By Zephyria 
I didn’t know the number of visitors would decrease until the last day of the fair. No, it seemed like the most visitors flocked on the last day.
Until then, I barely needed to assist with customer service, but on the last day, I had to help with simple guidance, and sales were also highest on the last day. Since the artwork prices are not insignificant, it seemed like many general visitors carefully compared options throughout the fair and made their decisions on the last day.
Phantom’s fair performance was excellent.
Although we didn’t meet our target, it was still a sufficiently great result because the other members were such proactive people that we had set the target high. While some members might have been slightly disappointed ideally, they seemed realistically satisfied.
With five to six hours left until closing, out of approximately 120 artworks, all but about ten pieces were sold, excluding the works by artist Shushu, who had an exhibition contract with the Chicago gallery.
“Are you tired?”
My noona gently approached me, tapped my shoulder, and asked, as I kept checking my old sports watch. Seeing that I seemed to be checking the time because I wanted it to end soon, I sheepishly smiled and rubbed the back of my neck.
“No. I’m waiting for someone….”
Noona gave me a curious look but didn’t ask for details. A visitor showed interest in one of the ten remaining artworks, and Noona quickly put on a professional smile and walked over to them.
The person I was waiting for was a family of visitors who had come to our booth on the second day of the fair.
The father was East Asian, the mother seemed to have a slight mix of Latin blood in her Western heritage, and they had four children, making them quite a large family. The eldest son was around my age, and the youngest seemed to be about ten years old. Despite their casual attire, they visited our booth with faces as serious as art critics, their children having significant age gaps and distinct personalities.
Their expressions while examining the artworks were so serious that at first, I wasn’t sure if they were a family. However, if they weren’t a family, that unique combination transcending race and age would be inexplicable.
“We’re looking for a new painting to hang in our living room.”
It was the youngest child of the family who spoke, turning back to me as I waited behind them. She was an adorable child with curly hair like her mother and rosy cheeks, and dark eyes like her father.
I was worried about my poor English skills, but with Noona and Hyung both attending to other customers, I had no other choice. My smile was probably stiff with awkwardness, but I tried to smile and approached her.
“I’m turning eleven this fall. I’m going to change the painting in the living room to celebrate.”
“Really? That’s wonderful. Happy early birthday.”
Just hearing me wish her a happy birthday made the child beam as if she had received a lavish gift.
“This painting is also a candidate.”
With her small finger, the child pointed to In-woo Hyung’s artwork. It was the only piece by Hyung that we had brought to this fair.
“So far, this one is in first place.”
In-woo Hyung’s artwork, at first glance, had a simple and clear form reminiscent of cartoons. However, its dark and heavy colors, along with parts that gave a grotesque feeling through techniques of separation and deconstruction, were not the style likely to be chosen by a young child.
“May I ask what aspects you like about this painting?”
“I have my secrets too. When I don’t want to talk about them, but my family keeps prying, causing me stress, it felt like we connected over that feeling.”
Her clear answer made me look at Hyung’s artwork again. The cartoonish figure in the painting, which seemed comical, clearly appeared to be suffering from unwanted attention and coercion. It was just that the suffering was trivialized as if it were nothing.
Exposing the raw face of suffering by digging deep to the end could be art, but perhaps a sincere confession of one’s own weakness, lacking the courage to do so, could also be art. That’s why I didn’t dislike In-woo Hyung’s artwork.
As the child put it, ‘we connected,’ I felt a similar connection with her through this artwork and smiled in understanding.
“Even at ten years old, I have secrets.”
The child said this emphatically, deliberately looking at her family as if to be heard, and her family laughed heartily, looking at her with adoration.
“I think I know what you mean. I can relate to that too? I really hope this painting gets chosen.”
Children past adolescence have their own plans for their free time, so it was not easy for a family of six to coordinate and visit such an event together on the same day.
The fact that they had all gathered to seriously discuss choosing a painting to decorate their family’s living room was, in itself, a mild shock.
No, rather than a shock, it became an opportunity to reflect on an area of art I had never considered before—the perspective of people who look at art and enjoy purchasing and appreciating it.
I had never been a painter, and I stopped drawing before I even concretely dreamed of becoming one, so I had never contemplated the concept of someone else owning my paintings. In the past, for me, drawing was an act focused on self-expression: ‘I draw.’
