"Go wait in the study."
Not with me, not even with the Phantom crew, had he ever used that kind of firm imperative.
He stepped aside, pointing to the study door straight ahead, just around the corner from the master bedroom. As he passed me, the man flicked a brief glance my way—light contempt mixed with curiosity—then went into the study and closed the door.
He let out a deep sigh, as if hauled up from the bottom of his lungs, then turned fully toward me and faced me. Weariness pooled on his face as he gave me a helpless smile.
"Someone I knew a long time ago... he paints. I don’t know why he came all the way to Chicago, but I should probably hear him out."
"......"
"As you saw... it doesn’t feel like something I can just brush off."
"That does... seem true."
"Ha... this isn’t what I meant to do. What am I going to do about the promise I’m breaking again? How about you and Yuni go without me?"
Maybe he took my mild reaction as displeasure with the situation; he bent to look into my face, holding both my shoulders, his expression full of apology as he searched my mood. The face of a man at a loss because he’d had to cancel a date twice in a row—that exact face.
But I had no complaint about the evening plan being canceled. Sure, I’d have liked to spend time together, but this wasn’t his fault, and I had no intention of showing irritation or blaming him.
"Would it... distract you if I stayed?"
"......"
Surprised by the question, he hesitated, then shook his head several times.
"No—why would that distract me? Not at all. I just thought you’d be disappointed, with the plans getting canceled over ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ and over."
"I didn’t want to go out—I wanted to be with you. If you don’t mind, I’d rather just stay here. And I’m worried... about whatever this is."
With the hands on my shoulders he lightly tipped up my chin. My gaze, which had been pointed at his chest, aligned with his eyes. I worried he’d catch, tucked inside that word "worried," the small meanness that didn’t want to leave him alone with another man.
"Are you asking if he’s someone I used to date...?"
"......"
His face, close enough to kiss, paused. I shook my head and gave his chest a quick push. It felt strange to hear myself about to ask that. I knew I was dating him, but I needed more time to get used to acting like someone’s boyfriend.
"No, no. I’ll explain it to my sister. Go on—go talk."
As I turned, he caught my shoulder again and stopped me.
"You were going to ask if he’s someone I used to date?"
"......"
"Is he?"
Even if they had been, I knew it had nothing to do with what we were now. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. I just didn’t want to show an ugly side, so I didn’t answer. I wanted to hide somewhere. I felt my ear rims flush and heat wash over my face.
"You can ask. You’re someone with the right to press me about things like that."
He gave my shoulders a small shake, trying again to look into my face. I lifted an arm to cover my face and pushed him away.
"J-just... talk first."
His hands slid from my shoulders down my arms and in the end framed my face. My reddened face was exposed, but he didn’t make light of it. The face looking down at me was only serious.
"I’ll tell you... everything later."
He pulled me into his arms the moment he finished. Hugs weren’t rare between us, but the timing caught me off guard. And the grip was tight, like he meant to press me into his chest.
Thinking of his schedule since we’d come to Chicago—how little time or mental space he’d had—it felt like this hug wasn’t only about the present situation. I could tell he was having a particularly hard stretch; I felt sorry I hadn’t been the one to hug him first.
"I’ll tell you everything."
I nodded at his murmured emphasis and wrapped my arms across his broad back. After a moment’s thought I patted his back twice; he laughed like someone unexpectedly comforted by a four- or five-year-old.
He went back to the master bedroom to change, and I headed to my room to call my sister and explain.
I worried she’d be disappointed about the canceled plan, but she actually sounded relieved. She said it was better this way—having to act all warm and friendly when we both felt awkward would’ve been a burden—and I couldn’t think of anything to say back.
To keep my attention from fixating entirely on the study, I changed clothes after the call. I sat at the table to refine the sketches from earlier, but focusing wasn’t easy.
As I was about to take a beer from the mini-fridge in the small kitchen between the living room and my room, the doorbell rang again.
"Ah, Ihyeon... Awi, Director Ryu, they’re inside, right?"
This time it was Shushu. He was dressed just as he’d been for the gallery’s opening event that morning.
"Yes... but he has a visitor, and they’re talking."
"It’s for the New York branch anyway—networking, I’m sure." Shushu muttered with a displeased face and pointed past me into the suite.
"Mind if I wait in the living room?"
It looked like another concern had arrived for him... but there was no reason not to let Shushu in.
I showed him to the living room and asked if he wanted something to drink. He’d asked for coffee, but as I turned toward the kitchen he called me back and asked for beer instead. When I returned I had two bottles in hand.
"Thanks. Don’t worry about me—go rest in your room."
"It’s okay. I was just about to grab a beer myself."
"I’d be glad for the company while I wait."
Shushu didn’t stand on ceremony.
We sat on matching single velvet chairs with sky-blue silk cushions, facing each other across a small table. To the right the windows looked east over Chicago; straight ahead you could see the whole living room at a glance. Besides our seats, there were two more sofa sets; the space and amenities could easily host a light party for twenty.
"I liked the work."
"Ah... you must be busy, but you made time to see it. Thank you."
"I only learned today that you’re the artist of Alienation."
"......"
