Price of Silence

From the H&W Gallery on 69th Street to Liu's apartment, which faced the southeastern edge of Central Park, the distance was usually a short five-minute drive or a ten-minute walk. But on the last day of the year, things were different. Not only were the roads leading toward Midtown — where the Ball Drop event was in full swing — completely jammed, the entire Manhattan road network had turned into one enormous parking lot.

But Liu had no reason to rush. With his arms crossed, he sank deep into the seat and gazed out the car window at the excited, flushed faces of the people passing by. New York's average winter temperature was higher than Seoul's, but the cold here had a strange way of making one feel more chilled than the actual temperature warranted.

A light drizzle was falling on the streets. The driver had the radio on at low volume, and a reporter's voice was excitedly announcing that two million people had gathered for the Ball Drop.

Imagining Times Square packed with two million people gave him the start of a tension headache. But it wasn't the crowd that caused it. He could function when focused on work, but any small lapse in concentration brought on intense stress. His only self-prescribed remedy for the headaches and insomnia that had plagued him for months was alcohol and cigarettes.

Liu rolled down the window halfway and lit a cigarette. The street noise grew a little closer. A group of five or six people, looking to be in their early to mid-twenties, passed by loudly blowing vuvuzelas. He stubbed out the cigarette after just a few puffs and rolled the window back up.

He wouldn't have felt this low if he hadn't received that call from the hotel this afternoon.

The hotel had called to confirm with a guest who had reserved a room — one costing well over ten thousand dollars a night, booked at an even higher rate than usual — and then failed to show up. Liu had forgotten the reservation entirely until the call came through. It was an unnecessary courtesy.

It was a room he had booked assuming he would come to New York with Ihyeon, so he could watch the Ball Drop in comfort.

Securing a room with a direct view of the New Year's Eve Ball had required calling in favors — a whole operation in itself. Now it was just unnecessary baggage. A gift with no one left to receive it.

The hotel employee had hesitantly explained that no refund was possible even without checking in. After Liu's indifferent reply, the employee offered a cheerful New Year's greeting and disappeared from the line. The employee might have felt relieved. Liu found it difficult to concentrate on anything afterward.

He had left Seoul as if fleeing from memories of Ihyeon, yet even here — in a place he had never been with him — he could not escape him.

As the headache tightened its grip, Liu finally began drinking the whiskey he had brought in the car. Only after slowly finishing two glasses could he manage to reach his apartment. He apologized to the H&W driver for not having a separate gift prepared, handed over a tip as a substitute, and offered a brief New Year's greeting before stepping out. One of the doormen recognized his car, quickly unfurled an umbrella, and came hurrying toward him.

It was only after getting into the elevator and being alone that he felt he could breathe a little easier. Inside the reserved, upscale condominium on the Upper East Side, the festive atmosphere of the streets felt distant — a celebration from another world. That was a relief.

As soon as he entered the foyer, he tossed his coat onto a stool in front of the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator to pull out a beer.

Standing in front of the refrigerator, he downed half of it in one go, then slowly walked toward the living room window. He finished the rest while gazing at the skyline surrounding Central Park, shining more brilliantly than usual.

In Seoul, the New Year's morning had already begun. Paris… Paris would be a little later, the dawn of the first day of the year just breaking. Ihyeon — he might already be starting his day diligently. Or maybe he's still in bed, making resolutions for the year. Imagining Ihyeon's eyes darting this way and that in the pale blue early light, Liu shrugged and let out a short laugh.

He had already been in New York for about three weeks for the Pettibone exhibition planned with H&W. After taking New Year's Day off tomorrow and attending the exhibition opening on January 2nd, all of his mandatory schedule would be finished. But he still hadn't booked his return flight to Seoul.

He wasn't planning to go see him, and whether here or in Seoul, the city was equally hollow without him — yet he couldn't understand why he kept pushing back the reservation date for no apparent reason.

A laugh that sounded more like a sigh escaped him at the thought that he was no longer even surprised by his own incomprehensible behavior. He turned to grab another beer, the previous bottle now empty on the floor.

Heading toward the kitchen, Liu stopped abruptly at the sound of the doorbell. A call from the lobby. He had a few acquaintances in New York, but none close enough to just show up unannounced. Perhaps the driver had quickly bought something as thanks for the tip.

But the visitor on the intercom turned out to be someone unexpected.

After he told the front desk they could send the guest up, the doorbell rang two or three minutes later.

Shushu stood in the hallway wearing a ridiculous, cheap magician's hat stamped with "HAPPY NEW YEAR" and tooting a vuvuzela.

"What is this?"

"They were giving them out at the hotel. I brought one for you too."

It wasn't a question about the outfit, but Shushu answered as if it were, abruptly thrusting out a hat he'd been hiding behind his back. Liu sighed, turned away, and disappeared into the apartment first.

"I flew all this way because I felt sorry for you spending New Year's alone, and that's your reaction?"

"I'm making money. Why would I be pitiful?"

Liu twisted the cap off a new beer and raised an eyebrow at Shushu, who had followed him inside.

"Even though the New York branch isn't opening, you're still grinding away at the H&W work. Honestly… it's basically a loss."

The amount he had received in exchange for lending his collection and his father's collection stored in Hong Kong to H&W was by no means small in itself. But the contract had been signed on the condition that H&W would cooperate and provide support during the opening and establishment of the Phantom New York branch — making it a deal that ultimately didn't balance out. Although Chloe Kent had expressed her gratitude for his fulfillment of the contract despite the indefinite postponement — effectively the cancellation — of the New York branch, business gratitude held virtually no real value. Liu had to admit that this was a complete business failure and a loss.

"Oh? When did you buy this? Here? Or did you already own it? Did you bring it over from Hong Kong?"

Shushu had just passed through the kitchen and was about to sit on the sofa when he pointed toward the painting on the wall opposite with a delighted expression. It was an Edward Hopper piece that Liu had purchased from his father and brought for Ihyeon. It wasn't one of Hopper's most celebrated works, but its characteristics were distinct enough that anyone could identify it at a glance.

Liu evaded the question vaguely, using his beer as an excuse to look away. Shushu didn't seem particularly eager to know the painting's origin and let it go.

"You got a new sofa too? And I don't recognize the dining table. For an apartment you stay in maybe once a year, when did you… redecorate like this…"

Shushu's voice gradually slowed as he realized the apartment had been prepared for Ihyeon to live in with Liu.

It wasn't as spacious as the places he owned in Seoul or other cities, but this was where he had wanted to start — with Ihyeon. He had planned to set up a separate studio, and one of the three bedrooms had already been converted into an atelier so Ihyeon could pick up a brush whenever he wanted, even at home. Just as he had never managed to bring himself to visit the underground studio where Ihyeon had stayed before coming to New York, Liu had sealed that room off entirely as well.

Everything he had prepared to keep Ihyeon here had become a barbed snare, tightening around him and digging into his flesh.

Liu met Shushu's pitying gaze for a moment, then deliberately shifted to a lighter tone and changed the subject.

"It must have been hard to find a hotel on short notice at this time of year. You're quite resourceful."

"Well, I was a New Yorker for several years. Called in some favors. Cost a bit, too."

"Want a beer?"

"Cut back on the drinking."

"I have no choice if I want even a little sleep."

"You should just get a prescription for sleeping pills."

Shushu took the beer bottle from Liu with a furrowed brow.

"So you came to nag, not because you felt sorry for me."

"You've been chained to your work for months and haven't socialized with anyone. Are you trying to become a hermit? You still haven't made up with Inwu, have you?"

"Made up — what are we, children?"

Liu settled into the armchair across from the two-seater sofa where Shushu sat, leaned forward with his elbows on the armrests, and put on a playful expression.

"Jeong Se-in. I don't know what you're thinking, but I've been swamped preparing for this exhibition. I've been to Hong Kong three or four times in the last two months alone. If working this hard and being too busy to spend time with friends made you worry — I'm sorry. Okay?"

But not a trace of worry had left Shushu's eyes. Liu let out a sigh, set the beer bottle down, and stood up from the sofa.

"Let's go out. Since you came all this way complaining I never hang out with you, I should at least have a drink with you. I'll shower and change. Wait. It won't take long."

Shushu watched Liu disappear down the hallway toward the bedrooms, then quietly got up, fiddling with the tassel on his vuvuzela. He knew the apartment layout well. He had stayed here a few times after Liu inherited it. It was also where he had stayed temporarily after the incident with Hong Seon-yu, before returning to Seoul.

The door to the master bedroom at the far end of the hall was open a hand's width. Confirming the sound of water running in the en-suite bathroom, Shushu gently pushed the door open.

The nighttime view of New York through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the darkened bedroom was as breathtaking as ever. It was dazzling enough to momentarily sap the strength from his body. His steps stopped on their own, and a soft, involuntary gasp escaped him.

Thanks to the apartment's position at the southern tip of Fifth Avenue, he could take in both the imposing density of the skyscraper forest pressing close on his left and the sweeping, panoramic skyline unfurling beyond Central Park.

Inwu had visited this place with them once. Shushu smiled faintly in the dark, remembering Inwu muttering in disbelief that half the price of this apartment — enough to buy a mansion in any other major city — must be for the view.

That faint smile gradually stiffened and then disappeared. It wasn't difficult to imagine how Liu must have felt, wanting to show Ihyeon this view.

Shushu let out a calm breath and set the envelope he had brought down on the long, simply designed desk positioned before the floor-to-ceiling window, across from the bed. Inside was a plane ticket from New York to Paris, reserved under the name Liu Weikun.

Liu was a man who could possess everything he desired through his own strength — yet even such a person sometimes needed encouragement and reassurance from those around him. Especially at a time when he felt small in the face of love.

The sound of running water from the en-suite suddenly stopped. Shushu turned quickly, but had to pause once more before leaving the room. Alienation was hanging here, nearly seven thousand miles from Seoul.

After Ihyeon left for Paris, Liu had never once mentioned his name on his own, and when others happened to bring it up, he showed no reaction whatsoever. He hadn't forgotten — but one might have thought he had resolved to try. He kept his feelings hidden to that extent.

But he hadn't forgotten, nor did he intend to. He simply wasn't the type to complain about his pain or seek advice from those around him. The very fact that he had brought the painting all this way for a business trip that lasted barely a month said everything.

Feeling something close to the emotion he'd had as a child when he accidentally glimpsed a notebook belonging to his father — who had always seemed so large and unshakeable — filled with the most human of worries, Shushu averted his gaze and quietly left the room.

