly just first aid.
I didn’t know how I had drifted from the embarrassment of leaving dates and ginseng to this. My thoughts lacked coherence.
Once the empty and partially empty bowls were cleared, simple refreshments were soon served. A few types of colorful traditional Korean sweets and warm tea. The tea, with a mix of floral and fruity notes, was at a perfect temperature for the lightly air-conditioned room.
“I had a brief discussion with Manager Han about Seo Yi-hyun.”
His voice held neither caution nor hesitation. As if he had been patiently waiting for my meal to finish, he spoke as if there was no reason to delay any longer.
I lifted my lips from the teacup and looked at him. His eyes, meeting mine, seemed to warn me of the weight of the story he was about to tell, and my mouth went dry. I swallowed dryly, but it was no use.
“How about you start painting again?”
“……”
My grip loosened, and the cup slipped slightly. I caught it before I could drop it and placed it on the table. Unconsciously, my eyes sought out Manager Han, no, Teacher. With a gentle smile, Teacher squeezed my hand. He had known beforehand that this conversation would come up, no, that this entire meeting was arranged for this very purpose. I understood why they hadn’t called Noona and Hyung.
Start painting again.
He, who had brought up such an unexpected suggestion, waited without any visible reaction, his pale, hazy eyes fixed on me. Waiting for me to be ready to hear the rest of the story.
He, who had been lightly interlocking his fingers on the table, extended a finger and touched mine, forming a triangle.
His hands were considerably large, proportionate to his height, but his long, well-shaped fingers gave an impression of elegance and neatness. The slightly prominent, firm knuckles, the consistent thickness down to his fingertips, and the dark blue veins bulging on the back of his hand seemed to hint at the aggression lurking behind his elegance, his fierce, chilling decisiveness that would stop at nothing to achieve his goals if he deemed it necessary.
But hands are just hands. Just as fragrance is just fragrance. They hint at nothing.
“I will not embellish my intentions or speak indirectly.”
He declared this in a casual, unremarkable voice and continued his story.
“Phantom has about twenty affiliated artists, but frankly, only three or four of them are responsible for maintaining and growing the gallery. To hold our ground against larger galleries, small galleries like ours must continuously discover new talent. Of course, it’s important for existing artists to keep producing good work, but creative output isn’t guaranteed by sitting for hours… you never know when a slump might hit or when a piece’s value might decline. Continuously introducing new artists who can shock the public and create buzz is equally important. Many people think of art as a noble pursuit… but each artist may work with that attitude, driven by conviction, regardless of money or fame, and we try to provide them with the working environment they desire… but we dealers are not artists. We can’t pay our employees by making them feel like artists.”
He said this, slightly raising one eye towards me as if seeking agreement, but he gave me no time to agree or disagree.
“Who becomes a well-regarded artist, who becomes a best-selling artist. Unfortunately, that isn’t decided solely by the value of the work. First, the value of a piece relies heavily on subjective interpretation, making an objective evaluation that everyone agrees with even more difficult. To be more blunt, the power of large galleries and major dealers driving the global art market today is such that even the value of a piece can be created through marketing and business. The current art market is not that different from the show business industry.”
He wasn’t speaking particularly fast, but it was hard to keep up with the speed and direction of his narrative. I felt like I was still at the starting line, without even confirming our destination, yet he was already pulling me along.
“It’s true that Phantom’s finances have become more robust in the last one to two years, but… well, it’s due to the success of our flagship artists like Shushu, and we haven’t been discovering new talents who can follow or surpass them. It’s a big problem. We’ve scoured everywhere like madmen, Manager Han and I—from university graduation exhibitions to small cafes that double as galleries, even social media… but it’s been difficult to find interesting artists.”
Tap, tap. He paused, tapping his index fingers together as if marking a comma, and looked at me with a gaze that seemed to press me against the wall behind me.
“I’ve spoken at length, but I expect Seo Yi-hyun to become that kind of artist.”
Without asking any questions, he stared at my face persistently, as if waiting for my answer. Or perhaps he was just gauging my reaction. But the stories were too sudden.
I had painted a long time ago, and there was a time when painting was my language, but even then, I had never considered or imagined the place my paintings would hold in the ‘art market’ he was talking about.
Having observed me sufficiently, he released the triangle he had formed with his fingers and leaned back against the chair.
“Manager Han will now rephrase what I’ve said in a way that’s easier for you to hear.”
