The impatience I sensed in him—his eagerness to rush the opening of the overseas branch—stirred a vague anxiety deep in my chest. As far as I knew, he wasn’t the kind of person who got jumpy before something important.
Maybe that image, too, was just an illusion I’d built from the scraps I had. It’s natural to tense up before making a big decision; maybe I was worrying for nothing.
Noticing how obviously my thoughts were wandering, he forced the corners of his mouth up. Then he went back to the dresser to finish getting ready, spritzing perfume a few times over his shirt. The heavy black bottle, all hard straight lines, was one of the two he used often. The dark, weighty, intense scent suited the force of his presence.
“I kept the last day open, so we can do some sightseeing then—and hit the gallery we missed today. We could revisit the Chicago gallery, too. It’ll be my third time in Chicago, but it’s always been for work. There are plenty of places I haven’t seen, so I’m looking forward to it.”
He brightened his tone as he chose a watch from the second drawer and fastened it to his wrist.
“Sorry I dragged you this far and left you alone after asking you to come.”
I shook my head firmly at his back as he stood at the closet and slipped on a jacket.
“I’m fine. Focus on the show.”
Before I knew it, he was fully ready to head out. He turned to look at me, smiling softly, then slowly pivoted and walked over. His immaculate appearance made me lower my breath without thinking.
He cupped both my cheeks and tilted them up so I’d look at his face.
“You’re understanding and deep-hearted—more than I could ask for... so why do I keep wanting to see a clingy Seohyeon throwing a fit?”
“......”
“Saying you don’t want to go to parties, that you want to stay with me all night. Saying you wish this weren’t a business trip but our trip. Whining like that and refusing to let go of me—that Seohyeon.”
His wishes were always this specific, and his face when he joked was so serious it made me laugh. He chuckled when I did.
“Then again, if you were throwing a fit like that, you wouldn’t be Seohyeon anymore.”
I held the hands cradling my face and rubbed my cheek against his palm, scented with cologne.
“If I actually did that, you’d change your mind.”
He studied me for a moment with an unreadable smile and murmured almost to himself:
“...Would I, though?”
He looked bitter, as if he were the only one tormented by irrational bursts of feeling and childish wants. I leaned my forehead against his firm lower abdomen with a soft thump, putting in just a hint of reproach.
“When I start thinking like that, I don’t want to be apart at all... so I hold back too.”
His hand stroking the back of my head made my lower belly tickle. I nearly confessed how much I was looking forward to our plan—once everything was over, just the two of us heading to Boston. Instead, I bit my lower lip once, let it go, and lifted my head.
“Just remember this: I always welcome the version of Seohyeon who doesn’t hold back.”
He bent and pressed his lips to mine. It was a brief kiss—just lips brushing and parting—that left a sweet sigh behind. Ruffling my hair with a smile, he checked the time and, after gathering a few last things—phone, cigarettes—he left the dressing room.
“I’ll head to you straight from the gallery, but Yuni’s going to stop by the hotel because of Shushu. You can go with Yuni.”
“Is Shushu... not coming to the after-party?”
I followed him toward the entryway, and he paused to glance back.
“Mm... the official event ends with the party at the gallery. The so-called after-party is really just a private get-together with a handful of people I invited, so Shushu isn’t obligated to come.”
In contrast, I’d been excused from the gallery party but agreed to attend the smaller gathering. He’d given me the chance to show my work abroad and said there were people he wanted to introduce me to; I couldn’t turn that down.
We stopped in the small foyer before the front door. He let go of my hand and wrapped an arm around my waist.
“If you come to the party, I know you—Seohyeon—you’ll be too nervous to eat, so make sure you have dinner by room service first. If you skip your meal, I’ll end up arranging everything like last time.”
I silently laughed, fiddling with the chest of his jacket as a memory from Hong Kong surfaced—how he’d made them prepare both local and Western meals.