About five minutes later, Liu emerged into the hallway with his coat slung over his arm, his shirt buttons not even fully fastened.

"You don't need a spot to watch the countdown in Times Square, right? You've done all that before. Let's go to Mott Street — lamb skewers and baijiu, like we used to do for New Year's."

Liu draped his coat over the back of the sofa and suggested Chinatown while working on his buttons. Shushu looked up at him — forcing cheerfulness — and after a brief hesitation, finally spoke.

"Isn't it… a bit too big for a good-luck charm? Especially to bring all the way to New York."

"What is?"

Liu glanced over, fingers on the third button.

"Ihyeon's painting."

"……"

His hands slowed for just a moment. He said nothing — only scraped his lower lip lightly with his teeth, pretending to focus on the button.

"Ihyeon unveiled his work for the first time this month, through 'The Hands.'"

Liu fastened the last button, raised his head, and stared at the ceiling, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He was clearly signaling he didn't want to discuss this — but Shushu had no intention of stopping until he showed something.

"Both pieces sold immediately. They were that impressive. Far more honest and deeper — and yet the expression became clearer, simpler…"

Liu scratched his eyebrow with his middle finger, turned, walked to the refrigerator, and took out a beer.

"Did you perhaps — "

Liu cut off Shushu's careful opening, setting the beer down on the counter with a sharp thud.

"What exactly are you curious about? Whether I ignored Seo Ihyeon's decision and his efforts to test his own potential, and just bought up all those paintings for myself?"

"……"

Shushu had assumed Liu would want to own all of Ihyeon's work and would certainly be tracking his activities. That had been the simple thought behind the question. But as Liu said — that approach wasn't for Ihyeon's sake.

"I was shortsighted. I'm sorry. But… you knew everything about Ihyeon's news too. You were watching him. So why aren't you saying anything?"

"What exactly do you want to hear from me?"

Liu raised his voice. His restless eyes, which had been wandering toward the ceiling as if frustrated, fixed on Shushu.

"Do you want to see me fall apart crying about how hard things are? What changes by talking to the people around him?"

Liu puffed out his cheeks, let out a long sigh, ran a hand through his neatly styled hair, and came back to the living room, dropping into the seat across from Shushu.

"Some people overcome situations that way. Unfortunately, your friend isn't that type."

Leaning his head back against the chair, he muttered in a low, sunken voice.

"Then go see him. Do something. Go and say something — do something to resolve things with Ihyeon."

Liu, who had been staring blankly at Shushu with his head still tilted back and eyes half-lidded, blinked slowly.

"Everything you said was right."

He threw the words out without preamble, then shook his shoulders and laughed as if recalling some absurd memory from the past. He wiped his face several times until the laughter subsided completely.

"When you were talking about Hong Seon-yu, you said that even if I thought you were foolish and worried, that was your way of loving. That you had the right to live your life foolishly."

"……"

"That wasn't the only thing, actually."

Liu sat up straight and picked up the cigarette case resting on one side of the coffee table. The apartment had been cleaned while he was out and the ashtray was spotless, but Shushu noticed several new packs of cigarettes stacked on the shelf beneath the tabletop.

With a practiced motion, he lit a cigarette and set the lighter down on the table before speaking.

"The process by which you came to accept your past with Hong Seon-yu. The way you thought through it… I hoped that Ihyeon would come to accept me the same way."

Liu let out a low, self-mocking scoff — as if amused by his own shallowness for shifting his position the moment circumstances changed. He bit his lip once, then released it, his expression settling into something different.

"I'm sorry for the things I said — judging your love by my own standards."

"……"

Shushu's eyes widened at the weight and sincerity of the apology. He shook his head to indicate it was unnecessary, but Liu wasn't looking at him.

Liu held the cigarette between his fingers, his elbow resting on his thigh — he seemed to have forgotten about it after the first drag — and stared intently at the smoke curling up from its tip. Then, as if describing a vision he could see within the smoke, he spoke as though entranced.

"When I was in London, I met Hong Seon-yu."

Liu looked at Shushu's unguarded face, which held a mild curiosity without yet grasping the full meaning of "met," and furrowed his brow.

"For a few months, we were in the kind of arrangement where we'd reach out when we felt like it — and sleep together."

"Ah…"

Shushu's lips parted, and an involuntary groan escaped him. He sank back against the seat. Liu made no move to add anything further, giving him time to process the situation and settle his thoughts.

It didn't take as long as expected for the initial sting to fade from Shushu's face and a calm light to return. Liu ground out the cigarette — barely smoked — and prepared to continue.

"The reason I tried to stop you when you first introduced Hong Seon-yu to me was…"

"Because he must have been approaching me with a plan."

"……"

"And the reason you couldn't tell me until the end was the shock it would cause."

Shushu picked up the purple hat resting beside him, fiddled with the brim, looked down, and smiled.

"That's right. If I had heard this back then, I probably couldn't have handled it. I might have resented and lashed out at you — who did nothing wrong. Back then…"

He paused with the vague, half-there smile of someone looking back on a time of pure, reckless feeling.

"Back then, no matter who had told me, I would have come here with Hong Seon-yu. So… you did the right thing by not saying anything then."

A suffocating urge to say something rose in Liu's chest. He opened his lips and drew a breath — then realized there was nothing more he could say to Shushu, who had already put the past to rest.

"Back then, whether it was jealousy that you had slept with Seonyu, or because I didn't want to believe Seonyu had approached me with an agenda… I would have denied everything and made a scene. But what does any of that matter now? The reason Hong Seon-yu and I fell apart wasn't because of what happened between you and him."

"……"

"People will reduce our entire relationship to just the initial motive behind the approach, or to the fact that there was cheating… but the definition I have made — as the person who was actually in it — is the true nature of what we were."

Shushu, who had seemed to be looking somewhere else — speaking not quite to Liu, but to himself, or perhaps to some past version of himself — suddenly met Liu's eyes.

"Isn't that right?"

Watching Shushu ask with a playful lift of his eyebrows, Liu smiled back in silence. For the first time in months, he felt something warm — moved by his friend's response to a confession and apology that had come far too late.

"So what definition did you land on?"

At Liu's question, Shushu shrugged, let his shoulders drop with a sigh, set the hat he'd been turning over in his hands back on his head, and stood up.

"Let's go out and count down to the New Year — like we used to."

"That will be 156 euros total."

"Yes, may I have the receipt, please?"

Although the clerk had spoken in English, Ihyeon replied in French. His pronunciation was still quite clumsy, but he tried to speak French as much as possible within his limits. The clerk looked over and smiled, and Ihyeon smiled back.

The large art supply store — well-known to both art students and the general public for stocking everything from various art supplies to a wide range of stationery — had four branches in Paris. Of those, Ihyeon primarily frequented the branch in the Marais district, the closest to 'The Hands' in the 19th arrondissement. The other artists at 'The Hands' did the same.

Although he had been visiting the store like a regular for the past two months, it was large enough and staffed by enough different clerks across different shifts that he hadn't yet made an impression on all of them.

"Happy New Year! Bonne année!"

"Vous de même."

After the brief, pleasant exchange, he tucked his bag under his arm and stepped outside. While it couldn't compare to the deep midwinter cold of Seoul, the Parisian weather on the last day of the year felt quite sharp, likely due to the wind.

He transferred his purchases into his large backpack near the shop entrance, pulled up his coat collar against the wind, shoved his hands into his pockets, and quickened his pace northward, skirting a small park on his right. 'Ttu' (tout) — the bookstore-gallery he frequented — was only a two-minute walk away.

As he pushed open the white-framed door of 'Ttu' and stepped inside, his hunched shoulders relaxed first in the welcoming warmth. As was often the case, the main floor was empty; the sound of voices drifted from the gallery space connected behind the bookstore counter.

Ihyeon browsed slowly through the shelves while he waited for someone to come out. 'Ttu,' which specialized in art books alongside texts related to gender, was the kind of place where time slipped away unnoticed while flipping through its various titles.

"How was the book from last time? Did you finish it already?"

At the bright voice speaking in English with a French accent, Ihyeon looked up to find Beau Beau — who managed the bookstore section of 'Ttu' — approaching him with his characteristic warm, gentle smile. Ihyeon smiled back and set down the photography book he had been looking at.

"No, I've only read about half of it — but I'm finding it very interesting. As you recommended, essays really do have their own distinct qualities."

"Right? Essays are generally more psychologically accessible. Most people start with essays and then move on to specialized texts. Unlike you."

Beau Beau smiled meaningfully and pressed his index finger lightly against Ihyeon's shoulder. Ihyeon glanced sideways, rubbed the back of his neck, and let out an awkward laugh.

Since coming to Paris, he had slowly started reading books about Alphas and Omegas. At first, not knowing where or how to begin, he had bought five or six books at once on impulse. After frequenting the shop like that for about two weeks, Beau Beau had cautiously approached him and asked if he needed any recommendations.

About a month after that — once they had exchanged the facts that Ihyeon was an artist affiliated with 'The Hands' in the 19th arrondissement and that Beau Beau was an Omega who ran 'Ttu' with his boyfriend — Beau Beau had brought up how he himself had only manifested late, at twenty-five, and had wandered for a while afterward. His boyfriend was an Alpha who had also experienced his manifestation after turning twenty.

It wasn't a light exchange, like discussing tastes in clothes or food, but it didn't carry the weight of someone reluctantly revealing a heavy secret either.

It turned out that Beau Beau and his boyfriend ran a group called 'Late Blooming' (Apparition Tardive) through 'Ttu.' Having watched Ihyeon frequent the shop for weeks, absorbed in books about Alphas and Omegas, Beau Beau had thought he might be an Alpha or Omega navigating a late manifestation — and had shared his own story first to make it easier for Ihyeon to open up.

"But you know… at this point, why don't you just admit it?"

Beau Beau, arms crossed, leaned against the pillar beside a display stand and narrowed his eyes at Ihyeon. Ihyeon's eyes widened slightly as he traced the cover of the photography book he had been looking at moments before.

"It's more than just a strong interest in Alphas and Omegas — you're digging into it too deeply, too professionally. There are plenty of Betas with a passing curiosity, but it's rare for someone to pursue it with your kind of determination. For a Beta to have the level of knowledge you do, they'd essentially have to be a specialist in the field."

"That feels like too much praise."

As Ihyeon tried to brush it off with a chuckle, Beau Beau — who had moved closer — nudged him lightly with his broad, crossed-arm shoulder.

"Your lover is an Alpha or an Omega, right? Huh? Or maybe someone you have feelings for is an Alpha or an Omega."