But that day, through that family, if I accepted his proposal and became an artist represented by Phantom, I could visualize concrete situations and meanings: my paintings could become the property of others, and I could meet people who would re-attribute their own meanings to my work and integrate it into their lives by bringing it into their everyday spaces.
Suddenly, it felt like that was the only way for a painting to remain alive, not dead.
“What if someone else had made a contract in the meantime?”
“It didn’t sell, so it’s fine. I really left on time.”
I turned my head towards the source of the sound, hearing the common grumbling that can occur between family members. The family, who had returned to Phantom, were the guests I had been waiting for.
The family, who had returned to Phantom, eventually purchased In-woo Hyung’s artwork, and instead of requesting delivery, they took it with them on the spot, accompanied by the bickering of the two brothers who appeared to be the eldest and second eldest.
Watching their backs as they walked away, clutching the artwork carefully under their arm amidst the bustling crowd, I envied In-woo Hyung.
While some artists might prioritize fame or financial success, wouldn’t it be the happiest thing for most artists if their work was chosen by someone who truly understood it? Such a presumptuous guess knocked on the shell of my dull heart, which I had allowed to become dulled and neglected.
Not only them.
Teenagers who came with backpacks, laughing as they attached quirky interpretations to the artworks; couples enjoying a date while strolling through the venue; a family with seemingly affectionate parents and children; and an elderly couple discussing the works with considerable insight and knowledge…
I was strongly impressed throughout the fair by the atmosphere itself, where not only art industry professionals but also various general visitors freely enjoyed and comfortably accepted art.
If I could create paintings that were not solemnly appreciated as objects of admiration and awe, but that shared the ordinary days and special occasions of those people, on their sofas, in their entryways, by their bedsides, and became part of their lives… wouldn’t a new era open, different from the meaning paintings held for me before?
If that’s too grand an expression, couldn’t I discover new meanings different from before?
I couldn’t be sure if the power to communicate through painting still remained within me.
However, the thought of paintings being able to be reborn as ‘someone else’s painting,’ not just as ‘a painting I drew,’ by becoming a part of someone’s life, felt like being ground and hammered with a chisel and hammer against my dulled heart. It was a clear excitement.
I don’t know if this was his planned strategy.
But even the Golden Alpha Lau Wikun couldn’t have predicted a situation where such a family would visit our booth and create such an episode.
However, if the intention was to provoke the shock and stimulation I would receive through people who freely enjoy and love art in their own ways… I would have to acknowledge the effectiveness of his strategy in bringing me along on this trip.
■ ■ ■
“Did that happen? Something connecting. That kid isn’t ordinary. They’ll be something no matter what they become.”
In-woo Hyung nodded his head widely with a cheerful face as he put down his beer glass.
Everyone, not just In-woo Hyung, seemed to be hearing this for the first time, so they all stopped eating and focused on me.
“I thought it was cute that there was a big age gap between the siblings. I didn’t know there was a story like that. It’s even cuter now that I know?”
Yooni Noona, who had processed the family’s payment, also remembered the family and smiled warmly.
“It won’t be of much help for career advancement since it wasn’t sold to a famous collector or gallery, but it’s a heartwarming story.”
He said this while picking up lamb with his long chopsticks, dipping it in the red broth, and shaking it. In-woo Hyung immediately narrowed his eyes.
Sensing his gaze, he shrugged.
“What. What is it? It’s a heartwarming story, isn’t it? Who says it isn’t?”
“Ah, yes. From a dealer’s perspective, compared to an artist like Shushu who secured an exhibition contract with a major Chicago gallery, I’m just ‘useless’ trash, right?”
“Don’t belittle yourself unnecessarily when you don’t even think that way.”
I had brought it up with the simple thought that In-woo Hyung might be happy to know his artwork was sold, but the atmosphere was becoming increasingly strange. He picked up chopsticks he had intended to use for clam meat, bit them once, looked back and forth between the two of them, and then quietly put them down.
“Why are you two fighting over something so trivial? We were eating well.”
Manager Han stepped in to mediate, noticing me glancing nervously between the two of them, but the ping-pong conversation continued.
“How do you know what I think?”
“From the start, the weight you and Shushu give to your work is fundamentally different. You know that precisely, and you only expect results commensurate with the effort and passion you invest. You don’t intend to belittle your work compared to anyone, nor do you intend to dive in more seriously. You’re satisfied with the appropriate results that follow appropriate effort, so why are you acting like this?”
He spoke leisurely and without hesitation, stirring another piece of lamb in the red broth to cook.