Teacher sighed and shook his head at him, and he shrugged as if he didn’t know what the problem was, or perhaps as if he had done the best he could.
There was no malice in his words. It was simply a difference in perspective. He explained it from the standpoint of a gallery owner and a dealer who had to sell paintings; it wasn’t immoral or criminal. Realistically, if he couldn’t sell paintings, some artists might not be able to paint anymore.
Teacher’s careful and gentle voice continued, lightly patting the back of my hand.
“CEO Ryu’s words might sound like they’re only from a business perspective, but please take them as him saying he felt you had potential. Even though he talks like that, he’s someone who would never do something reckless like charging in blind.”
Looking down at my hands, which were awkwardly placed around the teacup, I nodded unconsciously.
It was exactly as the Teacher had said. He wasn’t the type to invest in something that seemed to have no chance of success. But no matter how perfect someone seemed, even a top-tier Golden Alpha, they were still human. It seemed his judgment was off this time. Why me?
“He said he has the painting you drew a long time ago, right? The one that won the contest.”
“……”
I slowly raised my head and turned to look at the Teacher beside me.
At that time, the Teacher was no longer in Korea. He would have heard the news of my award from his older sister, who was my mother’s friend. He couldn’t possibly know what that painting meant to me. Yet, I felt tense. My throat was so dry it burned.
How much had he told the Teacher? After confessing it was my painting, I had been so breathless, as if I’d seen a ghost, and then lost consciousness. Had he asked if the Teacher knew anything about that?
I looked at him with eyes that clearly showed that curiosity, or perhaps anxiety. It was a bold move for me, but he, with his arms crossed and looking my way, offered no hint.
“It’s a piece CEO Ryu has kept for a long time. I found it very impressive too. Though I didn’t know it was yours.”
“That… I drew that a very long time ago… It’s been over five years since I stopped drawing. And you haven’t seen any other paintings of mine…”
These were words I managed to gather my wits to speak with difficulty, but a light scoff came from across the table.
“If one’s discernment requires a portfolio of over twenty works to gauge an artist’s ability or potential… they should give up on making a living as an art dealer.”
“……”
“I know I said it rather rudely, but one piece was enough. Especially if it was a piece you drew at sixteen.”
As if to erase the sharp cynicism from his earlier words, he added his explanation in a more serious tone.
His praise for
“I’ve taken a five-year break.”
I mumbled it under my breath, but no one in the small room could have failed to hear it.
The Teacher leaned closer and placed his free hand, the one not holding mine, lightly on my back.
“I agree with CEO Ryu’s opinion. I told you last time… that there’s absolutely no need to feel sorry for not drawing now, and while I meant that sincerely, if there’s an opportunity, and if you wish to, I would genuinely like you to draw again. Because I know your talent.”
“Teacher… I’m truly grateful that you think so… but that’s all… from too long ago.”
“Ah, long ago. How old is Seo Yi-hyun now? Fifty? Forty? No, are you twenty-five?”
He showed a moment of patience, only to revert to his sharp tone, earning him a glare from the Teacher.
His words might be a general statement. Far from forty or fifty, I wasn’t even twenty-five yet, so perhaps it was too early to use the word “long ago.” If people knew I lived by cutting off a part of myself that had rotted from lack of blood flow, bound by the chains of the past, they might tut-tut about my weak will, about losing my passion too soon.
Indeed, many people around me were severing ties with their past selves, destroying parts of themselves, moving forward even while sacrificing and bleeding.
I wanted to have the courage like them. I, too, wanted to live in the light of the present. But everyone has their own pace. I wanted to move forward at a pace that suited me, from my current position, not to imitate them by appearing the same.
“Lee Hyun, CEO Ryu and I want you to focus solely on whether you want to draw again. It’s not that you stopped wanting to draw, but if you decided not to draw, couldn’t that decision change? You can take your time to think.”
It wasn’t that I stopped wanting to draw, nor that I decided not to draw. At first, it was neither. It was simply that I couldn’t draw anymore.
Looking down at the Teacher’s hand resting on mine, I opened my mouth after several hesitations.
“I probably… won’t be able to.”
The two of them waited for my story.
“I’ve taken too long a break, and during the time I let go of drawing, my affection and passion for it… naturally faded. I’ve lived thinking that I probably won’t draw again… I can’t even imagine myself drawing.”
I had never spoken in detail about my present or my journey up to this point, not to the Teacher, nor to him. This was the most honest explanation I could give in my current state. To add anything more would either be a lie or require a confession, and neither a lie nor a confession was something I wanted now.