"……"

After pressing Ihyeon — who kept responding with an ambiguous smile — a few more times, Beau Beau uncrossed his arms and sighed deeply.

"I'd probably hear 'Papa' from our dog faster than I'd get an answer out of you."

Watching Beau Beau turn and head toward the counter as if he had completely given up on getting a reply, Ihyeon smiled quietly to himself.

"Funny. Don't use your nice smile as a weapon against me."

Beau Beau spun back around with a look, and Ihyeon approached him, rummaged through his backpack, and held out a small framed picture decorated with a ribbon.

"I stopped by to give you this. It's a New Year's gift."

Beau Beau looked down at the frame with an expression that went briefly still with a small, genuine emotion — as if he had truly been caught off guard by an unexpected gift — then reached across the counter and gently patted Ihyeon's cheek.

"It's not much of a gift, though…"

"What are you talking about? Who knows how much this painting will be worth someday?"

Ihyeon let out a soft laugh as Beau Beau put on an exaggeratedly serious expression, holding the frame at arm's length and squinting at it as if appraising it.

After a round of thanks, a bisou, and a hug, Beau Beau insisted — and won — pressing the photography book Ihyeon had been looking at into his hands as a gift in return.

Then Beau Beau walked Ihyeon to the door, where he paused with an uncharacteristically hesitant expression and carefully held out a small card.

"Ihyeon, I haven't invited you before because you didn't seem keen — but if you're open to it, please come to one of our meetings sometime. We use the name 'Late Blooming' to convey a core message, but as you know, our ultimate goal is to encourage interest in and understanding of all designations, for everyone. Fortunately our efforts are bearing fruit, and the number of Betas joining the group has been growing. Whether you're a Beta, an Alpha, or an Omega — if you have a genuine interest in your own designation and others, you're always welcome."

"……"

Ihyeon took the card. He moistened his lower lip with his tongue and bit down on it lightly. Unable to give any definite answer right now, he simply looked at the card.

Beau Beau gave his shoulder a light pat. Ihyeon tucked the card into his coat pocket and smiled at him without showing his teeth.

"Bonne année."

"Bonne année."

After one more slightly awkward bisou, Ihyeon stepped out onto the windy street and headed further north toward the Métro station.

From 5 PM on December 31st until noon on January 1st, all public transportation in Paris — the Métro, buses, trams, and RER — ran free. Even without that, the last day of the year was bound to be crowded in any city in the world.

Standing near the inner doors of the subway car, which was more packed than usual, Ihyeon took out his phone and sent a message to Yuni nuna. As soon as he sent the message saying he would arrive at their meeting spot within thirty minutes, a quick reply came back. She said she had already arrived and was having coffee at a nearby café.

He leaned his head against the door glass — which reflected the passengers inside in a faint, blurry outline but showed nothing of the world outside — and smiled, picturing her having arrived thirty minutes early, probably downing coffee after coffee out of nerves.

Today was New Year's Eve. He was on his way to Saint-Philippe-du-Roule station to join Yuni nuna and her friend Michelle for the New Year's countdown event at the Arc de Triomphe. The plan was to have dinner near Rue La Boétie — relatively less crowded before the Champs-Élysées filled up — then make their way in. It had been Michelle's suggestion.

Michelle was four years older than Yuni nuna and five years older than Ihyeon — a British woman of Indian descent and, having lived in Paris for ten years, a true Parisian in every practical sense. She worked for a mid-sized designer brand with a solid following across France and Europe, and she was one of the people who came to 'The Hands' gallery most frequently.

Yuni nuna and Michelle had first grown close as gallerist and visitor, but over the past two or three weeks had been meeting outside the gallery far more often. Watching the careful, pleasant warmth they showed each other, it was impossible not to sense that they were thinking of each other as something more than just friends.

Ihyeon didn't want to wedge himself between them as an oblivious third wheel, but Yuni nuna had begged him to come along, and she still seemed uneasy about spending New Year's Eve alone with Michelle.

Watching the two of them, he found himself thinking that perhaps he and Liu should not have skipped over this stage entirely. The stage of harboring mutual feelings and growing closer with cautious, gradual steps.

A sequence is just a kind of manual — not an absolute rule — and he had never felt a lack of understanding, interest, or connection during his time with Liu… but if they had moved closer step by step through a stage like this, perhaps they would have had the time and emotional space to explain their respective situations, to voice what they wanted from each other, and to actually sit with those explanations. He couldn't stop thinking thoughts like that.

Over the past two months, he had entertained all kinds of thoughts.

Most of them were variations on the same fantasy: going back to some point in the past and making a different choice. And, as is typical of that kind of imagining, the endings were always hazily indistinct.

That was the one thing he had come to understand with his whole body over two full months.

Even if he mentally replaced a past decision with a new one, he couldn't be certain it would have led somewhere better.

As the subway pulled into the platform at Saint-Philippe-du-Roule station, Ihyeon straightened up from his lean, adjusted his backpack, and stepped off the train into the crowd. The exit signs in the Paris Métro were notoriously unhelpful, but thanks to the directions Yuni nuna had sent him in advance, he avoided the usual hassle of emerging from the wrong exit and having to reopen the map app.

About halfway to the café where they were meeting, he ran into Yuni nuna in front of a photo studio. She was already well-known among 'The Hands' staff and visitors for her distinctive style — which suited her perfectly — but today she seemed to have made a special effort for the occasion.

Since they had left 'The Hands' at different times, this was the first time they were seeing each other all day. Her face wore a mixture of tension and excitement as she slipped her arm through his — he still had both hands in his coat pockets — and pressed close to his shoulder.

"Ugh, I dressed up and now I'm going to freeze to death."

They turned into an inner alleyway, chatting about the sudden chill in the air and wondering whether Paris had some equivalent of the Korean jinx where the temperature always plummets on the day of the Suneung exam.

Just as the sign for their meeting spot came clearly into view, they spotted Michelle walking toward them from across the street, waving. True to her profession as a designer, she was immaculately put together.

Yuni nuna, who enjoyed bold designs, and Michelle, who favored minimalism, created an atmosphere that seemed mismatched at first glance yet somehow harmonized. It was an interesting synergy built on unexpectedness — not the obvious, formulaic compatibility everyone could predict.

The moment they caught sight of each other, life flooded back into both their faces and their eyes lit up. Seeing it play out through other people, Ihyeon felt he understood a little better why people said you couldn't hide love.

He must have looked like that once, too. He knew that feeling. The flutter that starts before the brain even registers — the body reacting first, the moment the other person enters your field of vision. The sensation of simply liking them, liking them so much, that you have to consciously slow your steps from their unconscious quickening, have to make an effort to stop your smile from spreading too wide.

Ihyeon tucked his chin into his coat collar, pretending to feel the cold, and bit down on his lip to erase a faint, wry smile.

The café Michelle had suggested was situated a little off the main stretch of Rue La Boétie, and from the outside, it didn't look like anything special. It probably wasn't the kind of place tourists sought out for the romance of Paris in a cup of coffee or a simple meal.

Michelle explained that its regulars were mostly local residents and nearby office workers — decent food at a reasonable price.

"My old office was near the Champs-Élysées, and this was one of the places I found back then. I couldn't afford a twenty-euro lunch every day, so I went scouting."

Nodding at Michelle's words, Ihyeon quietly took in the interior. Checkerboard tile floors, round tables covered with white tablecloths, chairs fitted with red leather cushions, a heavy mahogany bar occupying the back of the room. It felt old but well-kept and clean.

To Ihyeon's eyes, the place was already exotic and wonderful enough — but he also wondered whether, despite it being a special occasion, the two of them had chosen somewhere more accessible out of consideration for his own finances.

"I was so sorry we couldn't spend Christmas together, but I'm genuinely glad we can welcome the New Year like this."

The waiter had set out the wine at Michelle's request and stepped away from the table. Michelle pulled out a chair, sat down, and gave Yuni nuna a quiet smile.

Unlike Ihyeon, who had obtained a special visa issued for artists with a clearly established affiliation who met certain criteria, Yuni nuna had applied for a work visa and had been required to return to Seoul for about ten days not long ago due to visa complications.

Michelle was expressing her regret over the Christmas they hadn't been able to spend together because of that. She made no rush to close the distance between them, yet she didn't bother hiding the fact that she felt something particular for Yuni nuna — and Yuni nuna was the same. The two were approaching each other like two dancers in perfect, unhurried sync.

"This year became so much more special because of you two."

"We should be the ones thanking you. Having you, Michelle, helped us find our footing in Paris so much faster."

Yuni nuna responded to Michelle's toast, and Ihyeon raised his glass toward Michelle with a smile, adding his agreement. Just as their glasses were about to touch, Michelle paused, drew her glass slightly back, and added with a playful expression.

"And — to the successful Paris debut and first sale of 'The Hands'' next prospective star."

Michelle finished the toast by quoting a phrase from an art magazine review of Ihyeon's work. Ihyeon dropped his head, feeling his face go warm.

"It's truly something to celebrate and be proud of. Ihyeon has very convincingly proven his potential to become a full-time artist. If things keep going this way, we might need to clear out his studio at 'The Hands' sooner than expected."

Michelle said this lightly, setting her wine glass back down on the table.

If an artist failed to produce results within a certain period, or if their artwork sales revenue exceeded thirty thousand US dollars, they would no longer be eligible for 'The Hands'' support. Leaving the organization for the latter reason was the aspiration of every affiliated artist.

"Except in very special cases, it takes time for a new artist's work to sell for over thirty thousand dollars. That's precisely why 'The Hands' allows artists to create freely for as long as they keep producing — without worrying about making a living. The support only covers the bare minimum for subsistence, but at the very least, it means you can pursue whatever you want creatively without financial constraints. For artists struggling with money, it's an extraordinary opportunity."

Michelle leaned back momentarily to let the waiter place the bread basket on the table, then reached for it and added, directing her words at Ihyeon.

"Of course, if you hadn't shown the ability and the potential, you would never have received an offer to join in the first place."

Escargots, beef stew, salmon steak with rice, duck, and a heaping mountain of french fries that nearly overflowed the plate. They ate and drank heartily, talking across a wide range of topics, and over three hours slipped by without anyone noticing.

"I'll pay today. To commemorate selling my first painting…"

While they waited for the waiter to bring the bill, Ihyeon hesitated before making the offer — and as expected, the two of them firmly insisted on splitting it.

"I've relied on you both so much until now… Please, just this once, let me treat you."