“Hmm. As expected, you can’t fool the eyes of someone who makes a living selling paintings.”
He shook his head as if he couldn’t be bothered by In-woo Hyung’s serious-yet-joking reaction, dipped the fully cooked meat in sauce, and put it in his mouth.
If Noona hadn’t whispered that they were always like Tom and Jerry, I might have taken it as a genuine emotional confrontation. Along with self-reproach for having said something unnecessary.
This was the first Friday after our trip to Hong Kong, and we were having a late after-party to catch up on work that had piled up.
When he told us to book wherever we wanted, Noona chose a Chinese restaurant specializing in hot pot and dim sum. I had tried dim sum in Hong Kong, but this was my first time having hot pot.
As soon as the pot, divided in half with a milky mushroom broth like bone broth on one side and a red broth like hell’s inferno on the other, was placed on the table, In-woo Hyung, having heard the news from Joo-han, opened the door to the private room and barged in. From then on, I felt uneasy because he seemed to be in low spirits.
“If you’re going to Chicago, a joint exhibition in the second half of the year will be difficult, right?”
In-woo Hyung finally changed the subject as he picked up his chopsticks for the first time. However, his interest was not in the meat or seafood that could fill his stomach, but in the softened, cooked cabbage.
“We’ll proceed as planned.”
This time, he put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, and said.
“How? With you and Manager Han absent, will that be possible?”
In-woo Hyung’s words, as he fished out a fish ball floating in the bubbling broth, caused Joo-han Hyung and Yooni Noona to stop their chopsticks and cast simultaneous, sharp glances.
“Hey, babies, why are you looking so scary? I’m not looking down on you, but without a person in charge, even the excellent you would be overwhelmed, wouldn’t you? And we’ve never proceeded that way before, have we? That’s what I’m talking about.”
I couldn’t help but smile slightly at In-woo Hyung’s uncharacteristic earnest defense.
“Manager Han will stay behind.”
“……”
The room fell silent at his unexpected declaration. Only the sound of the half-divided hot pot boiling and the low-volume noise seeping in from outside the private room could be heard.
Everyone’s bewildered gaze turned to Manager Han, but he was smiling happily, wrapping enoki mushrooms in lamb. It seemed the two of them had already discussed and reached a conclusion.
As if he had completely finished eating, he added, drinking water and putting down his glass.
“Because I’m going to Chicago with Baek Yuni.”
Aaaargh!
With a scream-like shriek, Noona jumped up from her seat. The chair tipped precariously, and I, sitting next to her, quickly grabbed the backrest. Noona, throwing her chopsticks onto the table, almost hugged his shoulder and shook him.
“Really? CEO Ryu, really, really?”
Although she was only two years younger than me, Noona always felt like five to six years older due to her composure, flawlessness, and self-assurance. Everyone in the room knew that her current boisterous reaction was by no means an exaggerated act.
Her pure joy, expressed as it was, momentarily made everything else disappear from her vision and attention, and it was infectious enough to move the onlookers. The satisfaction, excitement, and thrill, bordering on ecstasy, that Noona must be feeling right now, were palpable.
“Uh-huh, really. I think Baek Yuni can handle that much now.”
He laughed, deliberately shaking his body more exaggeratedly than Noona was shaking him.
“But… will it be okay with just the two of us, without Manager Han?”
As the initial excitement subsided somewhat, practical concerns began to surface, and Noona cautiously looked at Manager Han and said in a small voice.
“Actually, Manager Han suggested it. You pretty much led this art fair and were responsible for the venue, so he thought you could handle bigger tasks now.”
“……”
Noona fell silent.
The eyes that had been filled with pure excitement moments ago now held more complex emotions.
Joy, gratitude, deep emotion. And after all of them had passed, a large, solid lump, difficult to describe in words, pushed its way forward…
Surrounded by people who acknowledged and supported her, perhaps Noona was thinking of her family. Didn’t she want to receive such support and trust from her family more than anyone else? I could only vaguely guess so.
“You’ll be going as a main staff member, not support, so you’ll have to accompany CEO Ryu for all schedules and learn everything from scratch, so it’ll be incredibly tough, but Baek Yuni, you’ll do well, right?”
Manager Han said, looking up at Noona, who was sitting far across the table. Instead of letting her emotions erupt, Noona composed herself, wiped her tears, and smiled.
