The view was splendid. As if this were one of his regular haunts, the manager who’d introduced himself to me as “manager” came out personally to greet us.
The seat we were shown felt almost like a private room. One edge of the partition wall was open so people could pass through, but from the sofa you couldn’t see the hall—and unless someone tried deliberately, people in the hall couldn’t see in.
The cozy room held a deep-seated, high-backed, plush sofa. In front of it, a full-width window overlooked the city lights. It was the perfect spot for two or three people to drink privately and talk.
It wasn’t far from Morae’s and Gwon Juhan’s house. The view beyond the window reminded me of the rooftop terrace I’d seen there. The spaces differed—Morae’s place versus my grandfather’s—but in essence they felt similar.
Rain was falling over Seoul’s cityscape, which reminded me of fishing boats at sea. A wry smile slipped out at the thought of how indulgent my circumstances were compared to those humble harbor-town bars I’d known—ramshackle raw-fish joints or grilled-clam spots. Consciously pretending to skim the unfamiliar menu, I hid my smile so he wouldn’t notice.
Even after he’d called the manager and placed our orders, I couldn’t stop flipping through the menu, as if trying to delay our conversation. His gaze felt glued to my profile.
He and I sat at the corner of the L-shaped sofa. Strictly speaking, we weren’t side by side, but we were close enough that I worried our legs might touch. If we’d been truly side by side, I could have averted my eyes more easily—but here, we had no choice but to look at each other.
After inhaling deeply on his cigarette, his slightly husky voice followed.
“Looks like you had fun yesterday.”
He must have been referring to my meeting with Choi Inwoo. I lifted my eyes from the cocktail list to look at him. Sure enough, there was no escape from his stare.
Even if he’d told me about meeting me, I didn’t think Inwoo would detail everything we’d talked about. I had no idea what he was basing that certainty on. Granted, it wasn’t inconceivable that he’d heard I asked Inwoo about Alpha and Omega dynamics—but still, it felt far-fetched.
Without my reacting or Inwoo saying anything particularly noteworthy, he pressed the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray and let out a short laugh.
“Gay people, huh.”
He muttered it almost to himself.
Who “gay people” referred to was ambiguous. From our talk over burgers and beer on the Old Future shoot day, I knew he himself was gay—or at least bi—and had shown no hesitation flirting with me. Thanks to Inwoo’s offhand admission—“I’m gay, you know”—I was surely classified as gay to him as well. No need to piece together evidence: we’d even slept together.
Was his remark self-mockery? A repeated verdict on Inwoo as a poor romantic prospect? Or a criticism of me? The brief mutter and subtle laugh offered too little information to tell.
Finishing his cigarette, he shifted his body toward me and relaxed into a looser posture.
“You said you had a prior engagement and refused, then called back to say you’d meet him, right?”
His tone carried a faintly negative nuance. I couldn’t tell whether that came from Inwoo’s words or from his own interpretation layered on top.
He showed no sign of anger or displeasure. On the contrary, he bit his lower lip lightly to suppress a grin, then let go and chuckled again. I still had no idea what was amusing him.
“Not everyone looks the same in private as they do in public.”
He’d been talking to himself more than usual today. He would throw a remark at me and then mutter his conclusion under his breath. His crooked way of pushing and pulling sparked a flicker of defiance in me.
“What are you implying...?”
It was maddening how he danced around the topic, teasing me but never getting to the point.
He rolled the cold metal lighter in his hand, then looked up at me with narrowed eyes and smiled.
“That’s a compliment. Um... probably a compliment. You’re twenty-two, after all—that’s an adult age—but it is strange not to know anything about that side of things. I was prejudiced, thinking you were inexperienced. In fact, that degree of innocence is natural.”
There was no overt sarcasm in his face. Yet beneath the lightness of his tone hovered an unmistakable shadow.
He was steering the conversation as if I’d deployed some “technique” to seduce Inwoo.
I felt odd. The misunderstanding was unpleasant, though not wholly so; there was a flutter of light excitement.
Was he jealous?
Realizing how absurd that thought was made my cheeks burn as if I’d drawn a line through it with a pen.
“I’m not aware of... what ‘that side’ means.”
Startled, I aimed a question at him, unleashing the defiance inside me. I didn’t posture defiantly or use a confrontational tone—I simply asked.
Yet he looked at me as though stunned by an unexpected attack, his brows twitching as he weighed my words.
“It’s odd not to know anything about that side... but it doesn’t mean you’re indifferent to it.”
I wanted him to drop the ambiguous hints and address the core.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
Silence stretched on. He fetched a fresh cigarette, lit it, and seemed to peer into his own depths for an answer to my question. I’d only wanted to see him squirm a little.