He had deposited almost the entire proceeds from the painting sale to Liu, setting aside only a small emergency fund, so he wasn't exactly flush with cash. But he couldn't let the opportunity to express his gratitude for everything they had done for him pass without doing something. Though they looked reluctant, understanding his sincerity, they didn't refuse outright.

Stepping out onto the street, the atmosphere felt far more charged than before — something almost electric on the skin. A few excited young people rushed past the three of them. Walking a step or two behind Michelle and Yuni nuna, Ihyeon fiddled with his phone inside his pocket.

Even after the money had been deposited, there had been no word from Liu. Ihyeon, for his part, hadn't sent a single call or even a message in two months.

They had let time pass without creating any point of contact, as if they had never met — and yet, strangely, Ihyeon was certain that Liu was watching him. And probably, just as Ihyeon couldn't bring himself to touch that money, Liu hadn't laid a hand on it either.

But just as he couldn't touch that money, he couldn't stop himself from sending it. It was as if the only thread still connecting them was the act of one person sending it and the other acknowledging its receipt.

Ihyeon pulled his hand away from his phone and quickened his pace toward Yuni nuna and Michelle, who had stopped ahead and were waving for him to hurry up.

There was only one reason he wasn't reaching out to Liu.

He understood that more time was still needed.

Even before they reached the Champs-Élysées, the crowd was enormous. Michelle guided a flustered Ihyeon and Yuni nuna to a hidden vantage point she knew.

"There's no need to push toward the front. The fireworks are the highlight — and they actually look more spectacular from further back, where you can take it all in at once."

The crowd was so dense that movement was barely possible, and the three had to proceed in single file. Michelle reached back naturally and found Yuni nuna's hand as she followed closely behind.

Most of the young people around them were already quite drunk, each clutching a beer bottle, singing and shouting and offering boisterous Happy New Year greetings to everyone in earshot.

Broken glass and cigarette butts littered the ground. It was more chaotic than he had imagined — but perhaps because of the collective excitement of the approaching New Year, people were smiling and meeting it with good humor rather than annoyance.

"I've seen the Ball Drop event in New York, and compared to that crowd, this is still manageable. Back then, I couldn't even get to a bathroom and thought I was going to die stuck in place for nearly ten hours. And the cold doesn't even compare to here. What about Korea — do you have New Year's countdown events like this?"

Yuni nuna explained the Jongno Bosingak bell-ringing ceremony to Michelle. Michelle showed great interest in the idea of welcoming the New Year by striking a great bell thirty-three times and said she hoped to experience it in person someday.

As she said it, Michelle looked warmly into Yuni nuna's eyes, and Ihyeon understood at once that she was hinting she wanted to go — with Yuni nuna. Yuni nuna didn't pretend not to understand, smiling back.

A little after eleven, the light show at the Arc de Triomphe began, and the moment the New Year arrived, spectacular fireworks burst open overhead. All around, people were exchanging New Year's greetings with bisous, and couples were sharing deep kisses. Michelle and Yuni nuna shared a kiss that lingered — something unmistakably more than the kind exchanged between friends.

In Seoul, the New Year would have already begun seven hours ago.

New York… In New York, it was still evening, about six hours to go before midnight.

He had heard from Yuni nuna about three weeks ago that Liu had been staying in New York for the H&W exhibition.

Of course, he hadn't explained to her anything about the Changing, or the details of what had happened between him and Liu. By not bringing it up, Yuni nuna seemed to have concluded on her own that his connection with Liu had been severed. He didn't deliberately share news about Liu in any detail — but he didn't go out of his way to avoid the subject when it came up in conversation, either.

Just hearing his name brought a complicated kind of pain. But at the same time, hearing news of him from someone else made Ihyeon feel, somehow, a little more alive.

Watching the fireworks bloom brilliantly across the sky — bright with the hope of the coming year — he wished for Liu not to be alone welcoming it. He hoped someone was with him. He hoped that Liu… wouldn't hurt too much.

Even though they left the Champs-Élysées immediately after the fireworks ended to beat the crowd, the entrance to the Métro station was already so packed it seemed impossible to even approach. Only after walking past several stations — more than thirty minutes on foot — were the three of them finally able to get inside.

Michelle, who lived in the 6th arrondissement — better known as the Latin Quarter — was on a different platform. She and Yuni nuna waved to each other across the tracks until the very last moment, reluctant to let go. Yuni nuna smiled at Michelle's exaggerated, playful performance, though she didn't look embarrassed in the least.

Michelle's train arrived first. Shortly after, a train pulled into their platform as well. The cars were packed — not just with people from the Champs-Élysées, but with all of Paris that had been out counting down to the New Year.

"Ah… it was good that we went. Right?"

As if the tension had finally eased now that they had parted from Michelle, Yuni nuna leaned her head against the door and exhaled. Ihyeon nodded.

"But I don't think we need to go twice. Once was enough of an experience for me."

Perhaps recalling the cold, the long wait, and the few drunk Parisian youths who had been a bit much, Yuni nuna shook her head slightly, looking tired.

"Wouldn't it have been nicer to spend it just the two of you at your place, nuna?"

At Ihyeon's lightly teasing joke, Yuni nuna poked his cheek with her gloved hand and gave him a look that wasn't quite annoyed.

One of the changes since coming here was that he no longer used formal speech with Yuni nuna. She and Juhan had told him early on to drop the honorifics, but since they had started out speaking formally, it hadn't been easy to change. After spending every single day together here, though, somewhere along the way "Yuni nuna, would you like to have lunch?" had simply become "Yuni nuna, want to grab lunch?"

Even without meeting someone they were drawn to, even without being in the perfect environment for painting — the depth of how much they leaned on each other and how grateful they were for each other in this unfamiliar city didn't need to be put into words.

Leaving behind the warm, rowdy energy of the cafés and bars lining the Canal Saint-Martin, the two of them turned into an inner alley, holding hands and swinging their arms, heading slowly toward 'The Hands' — toward home — as if out for a leisurely late-night walk.

The first-floor lobby, where the exhibition hall and offices were, was dark and quiet. From the communal living area upstairs, though, a lively noise spilled down. It wasn't an official party like the one they'd had for Christmas, but since most of the artists weren't originally from Paris, it seemed they had gathered for a modest beer party of their own.

"How was the Arc de Triomphe? The crowds looked massive on TV this year, too."

Ben — from Germany, and currently one of the longest-staying artists at 'The Hands' — spotted Yuni nuna and Ihyeon and was the first to wave with a big, welcoming arm.

"It was amazing. The waiting was a bit dull and my legs are killing me, though."

"Still — if you're in Paris, experiencing it at least once isn't bad. All of us spent our first New Year's at either the Arc de Triomphe or the Eiffel Tower."

The assurance 'The Hands' had given them before their arrival — that not knowing French wouldn't be a significant inconvenience — had proven true. Unless you were working and navigating the full grind of daily professional life, Paris was a city where English alone was sufficient for things like shopping or ordering at restaurants.

Beyond that, 'The Hands' also offered basic French conversation classes for its affiliated artists.

"Would you… like to have a drink? There's still plenty of pizza and beer left."

Jun, who extended the invitation with a cautious, hesitant manner, was one of the artists who attended the French conversation classes most enthusiastically alongside Ihyeon. Tall and slender, he looked far closer to a boy than a young man — the youngest member of 'The Hands,' who, by Korean age, had turned nineteen only a few hours ago.

"Uh… I'd like to, but I'm a bit tired. I've already stayed up past my usual bedtime, so I'm pretty sleepy too."

At Ihyeon's gentle refusal, Jun nodded with a smile that couldn't quite conceal his disappointment. Unlike Yuni nuna and Michelle, where neither needed to hide their feelings or pretend not to notice the other's, Ihyeon pretended not to see why Jun looked the way he did. He offered a brief New Year's greeting and left the living room with Yuni nuna.

"Is it really okay for you to be that kind to him?"

As they turned onto the stairwell landing, Yuni nuna lowered her voice and nudged his arm.

"Jun likes you. If you treat him that sweetly, he might get his hopes up."

Ihyeon shook his head with a smile.

"He won't."

"What do you mean he won't? You're being subtly cruel."

"No — I told him I have a boyfriend."

"…You did?"

"Yeah."

Yuni nuna looked like she wanted to ask more, but she didn't press.

It wasn't as though he had made some loud announcement to someone who hadn't even asked. He had simply let it slip naturally — mentioning to Jun, who was from Hong Kong, that his boyfriend was also of mixed British, Korean, and Hong Kong descent, just like him. Because he had said it with the intention of making Jun sense his own faint interest and gently step back from it, he wasn't entirely sure whether it had actually come across as natural or not.

In fact… he couldn't even be sure whether the statement that he had a boyfriend — or the statement that his boyfriend was from Hong Kong — was even true.

After parting from Yuni nuna and going up to the fourth floor, Ihyeon dropped his bag on the floor the moment he entered the room. Without turning on the light or taking off his coat, he collapsed onto the bed. He had told Jun he was tired — but the real exhaustion only settled in once he was alone.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room, then, as if remembering, pulled the card Beau Beau had given him from his coat pocket. He tapped the corner of the card lightly against his lips while reading the brief description of the 'Late Blooming' gathering's purpose and website address, then leaned back and lay down.

A faint sound of laughter drifted through the gap beneath the old door, as if someone in the living room downstairs had said something funny. Lying on his back, Ihyeon touched his lower lip and gazed up at the shadow the window frame cast across the ceiling.

The window was closed, but on a barely perceptible breath of air, Liu's scent drifted briefly under his nose. Knowing it was a hallucination conjured by deeply ingrained memory, Ihyeon focused his attention not to miss that faint, lingering trace.

He never saw his apparition or heard his voice. But even without any trigger at all, Liu's scent would spring to life from memory and stimulate his actual sense of smell.

He had lost count of how many times he had stopped dead in the middle of the street, or while deeply absorbed in his work, only to look around as if startled awake from a dream.

Like the kiss he had given him. Like the kisses he sometimes gave when they couldn't actually kiss. And like how he often thought of kissing him when he was alone. Ihyeon pressed his lips hard between his fingers. A sharp sting. He turned onto his side, still lying down, and curled his body inward, watching the blue and red and white lights of small fireworks launched from the canal flicker through the window.

Happy New Year.

……Awi.

A monsoon season that wasn't much of one. The dry spell — oppressively humid with barely a proper downpour to show for it — had already passed by early July, and now they were saying a typhoon was on its way; the sound of raindrops striking the window was solid and insistent.