“Of course. I’ve been waiting for this moment for three years, like a dog learning from a scholar.”
“Who called you a dog learning from a scholar?”
Manager Han widened his eyes and put on a feigned angry expression. He nodded in agreement, crossing his arms.
“No, absolutely not. A true dog learning from a scholar is just eating up food in this situation.”
He gestured with his chin towards Joo-han Hyung, making a joke. As the atmosphere seemed to lighten, Hyung, who had been busily moving his chopsticks again, said indifferently, putting three to four pieces of meat into the broth.
“Why, is it a problem to know my place and quietly stay out of the way? I don’t have that much ambition in the art world. You know that.”
Then, he dipped the lamb, which still had some pinkness, into the sauce and began to chew it with relish.
“Show a little more enthusiasm. I’ll recognize your efforts as your skills improve.”
“Well… if CEO Ryu kneels and begs me because he needs me, I’ll consider it.”
His proposal seemed serious, but Hyung deliberately deflected it with a slightly flippant joke.
“Ah… Chicago in the fall. That sounds nice. It’s desolate and atmospheric, perfect for setting a mood and going on a date.”
Stretching his arms as if to do a full-body stretch, In-woo Hyung muttered enviously into the air.
“You can go anytime you want if you set your mind to it, so what’s the fuss? And, we’re not going there for fun, are we?”
As I sat down, my Noona chided me, but In-woo Hyung pretended not to hear, turning his head so deeply that his chin was buried in his shoulder, and looked at me. His characteristic playful smile was etched on his face.
“So, during your business trip to Chicago… Lee Hyun will be alone?”
“……”
“Why would Lee Hyun be alone? Manager Han is here, and I am too.”
In-woo Hyung shook his head, looking back at Juhan Hyung, who was now leaning against the backrest, drinking cola, as if he had eaten his fill.
“Kwon Juhan only pretends to be experienced; sometimes he seems like a complete fool.”
While In-woo Hyung and Juhan Hyung bickered about who had more romantic experience, an employee knocked and entered. The employee, dressed in a uniform, placed two paper bags containing pre-ordered takeout food on the empty chairs.
Noona asked for the bill, and as we waited for the employee who had left with the corporate card to return, everyone began to prepare to leave the restaurant.
“We’re going for a second round, so why did you get takeout?”
In-woo Hyung asked, peering into the paper bags.
“Seo Yi-hyun is going to sleep over at Hyung and Noona’s tonight. The CEO got it for him.”
At Juhan Hyung’s answer, everyone looked at me and smiled.
It was in moments like these that I felt like Phantom’s maknae. I was a blunt maknae with no talent for making people laugh with cute expressions or actions, but Yooni Noona, Juhan Hyung, and Manager Han would sometimes find me endearing simply because of my age.
And he did too.
Right now, he was pretending not to hear Juhan Hyung’s jokes or the laughter of others, focused on his phone screen as if he had an important message, but I remembered him asking his old colleagues to look after me, saying I was still too young. I also remembered the smile he showed me when I awkwardly tried to comfort him, asking if I was trying to cheer him up. It was clearly the indulgent smile of an older person towards someone younger.
So, I wouldn’t be discouraged if he didn’t smile at me with that endearing look, mixed in with everyone else, in moments like these.
Expecting him to react in kind to my emotions would be futile. The best way to avoid further complications was to consistently suppress expectations and learn to give up hope. That was probably it.
“Oh? Then Lee Hyun isn’t going to the second round?”
After everyone else had stood up, In-woo Hyung, still seated, grabbed my wrist and shook it with a sad expression, his eyes drooping at the corners.
“Well… we were supposed to meet right after I returned to Korea, but I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time. So, it’s a bit…”
“Ah… right. Lee Hyun had to delay his return by a day because he was sick again.”
Saying that with a subtle emphasis, In-woo Hyung glanced at him across the table. It might be an overthinking, but sometimes he felt chillingly perceptive, as if he knew things that weren’t told.
“Aww, what a drag. Who did you come here for?”
As he said that, In-woo Hyung lightly bit and released the inside of my wrist, letting go.
“You said you were just organizing files at the hospital on a Friday night without plans, acting all pitiful, so I called you over. What’s the problem?”
Juhan Hyung, who had put his lip piercing back in after taking it out during the meal, saying he would eat four servings of lamb, nudged In-woo Hyung’s shoulder with his elbow and threatened him. In-woo Hyung screamed and surrendered.