“Yes, thank you for being honest. We weren’t expecting a positive answer from you right here, today. It’s a sudden proposal, and your feelings wouldn’t change on the spot. Especially if you’ve already sorted out your thoughts about drawing.”
The Teacher, who had been patting the back of my hand with his other hand, now clasped my hands firmly with both of his.
“But Lee Hyun, what if you tried drawing again? When CEO Ryu brought that up… I was actually grateful to him.”
There was a flicker of emotion in the Teacher’s expression as he looked at me.
Although the Teacher and I hadn’t maintained contact continuously since my childhood, I knew that what was wavering and distorting in his eyes now was not sentimental pity for a former student’s harsh past after a long reunion.
In my childhood, the Teacher and I were sharers of a secret garden, and the Teacher was a perfect understander of the world I saw. As a child who couldn’t affirm myself on my own, I expanded my world through the Teacher and found comfort within it.
I didn’t need to hear in detail why the Teacher felt grateful to him. As much as the Teacher was grateful to him, I only felt sorry towards the Teacher.
I could no longer make negative remarks. However, it was equally difficult to express positivity. Even a slight nod might give the Teacher unintended hope, a recklessness I feared, so I bit my lower lip, my gaze fixed on our clasped hands.
The sound of the air conditioner, which had been the only noise in the room, was now joined by the faint sound of rain. As if on cue, all three of us looked out the window almost simultaneously. Against the backdrop of the darkening late evening, raindrops streaked the glass.
It was he who broke the heavy silence.
“Seo Yi-hyun, try this.”
He pushed the plate of snacks, untouched by anyone until then, towards me. Neither the Teacher nor I could keep up with his sudden change of topic.
When I didn’t react, he picked up a yakgwa, cut into small squares for easy eating, and offered it to me on a fork.
“Try it. It’s a hangwa with many layers, like a pastry. Made by a master. It’s rare.”
“How do you even know words like ‘master’? You’ve never lived in Korea.”
The manager took the fork from him instead of me and handed it over.
“When you’re apart, you tend to become more attached. It’s natural for people to become patriotic when they’re abroad.”
Offering a yakgwa on another fork to the Teacher, he raised his eyebrows and replied cheekily.
“Even though your nationality isn’t Korean.”
“Nationality is merely a legal and administrative qualification. I’m a quarter mixed-blood, but half my blood is Korean. I only received half from my father.”
As I put the yakgwa in my mouth and chewed, the honey that had seeped into the layers spread out, sweetening my mouth. It was a sweetness that didn’t make my brow furrow, but rather relaxed my eyelids.
“How is it? You would have regretted it if you hadn’t tried it, right?”
He leaned his upper body towards me, as if the yakgwa was now more important than any painting, and asked with a serious expression.
His light grey-blue eyes and his well-defined features offered little hint of his East Asian heritage. Only his black hair seemed to silently, yet stubbornly, assert the half-Korean blood he claimed.
To his question, ‘You would have regretted it?’ I nodded.
He showed the most profound smile I had seen from him. His jaw muscles pulled taut vertically, creating deep dimples on the sides of his cheeks.
■ ■ ■
The rainwater, flowing down the umbrella borrowed from the restaurant, dripped at my feet, splashing onto my sneakers and the hem of my jeans.
It wasn’t a heavy rain, but it wasn’t a drizzle one could ignore without an umbrella. A foreign man, with the hood of his windbreaker pulled up, was walking towards me, a Golden Retriever leading the way.
“Hi. Hi.” As the man, his chin covered in golden beard, approached close enough for me to discern his expression, the two of us exchanged brief greetings.
“Your dog is handsome.”
He said.
“He’s a handful when it rains, always wanting to go out, so I’m having this trouble.”
The man replied, and he laughed.
“Bye. Bye.” As the man passed by me, he smiled at me too, so I offered a faint smile, barely visible, and stepped aside to let him and his dog pass.
His SUV, which had been parked in the external lot, was approaching the restaurant entrance. The Teacher’s car had left first, and since the Teacher had another appointment related to work, he had asked him to give me a ride home and had left about three minutes ago.
“Thank you for the meal today.”
I said goodbye to him, tilting the umbrella slightly to avoid the headlights of the car that had pulled up close to the sidewalk.