Liu, who had been sorting through the books, art collections, printed reports, and pamphlet samples scattered around the room to select what to take home, paused and turned at the sound of a brief commotion outside the open door behind him. Choi Inwu, carrying shopping bags full of lunch boxes in both hands, was being greeted with enthusiastic cheers.

Liu chuckled at the staff's reaction, unsure whether they were welcoming Inwu or the lunch boxes. Then he set down the Nyoman Gunarsa art book he had been quickly flipping through on top of the pile of already-selected items.

Even though the New York branch opening had been canceled, they had gone ahead and hired the director they had already decided on — so despite Yuni nuna's departure, Phantom had ended up with two more employees than before.

Thanks to this, Liu found himself working more often from his own room at the very back of the office, a space that hadn't seen much use before. Sitting behind the large desk with a sofa set in front of it, the physical distance it created between him and the rest of the staff wasn't his preferred arrangement, but he did find having time alone more comfortable.

Honestly, the kind of fervor that had them sticking together even after hours when Phantom first opened — getting to know each other personally, building affection — was long gone. There were no longer any staff members who would barge in on a holiday morning insisting on using his home garden as a filming location. The 'Old Future' website was still active, and Yuni nuna's posts about her life in Paris were sporadically updated, but clothing sales had been discontinued for nearly a year now.

It wasn't that the affection for Phantom or the passion for the work had cooled. It simply seemed like something he had to accept — that a certain period had passed, and these things were bound to become memories steeped in wistful nostalgia and tender feeling.

"Everyone seemed really excited. I heard they're all going out for drinks after work?"

Inwu entered the room, gesturing toward the office area with his chin as he placed his and Liu's lunch boxes on the coffee table. Liu set down what he was doing and helped open the boxes. Even at a glance, the lunch boxes — packed with at least five or six side dishes — were impressively arranged. No wonder the staff had cheered.

"Why are you grinning like that again?"

As Liu took two small water bottles from the refrigerator, the look on Inwu's face — glancing over and smiling to himself — bothered him, so he stopped before handing him a bottle and nudged his shoulder instead.

"They don't even invite you anymore these days?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I have an early flight tomorrow morning, so I declined."

Liu tossed him his water bottle, dropped onto the sofa, and twisted the cap off his own.

"This is the first time the entire gallery has closed for two full weeks, isn't it?"

"Last year… we couldn't even give you a proper vacation."

Liu paused, his gaze briefly drifting away — clearly reluctant to bring up this time last year — then took a sip from his water bottle.

This year, too, he had attended the same Hong Kong art fair as last year. They had gotten through it without any major issues with the new members, and the results were better than the previous year — commensurate with a year of growth. But now, for Liu, Hong Kong — at least Hong Kong during that particular stretch of time — was filled entirely with memories of Ihyeon.

A time when they still knew far more about what they didn't know about each other than what they did; when they would steal glances and probe, interpreting the other's intentions through their own biases, sometimes feeling arbitrarily disappointed or passing quiet judgment for reasons they couldn't quite identify — yet ultimately being unable to look away from that person.

The sensation of that body reaching out to look at photos, brushing against his chest. The single gaze exchanged through the smoke of a cigarette he had claimed never to have smoked before. Moments when he'd had to bite down gently on his lip. Back then, he'd tried not to look too closely, and even if he had noticed things, he would have just laughed them off and refused to acknowledge them. But there was still the memory of a quiet young man who kept stoking an undeniable curiosity — and the memory of that pull.

It was also the memory of ripples spreading outward in layers, chasing his scent, whenever Ihyeon's fingertips grazed the surface of pheromones that had been still and stagnant for so very long.

Liu puffed out his cheeks, let out a slow breath, set down his water bottle, and picked up his chopsticks. Inwu, who had come straight from an unusually late hospital shift, was already scooping up a spoonful of brown rice as if he were famished.

"I got a week off in the middle of your vacation too. Would it be all right if I used your mother's studio in Gangwon-do then?"

"If you're bringing someone, I wouldn't really recommend it. It's not the glamorous, sophisticated kind of place the people you casually date would expect."

Inwu's chopsticks, which had been lifting a piece of japchae, slowed. Then, still hunched over his lunch box, he simply turned his head and looked up at Liu with a displeased expression.

"I'm not asking to borrow it for that kind of thing."

Liu shrugged at the aggrieved Inwu and pretended not to notice as he broke off a corner of the tteokgalbi with his chopsticks.

"Even when I want to focus on my work, I never seem to get as much time as I think I will. I'm just going to paint during the vacation. I envy full-time artists sometimes."

"……"

"Ah… if it weren't for the hospital, I'd apply to 'The Hands' too."

At the mention of painting through his entire vacation, Liu had glanced over at Inwu — but now he shifted his gaze back to the tteokgalbi. The broken piece of food, however, couldn't quite seem to make its way to his mouth.

"Already starting preparations for the second half's joint exhibition? You've changed, Choi Inwu."

"No — I'm preparing for a solo exhibition."

"……"

This time, Liu's chopsticks stopped completely.

Inwu clearly possessed talent and a thirst to pour his emotions out through painting — yet until now, he had treated his art like someone maintaining a careful distance, afraid of sinking too deep, having already drawn a quiet line between himself and the person he had loved from afar with little hope.

Although his output had increased and his style had gradually been shifting since late last year, Liu had never expected to hear Inwu — who had always worked in spare moments and typically presented just two or three pieces at joint exhibitions — say he wanted to hold a solo show.

"You're not thinking of putting together a solo with just two or three pieces, are you? Do you even have any works set aside?"

Rather than dwelling on each of those changes, Liu asked in an offhand, no-big-deal tone.

"That's exactly why I'm skipping the group exhibition in the second half of the year. I'm going to focus with my solo show in early next year as the goal."

"I'm against just filling the numbers for the sake of having a solo exhibition."

"That's the very last thing I want."

Not long after Liu returned from New York, Inwu had come to see him first.

Quite a bit of time had already passed by the time Ihyeon learned of the situation, but they didn't not know each other well enough to require each word and action to be explained from scratch. Still, Inwu had done something uncharacteristic — he had carefully picked out his own faults and offered a formal apology.

Regarding the words that had been too aggressive and too wounding, delivered as though he were a detached and objective judge passing sentence on the Changing.

Although mixed with heightened emotion, Liu also thought that what Inwu and Shushu had said wasn't fundamentally wrong. But he couldn't be so lenient about the kiss with Ihyeon…

"That's something you should apologize to Seo Ihyeon for, not me. If Seo Ihyeon has forgiven you, that's where it ends."

Perhaps, by playing it so cool — what he had meant was that even if Ihyeon had forgiven Inwu, Liu shouldn't expect the same forgiveness to extend to himself.

Once Inwu had completely emptied himself of the courage he had come with, Liu offered him coffee. Although his own lunch box was still half full, he brewed enough for two. While the coffee dripped, he leaned against the cabinet holding the coffee maker and looked out at the rain still coming down steadily outside.

This rain wouldn't last all night, and from what he had checked earlier, it wasn't a typhoon with particularly threatening wind speeds. Tomorrow morning's flight would probably be fine.

"You're really not going to tell Ihyeon…?"

"……"

Liu uncrossed his arms and turned back to Inwu, who was looking at him with a firm, unyielding expression that demanded a real answer. Liu showed no particular reaction, turned back around, and divided the freshly brewed coffee between two mugs.

Inwu took his mug from Liu and cupped it in both hands. Perhaps it was the air conditioning cranked up high on account of the humidity, but even in the height of summer, the warmth coming through the mug seemed to be welcome.

"Ihyeon also has the right to know what kind of being he is."

"Without a Ghost beside him, Diamond Dust is just an ordinary Beta."

Liu took a sip of coffee, set the mug down on the table, stood up, and walked over to his desk. He picked up the remote to adjust the air conditioner temperature and continued.

"Right now, just managing his work abroad must already be overwhelming enough. What's the point of deliberately throwing him into confusion over something he doesn't need to worry about yet?"

"Don't you want to see Seo Ihyeon, who is twenty-three now?"

"……"

Liu turned back toward Inwu, who had shifted the conversation so abruptly. He let out a dissatisfied sigh, gave a shrug, then picked up the mug he had left on the coffee table and returned to his desk, beginning to sort through the pile of materials stacked there.

Inwu watched Liu's profile for a long moment — who was occasionally bringing the mug to his lips as if remembering it was there — then finally let his expression soften, let out a quiet laugh, and stood up from his seat.

"I asked a foolish question. Have a good vacation."

Whatever those around him understood about his longing for Ihyeon, or however they interpreted his silence and refusal to reach out, Liu himself was not trying to forget Ihyeon. Nor had he given up on him. He was even less trying to stop loving him.

He simply knew that now was not the right time. As he had told Ihyeon, he would guard his truth and wait for the right moment.

Just as he was nearly finished dividing the sorted materials between a shopping bag and a briefcase, someone knocked on the open door. It was Juhan.

Liu glanced over and gestured for him to come in. Juhan approached with an uncharacteristic hesitance and held out a file.

"What is this?"

"Well… I suppose you could call it a kind of business proposal."

Liu glanced at Juhan — who was scratching his cheek with one finger to hide his embarrassment while deliberately keeping his expression light and playful — and took the file.

It was a proposal with the rather bold and ambitious title: A Proposal for Phantom's Future: Achieving a 30% Increase in Annual Visitors!

"You said you'd support us if we showed initiative. So I thought about it — a way for Phantom to transform from a place that exhibits art as a luxury reserved for a select few, into a friendly space where the public can embrace art as part of their daily lives. Of course… the Director might not love the idea of customers wandering through the gallery just to drink coffee, but the era of high-nosed art is long over. If the public engages with art more often like this…"

"Did you show this to Manager Han?"

"Huh? Yes."

Liu quickly skimmed the proposal where he stood. It seemed quite plausible — with comparable case studies, budget estimates if approved, and projected revenue figures.

Liu tightened his lips, suppressing a smile that threatened to surface, and slipped the file into his briefcase alongside the other documents.

"Alright, I'll think about it during my vacation."

"……Yes?"

"I said I'll review it and give you an answer."

"Oh… yes. Thank you…"

Juhan had apparently prepared an impassioned rebuttal, fully expecting to be turned down on the spot — so Liu's response that he would actually consider it left him looking more stunned than pleased. He was like someone who had braced for a fight only to be met with an embrace.

"Director, thank you for the business class seat."

Only once he had reached the door did Juhan turn back and call out, as if he had nearly forgotten.

"Bring me back a gift."

"And thank you for the allowance, too."