As Yooni Noona packed her belongings into her bag, his gaze felt like it was on me over her shoulder, so I looked up, but it was a mistake; he was raising his wrist to check his watch.
As we exited the main entrance of the restaurant, located on the second floor of a building with a business hotel above, the sound of rain grew much closer. It was still raining heavily.
Juhan Hyung walked right up to the window that covered one wall of the elevator hall and pressed his nose against the glass to look outside.
His earlier joy at being able to avoid the rainy season in Hong Kong for a few days was rendered meaningless, as Seoul was still in the midst of the monsoon. The rain that had made us worry about the humidity in the underground storage and exhibition spaces all week was reaching its peak today.
“Inwoo Ssaem and Manager Han will need to call their drivers… CEO, you weren’t drinking, right? Could you give Lee Hyun a ride? It’s raining too hard.”
He, who had his arms through the sleeves of his navy-blue summer jacket, turned towards me at Noona’s words.
“No, it’s okay. I can take the bus.”
I immediately closed my mouth, thinking I had refused too quickly and too formally, but I regretted it, feeling like I must have seemed overly conscious of him.
“You have a lot of luggage too. Just ask him to give you a ride. It’s not a difficult task, just dropping you off briefly. Right, CEO?”
In the past, he would have reacted unenthusiastically to Manager Han’s request to give me a ride, but now, he seemed like he would readily agree to a slight detour to drop me off.
However, I wanted to avoid being alone with him in a confined space like a car for the time being. Or rather, it felt more beneficial to avoid it.
The elevator, which had been taking its time in the underground parking lot, finally stopped on the second floor. After everyone boarded, he, the last to enter, pressed the close button. He stood next to me, who was standing in the corner, a step away, leaning against the handrail.
The close proximity in the elevator inevitably brought to mind the elevator at the Hong Kong hotel. I didn’t know if he was thinking the same thing, but his gaze, looking down at my feet, seemed utterly composed.
The tightness of the arms that had held my waist from behind and the excitement of the hot breath that had poured into my ear were still vivid. It wasn’t a good sign.
Yet, even as I wished for everything to fade, I found myself drifting back to the memories of that day several times a day. Like someone afraid of even the slightest exaggeration or fading.
“Go down to the parking lot and take the CEO’s car, okay?”
Noona whispered, nudging me with her elbow.
“I’ll take a taxi. It’s not that far… you don’t have to go out of your way to give me a ride…”
“On a Friday night like this, with rain pouring down, do you think a taxi will be available for you?”
Noona patted my shoulder, telling me not to say such naive things.
“I’ll ride with him. It’s not that far, so dropping me off is no big deal.”
He, who had been silently observing our conversation, turned to me, holding onto the bar behind him. Unable to withstand his gaze, I looked away awkwardly again.
Since returning to Seoul, I had been feeling awkward around him on my own. I had never felt completely at ease with him, but now that I knew what I wanted from him, the discomfort, which had felt like a vague impulse accompanied by a slight flutter, had transformed into a dull ache and suffocation.
Until now, I hadn’t been uncomfortable with him, but rather, I had wanted him.
Whether it was attention, affection… or lust.
And then, feeling anxious because I couldn’t get what I wanted, I had mistaken that anxiety and the nagging feeling in my chest for discomfort.
That was my guess, anyway. What do I, in my current state, truly know?
It seemed best to avoid narrowing the distance between us. But the unfamiliar me, who hadn’t refused him when he came to bed without me realizing my own feelings, was shattering my resolve with disheartening simplicity.
It seemed best not to be alone together, but I wanted to be alone together.
I repeatedly bit and released my lower lip, looking down at the toe of my worn sneakers, which were almost touching his shoes.
“And, I have something to talk about, too.”
At his slow voice, I lifted my head. He was looking at In-woo Hyung, not me. Following his gaze, I also turned to look at In-woo Hyung without much thought. Hyung was simply smiling at him with an inscrutable expression.
■ ■ ■
“It feels more like a typhoon than the rainy season.”
As soon as we exited the underground parking lot, he muttered, looking out the window at the sound of rain pounding on the car.
“Even if I caught a taxi, I would have gotten soaked getting in.”
As he said, it was the kind of rain that would drench you in the short moment it took to fold an umbrella. I thanked him again for the ride, and he chuckled, saying it wasn’t something that warranted so many thanks.
“I saw in Hong Kong that you speak English to some extent.”