“I can walk a bit to clear my head and take the bus home, so please don’t worry about what the manager said. Well then…”
My vision was obscured by the umbrella, so I couldn’t see his expression clearly. It wasn’t entirely unintentional that I avoided looking. On a Saturday evening, I stepped away from his black dress shoes with laces, which suited his more casual attire, and started walking towards the uphill path where the foreign man had just come from.
“I was going to walk to clear my head and have a drink.”
His voice, mimicking my words exactly, made me stop and turn around. He was looking at me, umbrella in hand, his other hand in his pocket. In the rain, all scents intensify. I remembered hearing somewhere that one should wear less perfume on rainy days. Like waves that approach slightly and then recede, his scent lingered at the tip of my nose before disappearing without reaching deep into my senses.
“Will you join me?”
The inertia of my life so far urged me to refuse the offer and run home. But the new stimulus, sweetly numbing that inertia, made me want to inhale the scent and taste it. I didn’t know where this impulse and greed came from. Even if it had existed, I thought it would have died by now. His eyes, whose color had been faint as if about to disappear, looked exceptionally blue.
■ ■ ■
Whether he had been holding back a craving for a cigarette, he lit one as soon as we settled at the bar. Flipping through the tall, vertical menus given to each of us with disinterest, he said.
“It’s raining, how about something strong?”
Fiddling with my bag placed beside me, feeling awkward in a place I’d never been before, I nodded. In truth, the awkwardness of being in this place alone with him was greater than the awkwardness of the location itself.
The bar, a ten-minute drive from the restaurant where we had dinner, was located on the uphill road leading to Namsan. The building itself wasn’t tall, but being halfway up Namsan, it offered a good view. This seemed to be a place he frequented, as the manager, who introduced himself to me, came out to greet us warmly.
The seats we were led to were almost like a semi-private room. One side of the partition was open for people to enter and exit, but from our sofa, we couldn’t see the main hall, and the structure was such that the inside wasn’t visible from the hall unless one deliberately looked.
The cozy room had deep, high-backed, plush sofas, and in front of the sofa was a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the night view. It was a suitable place for two or three people to have drinks and talk privately.
It wasn’t far from where Morae and Hyung lived. The view outside the window was similar to what I saw from the flat roof deck. Although there was a difference in the space itself, comparable to the difference between Morae’s old house and Grandfather’s house.
Rain was falling over the Seoul night view, which reminded me of squid fishing boats. Suddenly, I felt I was enjoying a luxury unbefitting my usual circumstances and let out a small laugh. The only bars I had visited in that port town were shabby raw fish restaurants or grilled clam places. I hid my face, from which a laugh escaped, by pretending to flip through the unfamiliar menu, so he wouldn’t notice.
After calling a staff member to place our order, his gaze felt fixed on my profile, making me continue to flip through the menu even though we had already ordered.
We were sitting at the corner of the L-shaped sofa, so technically we weren’t right next to each other, but the distance was close enough that I had to be mindful of our legs not touching. If we had been side-by-side, it would have been easier to avoid eye contact, but here, we had no choice but to face each other to talk.
After a deep inhale of his cigarette, his voice, slightly muffled, followed.
“You seemed to have had fun yesterday.”
He seemed to be referring to my meeting with In-woo Hyung. I looked up at him, my gaze aimlessly scanning the cocktail list. As expected, the distance was such that neither of us could escape the other’s gaze.
Even if he mentioned meeting me, he wouldn’t be the type to blabber about the details of our conversation. I wasn’t sure what he based it on, but I had that much confidence in Hyung. While he might share trivial matters, I doubted he would know that I had asked about Alpha and Omega in such detail.
Even though I hadn’t reacted, and he hadn’t said anything particularly funny, he suddenly chuckled, rubbing the end of his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Gay people, really.”
He muttered as if to himself.
It was ambiguous who the ‘gay people’ included in his laughter referred to. Based on our conversations while eating burgers and drinking beer during the filming of ‘Old Future,’ he himself was gay, or at least bisexual, and In-woo Hyung, who had shown no hesitation in expressing his attraction to me, a man, from the start, was likely no different. And with my accidental outburst, “I’m gay,” he now classified me as gay as well. There was no need to piece things together; we had already… slept together.
Was it self-deprecation, a repeated assessment of In-woo Hyung as not a particularly good romantic partner, or a criticism of me? The information from his brief mutter and subtle laugh was too scarce to determine.
Having finished his cigarette, he turned slightly towards me, relaxing his posture.