Liu nodded as he zipped up his briefcase — packed so full there wasn't room for even one more sheet of A4 paper. Juhan, leaning against the doorframe and fiddling with the doorknob, said in a voice that made no particular effort to sound casual, as if it were nothing at all.

"I'll go buy Ihyeon something good to eat."

"……"

Liu finally went still and leaned back against his desk. Rain continued to stream down the window straight ahead. He could hear the faint stir of employees leaving the office, their voices bright with excitement about the long vacation ahead.

He looked up at the ceiling and drew a breath, wetting his lips with his tongue. Then he looked down at the floor and exhaled. Without lifting his head, he turned to the side, and his hair fell forward, covering his eyes. He picked up his mug with his long fingers. He had adjusted the air conditioner to a warmer setting a little while ago — but the coffee had gone completely cold.

The boy still built walls with thorns bristling from behind them. Watching him throughout the meeting — arms crossed, glaring somewhere into the empty air with a sullen, crooked expression — it was impossible to tell whether he was even listening to what people said.

Even so, Beau Beau's position was that the very fact he kept coming back of his own accord — this being no mandatory gathering — was a sign of hope, and that the right thing was to wait patiently.

"How was today? Doesn't it feel a little better, realizing you're not the only one struggling? Think about how many 'abnormal' people there are in the world."

After the meeting dispersed, Beau Beau approached the boy, who was standing at the long refreshment table set against the wall picking at a cookie, and tapped his shoulder with a grin. It was a teasing retort, borrowing the boy's own word for how male Omegas and female Alphas were considered 'abnormal.'

"How about helping me clean up before you eat cookies, huh?"

Beau Beau looped an arm around the boy's neck from behind and tugged him along. The boy lost his balance and grumbled as he was dragged away, but he didn't seem to dislike the kind of teasing Beau Beau initiated.

Beau Beau didn't treat the boy with excessive caution. His judgment was that trying to instruct him gently, or approaching him with the 'adult' facade of understanding everything, would simply not work on this particular child.

Beau Beau and his boyfriend had first encountered the boy three weeks ago at Parc de la Villette. In one corner of the peaceful park — where small children played on the playground, families spread out on picnic blankets laughing over sandwiches, and couples in swimsuits shared kisses while sunbathing — behind the information booth, in a shaded spot where few people wandered, the boy had been curled up on the ground, drenched in cold sweat.

Finding it strange that the boy seemed to be deliberately hiding rather than asking anyone for help, Beau Beau and his boyfriend had approached to ask if he was all right.

His heat had begun. He hadn't taken any suppressants. The two immediately took him to a small nearby hospital, got a prescription, and made sure he took the medication.

The fourteen-year-old named Nicholas was unable to accept the fact that he had manifested as an Omega. He hadn't told his school or his family, and he was in a dangerous situation — insisting he didn't need suppressants and trying to endure his heat on his own.

The two had invited the boy to the 'Late Blooming' group. The boy who had left them swearing he would never live as an Omega had now shown up for his third meeting.

"Nick, it's about time you told your parents."

Beau Beau said it casually as he folded the chairs in half and stacked them neatly at the back of the exhibition hall. But the boy's face went bright red and he jumped to his feet.

"Absolutely not! If my father finds out, he'll throw me out!"

"You say you hate your father so much, yet you're afraid of being kicked out of his house?"

"……"

From his very first meeting, the boy had spoken with a terrified expression — if his father ever learned he was an Omega, he wouldn't even want to look at him; the shame and disgust might even lead him to send him to a mental hospital. He was convinced his entire life was already over, that he would be ostracized and bullied at school and would never find a decent job.

Ultimately, Nick's denial of himself as an Omega stemmed less from any judgment of his own and more from the prejudice against Omegas that society and those around him had instilled.

"Anyway. I mean it. Don't go telling my father anything behind my back. Got it?"

"Why would I do your work for you? For whose benefit? Don't count on that."

Beau Beau smiled wickedly and gave the boy's forehead a gentle push as he clung to his arm with an almost desperate expression, making sure not to hurt him.

Ihyeon, watching nervously from the side and wondering whether the boy's anxiety and defiance might explode and send him running out never to return, finished arranging the last chair and slung his worn bag from the refreshment table over his shoulder.

"Um… I should get going."

"Oh? I'll come with you!"

The boy grabbed several large chocolate-chip cookies and followed Ihyeon out. With the canal between them, the boy's house and 'The Hands' were about a twenty-minute walk apart. This was the third time they had walked home together, a habit that had started on the day the boy first came to the meeting and they had discovered they lived in the same direction.

Nick never brought up Alphas or Omegas on the subway, but out on the street, he opened up far more honestly and readily than he ever did at 'Ttu.'

"Why do male Omegas even exist? I just want to die already."

After getting off at the Romainville station and walking with the canal on their left, Nick shoved his hands deep into his pockets and kicked a loose stone on the ground. It was an extreme statement that didn't suit the lazy Sunday afternoon bathed in warm sunlight — but Ihyeon now knew that when Nick said he wanted to die, the words didn't carry their full weight.

"There are even male Betas who envy male Omegas because they want a child with their Alpha partner."

"That person must be gay!"

"Hmm… his partner was a female Alpha, actually."

"A man… wants to become an Omega to have a child with his girlfriend?"

The boy stopped walking and turned to Ihyeon with an expression as if he had just heard about some grotesque, revolting crime. The shock seemed to run deep.

"The two of them wanted a child born between them. If becoming an Omega was the only way that could happen, they were willing. Is it really that important who carries the child, between two people who love each other?"

It had been over half a year since Ihyeon, after considerable hesitation, had finally started attending the 'Late Blooming' group. During that time, he had met people in all kinds of situations and heard their innermost stories — their worries, their wounds, the ways they had found to overcome them or hadn't. It had been half a year of learning that there is no absolutely correct or ideal designation, that the gender one desires and the way one comes to accept their own designation varies entirely depending on situation and environment.

Ihyeon spoke to Nick about a handful of male Omegas whose stories might chip away at his prejudices. The reaction, however, was not much different from before.

"Whatever those people do — I never wanted this! Then just make those men into Omegas instead! I… I really hate becoming a monster like this."

Nick shouted, his face on the verge of tears, then bit down hard on his lower lip, turned his back on Ihyeon, and started walking again.

At the boy's words, Ihyeon felt a brief, dizzying sting — as if he had been lightly struck on the back of the head.

He remembered how he himself had described his own state — stuck halfway, neither Beta nor Omega — using that exact word. Monster.

"Ihyeon-ah."

The first person who had ever called him that — called his name like that — had seemed like someone standing beneath a collapsing sky. He understood now that by calling himself a monster in front of someone who couldn't even approach him carelessly, he had driven a knife not only into himself but deep into that person's heart as well.

This time, it was Ihyeon who stopped walking. Nick, a few steps ahead, noticed and looked back belatedly, squinting against the bright sunlight.

"Males insert, females receive. Both male and female are needed for conception, but it's the female who actually becomes pregnant — calling that arrangement 'normal' is a Beta standard."

"But most of the world is Beta."

"Just because most people are Betas doesn't mean everyone is a Beta. Is it justifiable to call the majority 'normal' and treat the rest — a minority — as 'abnormal,' simply because they are the majority?"

"……"

Realizing this was probably too complex a concept for a fourteen-year-old, Ihyeon relaxed his shoulders and let out a quiet sigh. He took off his sunglasses and tucked them into the pocket on the left side of his T-shirt.

"What I mean is… there's no need to declare one thing as the standard and render everything else abnormal."

Nick tilted his head, looking up at Ihyeon with an expression that still didn't quite understand.

"Then what are you, hyung? Are you really a Beta?"

There was doubt in his tone. The boy had grown up in a world where Betas naturally defined themselves as 'normal.' It was just like… a place like his grandfather's village.

Meeting the honest gaze in Nick's eyes — a mix of confusion, anxiety, anger, and fear — Ihyeon slowly opened his mouth.

"I'm… nothing."

"What does that mean?"

"I could be a Beta. Or in the future… I might become an Omega."

Ihyeon took a quiet breath. Even if Nick didn't know, he knew the meaning and weight hidden behind those words.

He hadn't expected to speak about this — the thing he had been building up and tearing down inside himself, approaching and retreating from, for nearly ten months since leaving Seoul — in a way like this.

"You saw it at the meeting. So many people experience their manifestation in their mid-to-late twenties. No one knows what I'll become. And… whatever I become, or even if I become nothing at all, I am still myself. Not a monster."

"……"

"I attend 'Late Blooming' precisely because I don't want to see anyone — including myself — as a monster."

Though dissatisfaction and lingering questions still showed in his face, Nick's expression had softened compared to before. Ihyeon started walking again, giving Nick's back a gentle, encouraging nudge. Nick looked up at him and nodded slowly.

The prejudices Nick had absorbed from society and his family wouldn't disappear overnight, or because of a single decisive sentence. But if there was one thing Ihyeon had learned over the past half year, it was that change wasn't entirely impossible.

"Hyung… aren't you going on vacation?"

Nick had been rambling about the annual family trip to his grandmother's house in the Loire Valley in central France, timed to coincide with his father's vacation, before asking this.

Despite grumbling that he couldn't go to other countries in Europe the way his friends could, he seemed genuinely excited about the once-a-year trip. For the moment, he appeared to have forgotten entirely that he was now an Omega, and that he would need to manage his suppressants differently to get through it.

"Instead, a friend is coming to Paris."

"A friend?"

"Yeah. I'm going to pick him up at the airport tomorrow."

"He must be… a really close friend, to come all the way here."

Nick asked with a slightly cautious air, as if gauging Ihyeon's reaction. Ihyeon nodded. Nick's eyes — which had been clouded with despair just ten minutes earlier, saying he wanted to die — now sparkled with simple curiosity.

Perhaps, just as Beau Beau had said, Nick only needed time and attention, and might eventually adapt and come to accept himself in a healthy way. In any case, Beau Beau had gone through situations like this far more often than Ihyeon had, and the only way forward was to trust his words and keep moving — with each of them holding steadfastly to their own truth in their own place.

By the time Ihyeon parted from Nick and arrived at 'The Hands,' his back was soaked in sweat. Even though the temperature was lower than in Korea, the cloudless sky made the sunlight fierce. He was quickening his pace, already thinking about a shower and a cold can of beer, when a long-haired man coming out of the building waved at him.

"Ihyeon."

"Ben."

"Look at you sweating."

"Yeah, it's pretty hot today."

Ihyeon wiped the sweat from under his chin with the back of his hand.