“Inwoo said it’s important not to skip meals, remember? You’ll probably have a little to drink at the party, too. Oh, and don’t forget your meds.”
As expected, the checkup with Inwoo had come back as mild gastritis. Likely stress-related, not serious at the moment, but I should be careful it didn’t become chronic. He’d also recommended a few supplements, which I was taking with the medication.
Out of pure care, he personally stocked a plastic pill case with daily compartments so I could keep a week’s worth and take them as directed.
“You know I don’t make trouble about that. Shushu’s probably waiting.”
When I pushed at his chest, grinning for him to go, he pulled a mock-offended face and shrugged.
“You used to beg me not to go to Shushu.”
I hid my flushing face at the embarrassing memory and nudged him out the door. Just before he vanished completely into the private-elevator vestibule, dressed to kill, he turned back through the crack and said with a serious face:
“See you later. Don’t dress too pretty.”
I shook my head and thought, Please check the mirror before you say that, CEO.
■ ■ ■
The luxury sedan he’d requested from the hotel started north toward the wealthy blocks of Chicago’s Old Town.
Because of Lake Michigan, milky fog curled around the high-rises, and the end of the long, straight road disappeared into nothing. The car glided over the pavement with no sound and no vibration, as if volunteering to be pulled into a story full of adventure, its ending unknown.
The bleak view—like a dehumanized, ravaged future city or Gotham City from Batman—made me rub my arms and turn my eyes from the window.
Dressed flashier and freer for the after-party, Yuni sat in the back seat hurriedly touching up her makeup.
“The CEO was so fired up today. For once, he even said he’d do an interview tomorrow. He always insists the artists are the stars and hates being out front.”
She deepened the contrast of her shadow as she spoke. It looked like she was just sweeping it on, but that rough touch suited her.
“Well, it’ll definitely help promotion if his interview and photos run. Who knows when we’ll get to do a show in Chicago again—there’s no downside to getting the name out there, right?”
I smiled back at her as she snapped the eyeshadow case shut and looked my way.
Unlike her easy take, a thought made my smile awkward: maybe he’d accepted the interview with the New York branch in mind. Had he really not given Yuni even a hint?
“Anyway, today’s opening party was insane. Honestly, this gallery isn’t some absolute powerhouse, you know? But the guest list—wow. I was dizzy, just flinging business cards everywhere.”
Excitement still clung to her face and voice as she twisted fully toward me. I thought of Hong Kong, where she’d worked the room nonstop—greeting people, swapping cards—hoping someone might scout her, recognizing her talent and potential. Whether it was study abroad or a job move, she clearly wanted experience overseas.
“What’s with you, Seohyeon—still nervous? You’ve gone all quiet.”
She sipped the coffee in the armrest cup holder between us, then poked my cheek when she saw how stiff I looked.
“I’m still awkward with these parties... and I’m worried about my English...”
After we decided on Chicago, I’d taken two lessons a week with the English teacher who taught Yuni and Inwoo. I studied separately, too, and in the evenings he’d help me a little. Studying with him... mostly devolved into learning dirty words and phrases and then turned into skinship—basically a date that escalated.
Even so, it was only three weeks. That wasn’t enough time to build the skill to cover both my lack of confidence in English and my unsociable nature.
“You’re fine; don’t be dramatic. The teacher praised you. Said you’ll pass Juhan in a few months—he’s been grinding like crazy because of you.”
She laughed, drumming the cushion on the armrest, and added that when she bragged about flying first class and staying in a five-star hotel, Juhan bawled that it sounded like a luxury vacation, not a work trip, and that if he’d known, he would’ve come no matter what.
Vowing to send after-party photos to tease him, she didn’t really want to needle him; she just wanted to share the moment. For all their bickering when they were together, they seemed a little empty apart. Sometimes I was jealous of that kind of friendship.