As he stopped at the first traffic light after leaving the parking lot, he brought up an unexpected topic. Since he had never said anything like that in Hong Kong, the fact that he had been observing me without my knowledge made my face flush belatedly.
“No, it’s just… a basic level. Like what I learned in school…”
“You must have studied quite diligently. With a foreign language, you can know it in your head and hear it with your ears, but it has to be ingrained in your body to come out of your mouth.”
“I don’t think I was negligent in my studies. I had nothing else… to do.”
I had lost the will to throw myself into anything, but for the first year or so, I felt like I would go crazy if I didn’t do something. I was at a loss. School classes and studying felt like assigned duties, and I got through the days by diligently completing them. After that, it just became a habit.
“If Seo Yi-hyun wants to study English more seriously, I can arrange for a teacher. You could even take the classes that Baek Yuni and Kwon Juhan are taking.”
“I probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with Noona and Hyung’s classes…”
Noona and Hyung were receiving private English lessons from a native speaker once a week as part of employee benefits. It was support in preparation for overseas business trips like the one to Hong Kong. I envied them for their ability to converse fluently with people of various nationalities, but that wasn’t solely a matter of English proficiency.
As the wipers pushed the rain away, torrents of water cascaded down, creating waves, and all the cars on the street moved slowly and cautiously. Even so, considering it was Friday night, the traffic volume was noticeably low.
Inside the car, with no radio or music playing, the only sound was the fierce rain, as if it wanted to swallow us whole, pulling us out of this car.
“Or… should I teach you?”
“……”
I turned to look at his smiling face.
Was it a misinterpretation, my emotions projecting onto his words, making them sound significant?
The hints he gave me, who was just as clumsy, were always vague and insufficient. It was also possible that they weren’t hints at all, and I was just assigning meaning to them on my own.
I thought about whether reacting with something like, ‘Yes, would you? I’d like to learn from the CEO,’ would be a mature and sexy provocation in a moment like this, but just imagining myself doing that made me want to let out a deflated laugh. That was really not me.
“Just kidding. I don’t know why, but I’m terrible at teaching.”
He shrugged and laughed to himself again. It sounded more like self-deprecating mockery. Perhaps he felt pathetic talking to himself while I remained unresponsive like a block of wood.
“How long did you stay at that place before moving to Manager Han’s house?”
He finally brought up another topic. The car slowly started moving, following the green light.
“Only about a month.”
Hmm. He made a groaning sound, watching a car behind us attempting a dangerous overtake in the rain.
“It was really close to my place, though.”
I didn’t know the location of his house before, but now that I thought about it, it was indeed a very short distance, as Manager Han had said.
Based on the intersection with a large convenience store and a large Italian restaurant specializing in wood-fired pizza, the northwest side was the so-called slum area where Morae and Hyung’s rooftop apartment was located. Although housing prices had been rising sharply recently, the narrow, old houses that hadn’t been renovated were still cheap. On the other hand, the eastern hill where his house was located was a traditional affluent neighborhood, famous for being home to chaebol chairmen, Hallyu actors, and foreign ambassadors.
It was similar to the structure of Grandfather’s village, which was divided into affluent and poor areas centered around the harbor.
Although I had never actually done it, it would probably only take about 20 minutes of brisk walking from the rooftop apartment to his house. Now that I was staying at Manager Han’s place, even if I had the chance to visit his house again, I probably wouldn’t walk that route.
“Have you ever been to the Italian restaurant at the intersection?”
“No.”
“Ah, don’t go there at all. It’s not tasty and it’s expensive.”
His expression was serious and his tone firm, as if he had been deeply disappointed, but that only made me burst out laughing. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing he would say seriously. Even though I knew much less about him, trying to guess his ‘original self’ was just prejudice based on an image.
When I laughed, he chuckled along.
As we entered the tunnel, the sound of rain abruptly stopped, as if by magic. With my tension slightly eased by the recent laughter, my thoughts drifted to the cigarettes I had been carrying in my backpack.
Rummaging through my pockets, I offered him a pack of green-packaged cigarettes. He looked at the cigarettes and me alternately, as if asking what they were.
“Well… at the hotel, I smoked one.”
“……”
His eyes widened slightly. A mischievous smile, like one witnessing a child’s audacious prank, slowly spread across his face. Even though he had said that as an adult, I had the right to decide whether to smoke.