"The apartment's an oven too. I was thinking of going to a café instead."

"It'll be just as hot there."

"At least there are beautiful people to look at."

Ben murmured it like a self-evident truth everyone would agree with. He simply enjoyed appreciating beautiful people as subjects, and he never bothered hiding his aesthetic sensibilities.

"Want to come?"

Ihyeon smiled and shook his head. On days when the 'Late Blooming' group met, he had work planned from afternoon through evening.

Contrary to Ben's comment about the building being an oven, the moment Ihyeon stepped into the lobby, the cool air hit him like a relief. Even if the lower floors were cool, the studios upstairs would surely be roasting by now.

Peeking through the open doorway of the exhibition hall, it seemed quite crowded — visitors often came on Sundays. He was about to slip quietly up to his room when a familiar voice called out from behind and stopped him.

"Ihyeon-ssi, a package came for you."

Yuni nuna, with a playful expression on her face, was holding a small parcel tucked under her left arm and waving. She must have spotted him returning and followed him out from the office. Ihyeon smiled and stepped back off the stairs.

"It arrived on Friday. Pierre must have forgotten to leave a message for you to collect it before he left for his vacation."

The box she handed him was a small cardboard box, not even two spans tall, and not particularly heavy.

"It looks like it's from the US. Do you know anyone in America?"

Ihyeon looked down at the box and checked the sender's name. Even in the handwriting, there was something neat and warm.

Marcus Dunham. It was Marcus.

From the resort in Jimbaran to Double Six Beach, the drive took over forty minutes. The straight-line distance wasn't far, but the road closest to the beach was too narrow for cars, forcing a longer route along winding inland roads.

Liu parked in front of a café building whose walls showed bare plaster threaded with climbing vines, then walked toward the beach, passing a row of parked motorcycles.

Out of habit, he pulled the sunglasses from his left pocket, put them on, and started walking further north.

The various beach bars had claimed half the sand with beanbag chairs, parasols, and vividly painted tables. Among Bali's many beaches, Double Six was especially famous for its sunsets. Though the prime viewing hour was still more than two hours away, people already jostling for good spots had settled in with cocktails, quietly waiting for the sun to go down.

Lim Morae and Seo Yeehan.

Both were working as full-time instructors at a large surfing school. Their days were packed from the morning session through late afternoon, and once lessons ended they had to review recorded footage of students' form to provide additional guidance. In exchange for the school covering room and board, they were also expected to mingle with students and guests as staff — helping maintain the atmosphere. From what he'd gathered, it was hardly a life of leisurely surfing in a tropical paradise.

They could have worked part-time or found jobs that left more breathing room, but that kind of income would barely cover day-to-day expenses.

Going by the amount they transferred to Liu through Ihyeon each month, they seemed to have made up their minds to push hard for a year or two and pay off the hundred-million-won debt as quickly as possible.

Liu arrived at the beach bar run by their surfing school and took a seat in one of the beach chairs set out in front of the wooden building, which had been built in traditional Balinese style. A staff member in a white piqué polo and shorts came over immediately with a menu. Liu asked for a bottle of his preferred beer and an ashtray, then drew out a cigarette and put it between his lips.

While the beer arrived, he held the filter between his teeth unlit and looked out at the sea. The waves were calm — rolling in from the distant water at a steady height, then sliding away as the sand swallowed them.

Watching them, the urge to smoke faded on its own. He dropped the unlit cigarette into the ashtray and took a long, cold sip of beer, his eyes following the surfers moving on the water.

His loose linen pants flapped in the sea breeze, and sand worked its way between his feet and the leather sandals. The resort's particular heat and languid haze seemed to loosen something inside him that had felt knotted tight for nearly a year in a harsh winter.

He leaned all the way back in the chair, pulled his legs up, and stretched them out long. Ankles crossed, hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed on their own.

He didn't know why he had decided on this place.

He had been to Bali three or four times before, yet once he settled on a two-week vacation, nowhere else even came to mind.

Perhaps he had wanted to check on the two of them himself, in Ihyeon's stead. Or perhaps — by making indirect contact with people who knew a past Ihyeon he himself had never known — he had been looking for some faint comfort, some tenuous thread of connection.

Either way, since they didn't know his face, there was no harm in confirming they were well. Just in case. In case a day ever came when he could pass word along to Ihyeon.

Among the beginner surfers in the shallows not far from shore — repeatedly standing up and falling off their boards with an instructor's help — one figure catching a wave caught his eye.

The calm water didn't call for any flashy technique, but the smooth, sweeping arc of that surfer's movement held something different. It was so effortless and natural that it was almost hard to believe the person was on the water at all; the waves seemed to simply carry them toward shore. Above all, even from this distance with the expression completely invisible, the sense that they were fully inside the moment — wholly present on the sea — came through in every movement. Liu was certain that was Morae.

He couldn't help but think of a younger Ihyeon, who — much like himself now — might have sat alone on this sand and watched Morae and Yeehan ride the waves freely.

Even though that time was already gone, he wished the deep loneliness of it — like being submerged in the dark silence of the ocean floor — could transfer directly into his own chest. His desire to have shared Ihyeon's past was just as strong as his wish to be part of his future. He had wanted to claim even a single one of the many sleepless, restless nights as his own. Even now, in this moment, that longing hadn't changed.

She walked out of the sea, and contrary to her name, she seemed to resemble the vast ocean meeting the sand more than the shore itself. He had seen her face in photographs, but he hadn't expected to recognize her at a glance — wetsuit on, hair completely plastered with water.

It seemed she had just wrapped up a lesson and perhaps given a quick demonstration at a student's request, because once she came ashore she exchanged a few words with two or three other Koreans waiting nearby, then slowly led them toward the bar.

From behind his sunglasses, Liu followed her movements, and as the group drew closer he felt as though she recognized him — that the smile she sent his way was directed at him specifically. It had to be a delusion. Even if she did recognize him, she wouldn't be wearing the expression one has when unexpectedly running into an old friend.

But perhaps it wasn't a delusion, because just as Liu reached for his beer bottle, she stopped directly in front of his beach chair.

"Oh? Mr. Rabbit!"

"……"

Behind his sunglasses, Liu furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly or what she meant. She looked as though she were about to explain, then shook her head and gestured for him to follow.

Inside the bar — exotic and dim, furnished with plush sofas and cushions in Oriental prints — she wiped her tanned, water-beaded face and grinned, pointing at the wall.

"……"

Mixed in among torn magazine scraps, a map of somewhere in the world, and Polaroid photos of various smiling past visitors, were a few of Ihyeon's drawings.

They were sketches drawn casually in ballpoint pen on paper slightly smaller than A4 — probably torn from a spiral notebook — but they were unmistakably Ihyeon's work at a single glance.

Next to a drawing that was clearly Yuni nuna and Juhan was a sketch of Liu himself, outfitted with a large pair of rabbit ears, looking down at a pocket watch dangling from his vest.

He had flown all this way hoping to ease his longing for him, even a little. But not like this. He had been completely unprepared to find traces of him in a place like this.

The woman standing beside him tilted her head, still looking at the drawings.

"Of course you'd recognize them, right? Ihyeon really does have talent."

He understood now what it meant for emotion to crash over you like a wave. The patience he had held onto for nearly a year crumbled all at once, and he felt as though he were being pulled back to that moment — the two of them staring out at the rain-hammered sea. That moment when he had wanted, by any means, to remind Ihyeon of the love still living inside him, even if it meant trading away his own past to earn his pity, to cling to him and beg him not to leave.

The cold dampness of the sea radiated from the woman standing beside him. Liu covered his eyes.

Ihyeon straightened his back and slowly turned toward the window.

Although evening was approaching, the sky outside remained as bright and blue as midday. Yet, whether it was his mood or simply the angle of the setting sun, a shadow seemed to have fallen over the room, regardless of the light outside.

He set down the bundle of papers in his hand and got off the bed. He walked to the small sink in the corner across from the bed, poured himself a glass of tap water, and drank it. Then, as if that wasn't enough, he began to wash his face.

Even splashing cold water over his face several times did little to restore his sense of reality. Everything before his eyes felt at once familiar and strange, like someone who had been held captive for a long time and had only just found their way home.

Without bothering to dry his face, he stumbled backward like a dazed person and leaned against the sink. The contents he had pulled from the box — which he had eagerly torn open the moment he returned to his room — lay scattered across the bed.

What Marcus had sent were a long, handwritten letter; a diary in the most worn condition Ihyeon had ever seen; and a bundle of typed pages transcribing the diary's contents, though portions were smudged or molded to the point of illegibility.

Nearly half the pages still remained, but he couldn't bring himself to read any further.

Ihyeon swallowed dryly and slowly dragged his hands over his wet face. As Ben had said, the room was stifling — yet goosebumps rose along his skin. The silence around him was unsettlingly deep. As if the room had been submerged underwater, the familiar background noise he usually took for granted was entirely blocked out.

As if grateful to have something to do with his hands, Ihyeon walked over to the desk by the window and took out a cigarette and a lighter. The same brand Liu smoked. He had bought them sometime around the beginning of spring and the pack was about half full. They tasted stale and dry, but he wasn't smoking for enjoyment.

Knowing that someone was watching him did nothing to ease the pain of longing.

He started his days early, divided his work between morning and afternoon sessions, studied English and French, and occasionally helped out with office tasks. His colleagues at 'The Hands' would tease him half-admiringly, saying he seemed less like an artist and more like a disciplined office worker or civil servant — so composed he appeared immune to turmoil. But the reality was different.

He was not okay. He was not at peace.

"When things are hard — mentally or physically — it's best to keep your usual routine as much as you can."

He was simply enduring the pain by holding his routine together, by not letting it crack, by refusing to give the shadowy things inside him any opening to crawl through.

The reason Nicholas couldn't tell his father he had manifested as an Omega. The reason the diary's owner couldn't bring himself to speak openly to Erich about the pheromones he sensed from him. The reason Liu couldn't reveal his true identity. Though the forms were slightly different, the underlying foundation of each concealment was essentially the same.

He understood now that his own passivity — not holding Alphas and Omegas in contempt, but failing to seek understanding or knowledge of them as fellow members of society — had itself been a form of Beta-centric thinking.

Ihyeon leaned against the open window and exhaled smoke slowly, his breath carrying a faint tremor. Before he could finish his third drag, tears slid down his cheeks. He didn't try to hold them back.

He had held back for so long. He wanted to say he missed him. He wanted to say he still loved him. He wanted to abandon everything here, return to Seoul, and hold him. He wanted to feel his own lips pressing hard against that lower lip — the one Liu always drew between his teeth.