After a long pause, his dry lips parted.
“You’re right. I’ve been vague. What I want to say is...”
Footsteps approached from the partition’s entrance, as if to give us room and signal that our drinks were coming.
The manager reappeared with our orders: a dusky-brown whisky in a bluish bottle, ornate yet sturdy crystal glasses, and a basket of ice. He set them on the table and vanished as silently as he’d arrived.
He picked up the slender glass, toyed with it, then drained it in a smooth motion and resumed speaking.
“What I mean is... every person has facets no one expects.”
I felt the tension drain from his shoulders. It struck me that he was fleeing from the moment—and I was disappointed in myself for expecting more.
This strange eagerness I’d felt—wanting his attention, not minding that he’d invited me into his bed—felt unfamiliar. I had believed his promise to numb my pain with his touch. If someone else, say Choi Inwoo, had said those words, I might have refused.
But only he said them. At least—for now.
Though I’d never dated and never had an unrequited love, I knew attraction wasn’t simply the sum of interest, desire to be noticed, and willingness to touch. That night’s intimacy had felt like emergency medicine for him.
“In other words, I wasn’t so innocent as to not recognize that.”
“What made you do that night?”
His question came without warning, swinging wide the door rather than knocking.
What was the “why” he meant? I turned the whisky to my lips. Expecting a fiery burn, I braced myself—but it went down surprisingly smooth.
“I’m asking why you reacted that way to your own painting.”
He clarified his question.
I realized our meal with Chief Han had been merely a trailer, a light warm-up. Bringing me here wasn’t about probing last night with Inwoo or finding a drinking companion for a rainy evening.
“You said you wouldn’t ask anything.”
“And I didn’t ask anything that night.”
True.
“You were the one caring for me all night. Don’t you have the right to that explanation?”
His eyes locked on me without a trace of hesitation, as though he was about to delve into even more direct topics.
I imagined him cornering me: “I made you tremble, drained all your energy until you fell asleep. Remember how I touched every inch of you, kissed you tenderly—yet I couldn’t... cum.”
“I wasn’t feeling well all of a sudden... not because of the painting.”
“I see. Not because of the painting, then.”
He stroked his jaw thoughtfully.
“So there’s no internal barrier keeping you from painting again.”
“...”
“Whether you want to paint again or not—that’s ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) what I want you to think about slowly. Chief Han said he’d respect your decision, but honestly, I won’t.”
He toyed with the empty glass, never taking his eyes off me. He spoke as someone different from the person who’d counseled me gently not to force excuses. It wasn’t coercion, but I thought I detected anxiety at the edges of his gaze.
“I want you to paint again.”
He wanted me to paint again. It sounded like hope, but his gaze’s intensity and the stubborn set of his mouth said otherwise: he would make me.
Maybe it was the lighting, or my imagination, but his pale eyes looked darker than usual, as if a blue flame flickered within crystal. Accustomed to black eyes, his blue ones felt strangely alien.
“Come with me on the Hong Kong trip.”
The conversation took an unexpected turn. The man at the gallery entrance had been an imposter. From the start, he had planned to sweep me onto his boat and drive me breathlessly forward.
“At the art fair, you’ll see works by artists of various nationalities, styles, and themes, feel the market’s energy. It might stimulate you, change your perspective. It’ll help you decide.”
I recalled Yuni’s post on the Old Future website: the thrill of a strange city, the long-lost excitement of contemplating the future. Adrift in that promise, I sensed a hint of sunlight.
But could I really paint again? Could hope stretch that far? This wasn’t just about mood.
“Thank you, Director Ryu, but...”
“Sukhee Kim.”
“...”
Like a boat rescued from capsizing and then brought to a sudden halt against a rock, I froze. The water stopped, the boat stayed upright, droplets hung motionless in midair.
“As a distinct proper noun, Sukhee Kim stuck, since foreigners struggling with Korean pronunciation used it so. But she was born and raised in the U.S., and from the start used her Korean name, Kim Sukhee. Asking foreigners to pronounce ‘Kim Sukhee’ precisely was unreasonable.”
He, the gallery’s owner, surely knew the international painter Sukhee Kim—or rather, the name Sukhee Kim. If he owned my Prize abstract painting, he likely knew she was one of the contest’s jurors. He may even have purchased the painting from her directly. Not impossible. Yet what came next from his lips was utterly unforeseen.
He drew a new cigarette from the pack, placed it between his lips, and flipped open the lighter.
“I’ll introduce you to Sukhee Kim.”
He laid out an irresistible card.
Swept away by a dizzying current, the boat carrying me was already hurtling forward, beyond all chance of turning back.