"Awi works in the art world but doesn’t tend to hang much at home. But that piece—he always hung it in a prominent place whenever he moved."
Everyone who knew him well said the same: how special Alienation was to him. Hearing that was of course nice—but I hadn’t expected Shushu to add his voice too.
"...Why?"
Catching my stare, Shushu lifted his mouth from the bottle and laughed. I’d been staring too openly; I turned my head in a hurry and apologized.
"No, just... it’s surprising to hear you call him ‘that guy.’"
As if he’d expected that, Shushu laughed again. He tipped the bottle and, eyebrows wagging playfully, looked at me.
"When the work isn’t going well, I say worse than that."
Maybe my face said I couldn’t believe it; Shushu kept laughing at me.
"Asking every first-time visitor to his home what they think that painting’s theme is—that was Awi’s idea of fun. He’s collected several famous works, but he obsessed over that one in particular... And now you’re the artist of Alienation, and you and the director had a past. How does life tangle things like this? I haven’t lived long, but sometimes life is hilarious. Right?"
Like someone who had also been used as a prop in the comedy life writes, Shushu drank his beer with a wry smile.
Even for someone who seemed all sunshine, life must have been a real, wild place, not a greenhouse. Not everything you see is all there is—and yet, had I grown a prejudice about Shushu without noticing? I felt a sudden twinge of guilt.
"Does Awi treat you well?"
"...What?"
At the ambush of a question, I choked on my beer and coughed. It was a relief I could blame my reddened face on the wrong pipe.
Apologizing and asking if I was okay, Shushu still laughed like he didn’t see why I was so startled.
"Awi and I have been friends since kindergarten. I can tell right away just from how he treats you. And honestly, he doesn’t look like he’s trying to hide it at all."
If he wanted to, he could hide who he’s dating even from God, you know. At that, I just fiddled with the bottle for no good reason.
"I asked if he treats you well, but it looked more like he’s head over heels for you. Am I right?"
Egging me on to talk, Shushu seemed to find my reactions a little entertaining. The more he did, the hotter my face burned. I wasn’t even fully used to dating him one-on-one; talking about it in front of someone else was still way too big a hurdle.
While I was desperately trying to steer the topic elsewhere, I heard the study door open in the hallway connected to the living room. It sounded like the talk was over. Thinking “perfect timing,” I set my bottle on the table and got to my feet.
"...Seonyu?"
The hall from the living room to the study and master bedroom wasn’t long. From where Shushu and I sat, it was in plain view. Rising slowly from the sofa as if he’d seen a ghost, Shushu wasn’t calling him. His brows knit tight, as if he couldn’t trust his eyes.
"H-hyung..."
The man leaving the study reacted to Shushu’s voice first; following after him, he saw the situation, scowled, and bit hard into his lower lip. His face said disaster. But Shushu’s eyes were fixed only on the man.
"Why are you... here..."
"Uh... I’m checking on a solo show in Seoul—our gallery said they’d introduce a good venue, so I came out here and... turns out it’s Weikun’s place."
Shuffling past the hall to the threshold of the living room, the man scratched the back of his neck with an awkward smile. Then, with a complicated look, he carefully spoke to Shushu.
"How have you been? Your work... it’s gotten better."
"......"
"How’s... your ankle."
"That was a long time ago."
Shushu gave a bitter smile and looked down at the bottle in his hand.
At the mention of his ankle, a page flipped open in my memory: search results I’d read about Shushu’s past—repeated ankle injuries, an infection at the surgical site, and having to give up dance.
Even though a gaze is nothing with physical substance, watching the two of them meet eyes in the air as if that alone were a weapon capable of inflicting a mortal wound, I suddenly wondered if the man’s former partner might not have been him, but Shushu.
If the tension between him and the man at the door had been close to hostility, the mood now between Shushu and the man was much more complicated, charged, strange. He, meanwhile, stood a step back from the situation, arms folded behind the man, feeling like a third party. His expression was plenty grim, though...
"What are you going to do? Have tea and trade updates about how you’ve been all this time?"
Looking past the man’s shoulder at Shushu, he asked. His tone and face carried a subtle pressure: there was no need for them to talk like this at all.
But Shushu, unable to answer right away, only mouthed silently several times. The man, too, only worked his lower lip as he looked at Shushu, unable to force any words out. In place of the two who couldn’t step closer or turn away, he spoke.
"Hong Seonyu, do you have more business here?"
Pressed with the nuance of think carefully about whether you do, the man looked back at him. Then, when he looked again at Shushu standing by the sofa, his gaze shook violently.
He clamped his mouth shut, then said in a dry, slow voice,
"Congratulations on the show. Then..."
Even as he turned fully away, he couldn’t take his eyes off Shushu. Shushu said nothing.
As I looked from the man disappearing toward the entrance, to his back, to Shushu frozen and stunned, an unknown tension passed into me, stiffening my body and mind. I couldn’t even breathe deeply beside Shushu.
He came back to the living room soon after. Thinking it best to give them space, I gathered our beer bottles, carried them to the kitchen, and went to my room. I sat at the table again, but there was no way I could draw.
Seonyu.
Only once, but Shushu had clearly called the man that, and he had called the man Hong Seonyu.