“You refused, saying you had a prior engagement, but then you called back and asked to meet, didn’t you?”
His tone carried a faint negative nuance. It was unclear whether In-woo Hyung had expressed it that way, or if he had added his own interpretation to Hyung’s words.
He didn’t look angry or displeased. Rather, he let go of his lip, which had been slightly bitten to suppress a smile, and chuckled again. I couldn’t figure out what was so amusing to him on his own.
“Right… people can’t all be the same, can they.”
Today, his monologues were frequent. He would clearly say something directed at me, only to conclude it himself in a monologue. Towards him, acting so perversely, a rebellious spirit stirred within me for the first time in a long while.
“I don’t quite understand what you mean….”
It was frustrating that he seemed to have something to say but, unlike him, was just beating around the bush and poking at me.
He rolled a cold, metallic lighter in his hand, then looked up at me with a smile.
“It’s a compliment. Well… it’s probably a compliment. At twenty-two, you’re an adult, so it’s strange not to know anything about that side of things, isn’t it? Just because you’re usually quiet doesn’t mean you’re necessarily indifferent to those things, but I mistakenly treated Seo Yi-hyun as a simpleton. It’s more natural to be that way.”
There was no deliberate sarcasm on his face as he spoke. However, a shadow, not as refreshing as the lightness of his tone, did indeed linger.
He was pushing the narrative as if I had deliberately used a ‘technique’ to seduce In-woo Hyung more effectively.
It was a strange feeling. Misunderstandings were clearly unpleasant, and while the discomfort wasn’t entirely absent, it wasn’t the whole story either. There was a light excitement, a slight elation of body and mind.
Were the reactions he was showing now perhaps jealousy?
Once I thought of it, it seemed like a ridiculous fantasy. Though it was a thought I had kept entirely to myself, my face flushed as if I wanted to scribble over the traces of that thought with a pen. Enough to elicit a self-deprecating laugh.
To think that my thoughts were leaning towards jealousy. Did I have such an optimistic side?
“That side… what side is that?”
In my fluster, I might have inadvertently turned the arrow back on him, unleashing the rebellious spirit that had been stirring within me. I didn’t adopt a challenging expression or tone, though. I simply asked a question.
Yet, he blinked his eyebrows as if struck by an unexpected assault, his gaze upon me gaining weight.
It’s strange not to know anything about ‘that side,’ and it’s not that I’m indifferent to ‘that side.’ — I wanted him to erase those vague boundaries and get straight to the point.
“I don’t really understand what you’re trying to say.”
Silence stretched on. He took out a new cigarette and lit it, seeming to delve into the depths of his inner self to find an answer to my question. I had only wanted to see him flustered for a moment.
After a long pause, as if he had found his answer, he parted his dry-looking lips.
“You’re right. I was speaking vaguely. What I want to say is…”
Footsteps were approaching from the entrance of the partition. It was a deliberate signal, letting us know he was coming, so the guest could be prepared and the conversation could be appropriately interrupted.
The manager who had guided us in brought the drinks himself. A dark brown whiskey in a bluish bottle, several types of crystal glasses that felt solid rather than fragile despite their ornate craftsmanship, and a basket of ice were quietly served onto the table.
“Straight for me. And make it easy to drink for this side.”
As he ordered, the manager served two drinks in different glasses, prepared in different ways, then disappeared as silently as if he were floating on clouds, unlike when he entered the room.
He held and toyed with a slender glass, then smoothly emptied the drink within before continuing the interrupted conversation.
“What I want to say is… that every human being has an unexpected side.”
The tension drained from my shoulders. I felt a strong sense of him running away, and I could clearly see my disappointment.
It felt unfamiliar, expecting something from him in this way.
It was true that I wanted to attract his attention, and I didn’t feel repulsed by him asking me to come to bed and sleep with him. I had also genuinely believed his words that he could numb pain through intimacy with me. At that time, if someone other than him, say In-woo Hyung, had said the exact same thing, I probably would have refused.
But that was all. At least, for now.
Though I had never been in a relationship or even a one-sided crush, the sum of feelings—being interested in someone, wanting to attract their attention, not disliking physical contact—wasn’t necessarily love. Just as his sleeping with me that night was meant to be emergency first aid.
To use his words, I wasn’t such a ‘simpleton’ as to not understand that.
“That day, why did you do that?”
Again, his question came without any preamble or knock. It was like opening the door and entering the room to survey the interior. This was much more his style than beating around the bush.