“I kept it to give you one when I came to Seoul, but I couldn’t find the right timing…”
I apologized for taking it without permission, and he joked that it was nothing for just one cigarette, and that he would welcome such interest anytime. He said it with a serious face, devoid of any humor, just like a moment ago.
He took the cigarette, but instead of putting it down somewhere, he held it for a moment, rolling it back and forth in his hand resting on the steering wheel. His sharp profile, which seemed composed yet unwilling to grant easy access, appeared deeply lost in thought.
During that time, the tunnel section ended, and we were thrust back into the rain.
The silence inside the car felt more frightening than the angry downpour outside. The void that had appeared in our solitary situation reminded me of the past three days we had spent facing each other at Phantom since returning from Hong Kong.
He, who had returned to Korea on Tuesday, a day later than me, had only returned to work normally on Wednesday morning.
When he occasionally gave me direct work instructions, he seemed indifferent. At least, that’s how it appeared. He never looked at me with any particular significance or held his gaze on me longer than necessary.
There were moments when our eyes met by chance as I looked up after changing my posture while concentrating on work, but that was all.
We had each worked in our own positions, contacting the shipping agent for the paintings sold at the fair and producing promotional pamphlets for our existing clients in Seoul about the successful results of the art fair. Just like before.
“You smoked my cigarettes, and what else did you do for fun?”
“……”
So, I hadn’t expected him to bring up that day’s events like this. This time, my eyes widened. There was a hint of laughter in his voice.
“You didn’t even finish a bowl of wontons, didn’t get a massage, and didn’t leave your room, I heard.”
I wanted to feel the outside air, but the moment I lowered the window even slightly, I knew the rain would pour onto my lap as if it had been waiting.
I fiddled with the seatbelt that crossed my chest as if I were gnawing on it, my lips parting as if to say something, and finally, I let out a short sigh and closed my mouth.
I was unprepared and unequipped to discuss that day’s events with any particular expression or tone, especially in these everyday moments, rather than when sexual tension was tautly stretching between us.
Before I knew it, the intersection he had mentioned was approaching.
He spoke again, as if he had given up on waiting for my answer.
“Do you want to… go to the second round together?”
He asked, slowing down to wait at the intersection’s signal.
“I have two more days off, and I thought there would be plenty of time to spend together if we didn’t rush tonight. Hyung and Noona are also off this weekend, right?”
Forgetting my awkwardness, I met his gaze.
He, who seemed to be selective about who he let in and never held back those who wanted to leave, was now talking as if he were holding me back, asking me to join him for the second round.
I searched the depths of his mysterious eyes for the hope or hints I desired.
The heavy scent of rain, which had permeated even the car’s interior, was momentarily pierced by his fragrance, sending a shiver down my spine. Though it was for a fleeting instant, the scent instantly revived within me the intensity of the pleasure I had savored alongside it. Flustered, I unconsciously covered my nose and mouth with my hand and turned my head.
“It feels wrong for anyone to skip a business trip after-party.”
As he added that, he seemed to want to preemptively block any optimistic interpretation I might place on his words. The ticklish feeling that had seemed to be gently approaching vanished the next moment, like a faint scent that brushed past my sense of smell and drifted away, beyond my grasp.
After all, it would be nearly impossible for me to decipher his intentions or thoughts. It might be due to the 10-year age gap, or perhaps the difference in experience stemming from that gap. It could also be due to more fundamental personal differences. It was frustrating, but unavoidable. I couldn’t just go out and gain dating experience by pretending to be a playboy.
“I’d like to, but… I have something important to discuss today.”
At my cautious refusal, he narrowed his eyes and gazed at me.
A short, nervous klaxon sound blared from behind. The signal had changed without my noticing. He drove the car towards the northwest hill.
Since returning to the country, he hadn’t pestered or pressured me about whether I’d thought about painting. The manager hadn’t either. It seemed they had laid all their cards on the table and were now waiting for me to take my time and decide for myself. However, I knew I couldn’t rely on their consideration and drag things out too long.
Perhaps today, Hyung and Morae would talk about their decisions. I also planned to state my position more clearly. Furthermore, I intended to persuade them to begin preparations for leaving for Bali immediately, regardless of what answers they gave.
I didn’t know if I could truly paint again.
But I couldn’t deny the desire to be able to paint, simply because it was vague and faint. Even if it was vague and faint, what existed couldn’t become what didn’t exist.
Whatever the outcome, I intended to try.