All through grade school and middle school, I’d never really had what people call a “best friend.” Morae and Inwoo were precious friends, and ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) they almost never acted like a couple in front of me, but the bond between them was so solid it felt visible—like a current—without any handholding or hugging. It was hard for the three of us to make a perfect triangle as friends. Between the twin-like, doppelganger vibe of Yuni and Juhan, I was a different color, too.
Following that line of thought, I realized—surprisingly—that I had him.
What linked him and me wasn’t just hot passion or the flutter of romantic feeling. He was the one who drew the most stories, emotions, and thoughts out of me—the one who accepted and understood them without distortion, even when I’d hardened like concrete. What he meant to me was more than a romantic partner.
I suddenly wanted to see him. The feeling was so clear and specific that in the dark car I blushed, as if he might somehow catch me at it.
We stopped in front of a three-story mansion just a block from the Original Playboy Mansion where Hugh Hefner used to live.
As if to announce there was a party inside, the entrance of the solemn, massive brick building was decked in lavish lights.
“This lighting is killer. Seohyeon, take a picture of me.”
Looking around at the luminaries like a Christmas display, Yuni opened her clutch—then her face fell.
“Ugh, battery... The power bank’s dead too. Seohyeon, let’s use your phone. I’m doing real-time posts of our Chicago trip for social media. I even uploaded your pieces on display—look, there are already over a hundred comments... oh... and now it’s off.”
We both laughed at the blacked-out screen in her hand.
Thankfully, my phone was fine after charging all evening at the hotel. I unlocked it to photograph her posing under the arch by the door, and she dropped the pose, intrigued.
“What’s this, what’s this?”
Her eyes narrowed, looking mischievous.
“Since when did our little busy-bee Seohyeon start locking the phone?”
“Ah... it’s not that... I was worried I might lose it on the trip... I’m roaming, and if someone picked it up and made calls...”
“Look at you working so hard on an excuse. Everyone has secrets at your age. Perfectly normal.”
Even as she said it, her grin stayed playful, as if she was convinced there was another reason for the lock. She didn’t press, though.
After a quick photo, she rang the bell. A kindly looking staffer opened up. The house was a maze. We passed several rooms and a small sitting room along a long corridor; the party’s noise and music grew louder as we went.
He had arrived ahead of us and came to meet us at the far end of the hall. He wore no jacket, his shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and the hair he’d slicked back neatly now tumbled over his forehead. He looked in a very good mood.
He could really hold his liquor, and I’d never seen him drunk. He wasn’t drunk now, either, but the lift in his mood seemed to have something to do with alcohol. Curious, I stole a glance at his face as he slung an arm over my shoulder.
On the stairs down to a hall far larger than the sitting room we’d passed, he leaned close, lips almost brushing my ear, and whispered:
“I told you not to dress too pretty...”
He said that, but the outfit I wore was one he’d chosen and given me for this gathering. Since I’d be attending as an artist, he said there was no need to be too formal, and matched a casual-fit suit with a navy-and-white striped tee.
“Mm... what’s this? Wearing this will make people more suspicious, you know?”
He bumped his forehead to my temple and teasingly tugged the little bandana scarf at my neck. A few people’s eyes were on us, and my throat went a bit dry.
The truth was, there were marks from him here and there on my neck. Ever since the night after Inwoo visited—when we’d slept together—he’d developed a habit of leaving marks around my chest and nape.
He hadn’t left them in glaring spots like the center of my throat, but today’s boat-neck tee put the red dots above my collarbone on display, and the scarf was the only choice.
“Sorry, sorry. All my fault. I got cocky.”
Maybe he thought I was glaring; he tightened the arm around my shoulders and apologized. He kept saying sorry, but he still looked delighted. Yuni glanced back at us, but since he was acting so unlike his usual self, she seemed to chalk the close contact up to a touch of tipsiness.
Most of the people enjoying themselves around the enormous hall—easily big enough for a small banquet—were dressed properly like him, but with open collars and no ties, sleeves rolled, a loose and cheerful...