What was the ‘why’ he was asking about? My mind worked slowly as I brought my own drink to my lips. I had braced myself for the harsh burn of strong alcohol, expecting whiskey, but the surprisingly smooth swallow rendered my preparation moot.
“He clarified his question. “I’m asking why you reacted that way to your own painting.”
The meeting at the restaurant with Manager Han had been nothing more than a preview, or a light warm-up, for him. He hadn’t brought me here to probe about my time with In-woo Hyung last night, nor to have a drinking companion on a rainy evening.
“You said you wouldn’t ask anything….”
“And I didn’t ask anything that day, did I?”
It was true.
“I took care of Seo Yi-hyun all day that day, don’t I deserve that much of an explanation?”
His eyes, which met mine directly without any sign of intimidation, seemed ready to bring up much more direct topics.
‘I made Seo Yi-hyun boil that day and then helped her exhaust herself to sleep, didn’t I? Remember? How I carefully touched and kissed every part of your body. Even though I couldn’t even finish.’ — It felt like he was about to corner me with such words and then open his mouth.
“It wasn’t because of the painting… I suddenly felt unwell….”
“I see. It wasn’t because of the painting….”
He slowly rubbed his chin, nodding as if savoring my words.
“Then there’s no internal obstacle to painting again.”
“…….”
“Think slowly about whether you want to paint again or not, focusing only on that. Manager Han said he would follow Seo Yi-hyun’s decision, but honestly, I won’t.”
He fiddled with his empty glass, his eyes never leaving mine. It was hard to believe this was the same person who, that night, had anticipated my feelings by saying he wouldn’t ask anything and that I shouldn’t try to make excuses. Yet, it was somehow different from being coercive. Whether it was a delusion or not, I sensed something akin to anxiety at the edges of his gaze.
“I absolutely want you to paint again.”
I want you to paint.
At first glance, it sounded like a hope or a wish, but the power in his gaze and the stubbornly closed lips told a different story. He would make sure I painted again.
Whether it was my imagination or the lighting, his pale blue eyes, which seemed as if they might shatter and disappear, looked deeper than usual. Like the bottle of liquor in front of him, his transparent eyes seemed to hold a blue flame. To me, accustomed to dark eyes, his eyes sometimes felt inorganic. The emotions held within his bluish eyes were still a foreign language, almost graspable but not quite.
“Accompany me on this trip to Hong Kong.”
The conversation had suddenly taken an unexpected turn. When he was with Teacher, he was a fake. He had planned from the start to put me on a boat and push me forward relentlessly.
“At the art fair, you’ll encounter works by artists of various nationalities, styles, and themes, and feel the energy of the art market. It might provide good stimulation and change your perspective. It will help you make up your mind.”
Yooni Noona’s post on the ‘Old Future’ website flashed in my mind. The curiosity about a strange city I felt after reading that post. The rays of hope I had felt for the future, for the first time in a long while. It was true that I sensed a faint scent of that sunlight in his proposal.
But can I really paint again? Is it really that hopeful? This wasn’t a matter of mood.
“Director… I truly appreciate your words, but….”
“Suki Kim.”
“…….”
The boat, which had been losing balance and seemed about to crash against rocks and capsize, came to a halt. The flow of the water stopped, the boat stopped with its bow lifted, and the splashing water droplets froze in mid-air. I was immobilized, as if captured in a photograph.
“While foreigners who find Korean pronunciation difficult call her that, ‘Suki Kim’ has now become a proper noun, like a nickname. However, she was born and raised in America as a Korean-American, yet she used the Korean name ‘Kim Suk-hee’ from the beginning of her career. Well… it’s an unreasonable request to ask foreigners to pronounce the name Kim Suk-hee clearly.”
As the owner of the gallery, it was natural for him to know the international artist ‘Suki Kim,’ or rather, ‘Suki Kim’ Teacher. Furthermore, if he owned ‘Alienation,’ it was highly probable he knew that Teacher was the judge at the contest where that painting became known. He might have even purchased the painting directly from Teacher. It wasn’t an impossible scenario. However, the proposal that came from his lips afterward was entirely unexpected.
He took another cigarette from his pack, placed the white cigarette between his lips, and opened the lid of his lighter.
“I’ll introduce you to Suki Kim.”
And he laid out a compelling card that I could not possibly refuse.
Swept away by the dizzying rapids, the boat carrying me was already drifting away at an irreversible speed.