The expectation that picking up a brush again would make it easier for Hyung and Morae to leave was certainly one reason, but I had no intention of acting hypocritically, pretending my choice was a sacrifice for others.
It was a decision made by following my own desires, not anyone else’s, and I resolved to try not to think of it as greed.
Because there were people who showed me directly that listening to one’s own desires doesn’t mean denying and crushing the desires of others, even a weak me could build a foundation of faith.
It wasn’t that courage had suddenly sprung up in the meantime. Instead of waiting for courage to arise, I decided to take the first step, whatever it might be. Perhaps… courage wouldn’t come even if I waited. The moment I took that first step, it would become courage.
A church building of grand scale, out of place in this neighborhood, was gradually drawing closer. In the pouring rain, it loomed like an ominous castle from a medieval horror film, emitting a misty vapor from its large, dark form.
“That important talk… is it something I can look forward to as well?”
“……”
Though I had made my decision, I didn’t want to voice it before its form was completely clear.
Instead of answering, I shifted my gaze to his face. I hoped he would understand that my current withholding of an answer wasn’t hesitation, but a desire to be deliberate.
As he slowly drove the car towards the bus stop in front of the stairs, he smiled faintly.
“You’re not someone who opens up easily.”
It was true, so this time I smiled faintly.
“I’ll tell you on Monday…”
“Alright, then. I’ll be waiting.”
His words, “I’ll be waiting,” were sweet. Even if the object of his waiting wasn’t me myself but my answer, that answer was still a part of me.
Despite the heavy rain, I managed to persuade him not to help carry my luggage up to the stairs. The luggage consisted of only two paper bags of packaged hot pot and a backpack with a few small souvenirs like cookies and toothpaste bought in Hong Kong.
As I opened the door, the downpour that had been following us all along seemed to embrace the surroundings as if it had been waiting. The rain was so intense it felt like it could suck me in and swallow me whole.
He stopped in place, waiting to see me leave, then briefly honked his horn as a signal for me to go ahead. When I still didn’t move, his car slowly began to drive away. I smiled to myself, imagining him sighing in exasperation at my stubbornness and shaking his head, then turned around.
Did my slow, sluggish heart wish for a real romance with him, or did it desire to be his sole partner… such an absurd position?
I had no experience with romance, let alone unrequited love, so I had no information about how I reacted when I liked someone, or how much I wanted him.
Until I became aware of it, my feelings were merely a vague stirring.
The thirst began after I became aware of it, but at least it wasn’t a desperate urgency that made me feel like I would die if I couldn’t become his lover right now.
I believed I was still at a point where I could nullify my emotions.
I lacked the confidence to endure the pain of discovering emotions in him with different names – be it scorn, pity, or the coldness called coolness – if my feelings became more serious and heavy, spilling out before him and unreciprocated.
For someone who had lived without emotions for years, a heavy unrequited love was unfitting. It was like asking a scrawny novice with no strength, who had just joined a gym, to lift 100 kilograms.
Carrying the useless umbrella draped over my shoulder, one in each hand, and the paper bag of hot pot dangling from my fingers, I climbed the stairs, organizing my thoughts to focus only on Morae, Hyung, and painting for today.
Click. I switched off the light, just as he had taught me.
On the stone steps, where the drainage was poorly maintained, rainwater flowed like a mountain stream from above. The drop from one step to another soaked my shoes and even my calves.
Morae and Hyung were still about an hour away, so I planned to shower and set the table with the hot pot he had brought. After climbing all 62 steps, which felt even steeper than usual due to the rain, my back, burdened by the backpack, was damp with sweat. Wiping the sweat from under my chin, I headed for the innermost gate.
Balancing the umbrella on my shoulder so it wouldn’t flip, I fumbled in my pocket for the gate key. In the narrow alley where five or six houses were crammed together, the only sound was the rain hitting my umbrella. The newlywed couple downstairs were quiet today.
The rain was so loud it deafened me, making me completely unaware of approaching footsteps from behind.
“…Is that Lee Hyun?”
“……”
There had been no sound of footsteps.
As if the rain had miraculously stopped, a clear voice calling my name pierced through the downpour and into my ears.
Before I could turn around and confirm the owner of the voice, my body froze. My hand, still holding the key in the gate, dropped into the air.
As if the pouring rain was nothing, the persistent, fishy smell of the sea washed over me, overturning my boat like a wave.
It was Great Uncle.
To be continued in Diamond Dust, Volume 3