He had wanted him inside him, had longed to feel the sensation of knotting, and had wanted to see him come undone with pleasure as an Alpha — because of him.

The intensity of his desire for him wasn't solely a product of Erich's pheromones, which only the diary's owner could sense, or of his own pheromones, which only Liu had ever been able to detect. The understanding and connection he had built with Liu over time couldn't be reduced to the manipulation of pheromones alone.

And yet — the passionate, almost startlingly bold version of himself that emerged in intimacy with Liu, so unfamiliar it had sometimes felt alien — that, too, was not entirely the product of his emotional love alone.

Leaning his head against the window frame, Ihyeon let his hand drop, forgetting even the cigarette, and allowed himself to think of Liu without any restraint, avoidance, or diminishment.

If the Changing was Liu's greed, his mistake, his undeniable sin — then his silence, in the moment he could have lightened the weight of that sin by revealing the existence of Ihyeon's own pheromones, could not be understood as anything other than love.

His love, which had sought to leave Ihyeon free to choose his own future without being bound by guilt or obligation, was also not the influence of pheromones.

He was grateful that when Liu had confessed — only able to say "I love you" — he hadn't dismissed it as a lie. He was grateful that he hadn't negated the wholeness of Liu's love, which he had felt so clearly through the trembling of his own skin, through the trembling of something deep inside him.

A quiet sobbing — not ragged, but steady, like the slow catching of breath after a long uphill climb — continued for a long time.

Though it was nearing nine o'clock, the sky over Paris was still a bright, unwavering blue.

Liu stepped out of the taxi, slipped his hands into his coat pockets, and exhaled a long breath. Through the mist of that breath, the sight of Phantom looked unfamiliar.

The narrow parking lot in front of the building was completely choked with trucks loaded with demolition equipment and debris already pulled from the structure. The main entrance, wide open in contrast to usual, offered a glimpse of the bustling activity inside.

A worker carrying a detached door panel on his back glanced over at the man standing there — tall, striking, and adorned with the kind of jewelry rarely seen on a construction site. After tossing the timber onto a pile by the truck bed, the worker quickly disappeared back inside.

Liu followed him, stepping slowly into Phantom.

Large yellow sacks of the kind common on construction sites were stacked full along one side of the entrance, and fragments of torn plywood and broken tiles littered the floor. Most of the partition walls on the first floor had already been demolished, making the entire space visible even from the doorway. Manager Han and Juhan were standing where the exhibition hall had been just yesterday, deep in conversation with the director overseeing the demolition work.

Liu lingered near the entrance, unable to step further inside. The feeling was different from when they had first purchased and remodeled this building to expand Phantom.

Juhan spotted him and came over, handing him a mask. Come to think of it, it had barely been five minutes since he walked through the main door, yet a fine layer of white dust had already settled across the front of his coat.

"What brings you here?"

"It's the first day of work. I had to come see."

Liu looped the mask's straps over his ears and looked around the gutted interior.

"It's a madhouse, isn't it? It looked exactly the same until dawn this morning. The way it used to look seems like a lie now."

Juhan, perhaps feeling something of his own, spoke with a layered complexity in his voice from behind the mask. Liu smiled silently and nodded — though to him, it looked less like a madhouse and more like ruins.

Even knowing the demolition was a necessary step toward something new, a bitterness kept rising from somewhere deep in his chest, as if he were watching the final dismantling of something that had lost its meaning once everything fell apart.

Liu, with his hands still in his coat pockets, was looking up at the chandelier being carefully lowered in sections from the ceiling when he nudged Juhan's shoulder.

"I let you have the remodel done exactly as you wanted, so don't even think about trying to back out of it now."

"If you hadn't thought it was a good idea, you never would have approved it. Why are you making it sound like it's all because of me? I just wanted a small café in one corner. You're the one who turned it into this whole enormous project by saying we might as well do a full remodel while we were at it."

Juhan stiffened and took a half-step back. Liu laughed and slung an arm over his shoulder anyway, pulling him along.

"If you make the project big enough, you won't have room in your head to think about anything else — the responsibility takes care of that."

"You acting clingy is genuinely strange, Director."

Liu was still laughing as he steered Juhan by the shoulder into the room that had served as the office.

The office — where the staff had been busy clearing things out until midnight — had already been completely gutted, its ceiling and walls stripped back to their original state. Liu walked over to an open window, pulled his mask down under his chin, and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

"Turns out, I'm just naturally a bit strange."

It was strange — the way he hadn't been able to stop the Changing, as though part of him had been intent on his own destruction even while knowing what waited at the end. Up until then, self-control and regulation had been second nature to him.

But no human being could achieve perfect control over themselves. Not even a Golden Alpha capable of suppressing his own pheromones to the point of passing for almost a Beta.

"It becomes strange when something that should be there isn't in its proper place."

"……"

Liu had been bent forward, elbows on the windowsill, bringing the lighter flame to the tip of his cigarette, when he paused. For a moment, unable to hide his surprise, he turned back toward Juhan. Juhan had pulled his mask down and watched Liu with a steady, serious expression.

"Go and take him back."

Liu let out a quiet laugh at Juhan's very characteristic way of laying out exactly what he wanted in the plainest possible terms, then turned back and lit the cigarette. He took the first drag and exhaled a long, slow stream of smoke.

"He wasn't taken."

"Have you seen the paintings Ihyeon has been putting out lately?"

"……"

"'Colorful Ghosts' — what do you think that means?"

Since around autumn, Ihyeon had been releasing a series called Colorful Ghosts. The paintings depicted various figures in his signature style — each subject's defining characteristics, strengths or weaknesses, were exaggerated, and the background of each piece gave form to that person's story. The series had been generating sharply divided opinions in Paris.

Juhan didn't know that Liu was a Ghost. So he was speculating about the series title simply because it echoed the meaning of Phantom, reading it as a signal from Ihyeon that he still carried some lingering feeling for the gallery.

But Liu saw it differently. It wasn't that simple.

And beyond that — whatever conclusions he had arrived at within himself, he was not the kind of person who made up his mind and then sat waiting for someone else to notice and act on his behalf. At least, not right now.

"I told you not to bother coming in. Why did you?"

At the voice from the entrance, Liu and Juhan turned simultaneously. Manager Han was stepping into the office through the gap where the door had been removed. The meeting with the construction director appeared to be finished.

Juhan glanced at Liu one more time, adjusted his mask, and slipped out of the office as if passing the baton to Manager Han.

"Why's he sulking? He was all excited about the construction starting this morning."

Liu shrugged at Manager Han, who was watching Juhan's retreating back with a puzzled expression.

She came to stand beside him, leaned against the wall, and tossed a file on the construction overview onto the windowsill.

"The electrical wiring is more tangled than expected, which complicates things a bit, but the demolition should stay on schedule for now. You probably won't need to come in for about a week."

Liu drew one last short drag from the stub of his cigarette and turned to look at her.

"Is this a slow plan to gradually ease me out of management?"

"I'm giving you a vacation."

"……"

"You'll need to do the occasional site inspection, of course, but a break like this — several months — is a rare thing. After the reopening I plan to work you into the ground for a while. So rest. Do whatever you want to do. Go wherever you want to go. Just don't spend twenty-five hours on a plane over the weekend."

She spoke as though she already knew exactly what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go, and where he had been slipping off to on his weekends. Liu had no way to feign ignorance. He managed an awkward smile, the corners of his mouth pulling up stiffly, then pressed the tip of the cigarette against his fingers to put it out.

He tossed the stub and his mask into a trash bag and walked out of Phantom, hands back in his coat pockets. The northwesterly wind sweeping down from Bukhansan made him pull his shoulders in. It was the second winter since Ihyeon had left. Just as he didn't know the twenty-three-year-old Seo Ihyeon, the winter version of him was uncharted territory too.

Beneath a sky that hung low as though snow might fall at any moment, Liu started down the slope — imagining Ihyeon walking the path beside him, wrapped in a scarf, breathing out small white clouds into the cold air.

Ihyeon carried two mugs of freshly brewed coffee to the table and set one down in front of Jun.

"Thank you for the coffee."

"It's too little as a thank-you for the beef bourguignon. It was genuinely delicious."

"I made an extra portion while I was making mine anyway. I'm the one who's grateful you ate with me. It doesn't taste the same when you eat alone."

Ihyeon recognized the consideration Jun had shown — adding a little spice to suit his palate — and was thankful for it. But knowing that saying so outright would only embarrass him, he conveyed his gratitude with a quiet smile instead.

The exhibition hall had closed and the office staff had gone home, leaving the entire building in a comfortable quiet. Occasionally, the sounds of ordinary life drifted through — someone running the tap in the bathroom, the soft rhythm of footsteps on the stairs, the sound of a door opening and closing.

"Hyung… you seem so unafraid of showing yourself in your work."

"……"

Jun, who had been holding his mug in both hands and gazing down at the table, lost in thought, suddenly spoke.

"When I look at it… I feel like my existence is being held. When someone shows themselves honestly first, it becomes a little easier for me to be honest too."

Jun laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck, seeming embarrassed by his own words. Ihyeon smiled back at him.

"Didn't they say it failed to resonate because it was too personal?"

"If it failed to resonate, then why did it sell as soon as it was hung, and why are so many people coming to see it?"

Jun shook his head firmly.

"I can't please everyone anyway. The fact that I can reach people who understand my work and find comfort in it — that alone is remarkable enough."

Ihyeon watched Jun lower his gaze with something that looked like envy in it, and spent a quiet moment lifting his mug to his lips without speaking.

He knew well that Jun had been struggling for a long time to find a breakthrough in his work, which made it difficult to say anything carelessly. This was especially true because he empathized deeply with those struggles — he had gone through similar periods himself and was still moving his brush through uncertainty with every stroke.

But precisely because of that, he wanted to summon the courage to speak honestly rather than stay silent just because the subject was hard.

"There are probably more universal stories that more people can connect with. I don't know for certain, but perhaps those make for better paintings, more valuable ones. But… I'm just doing my best to paint what I can paint right now, what I have to paint right now. Anything beyond that is outside my current ability, so I'm trying to focus only on what I can do."

Meeting Jun's earnest gaze, Ihyeon carefully added what he had been hesitating to say, wondering if he was saying too much. He felt he owed Jun the honesty that he wasn't some warrior fighting anxiety purely through his own strength.

"Scars are part of who we are… someone once told me I didn't have to paint over them to hide them, or try to overcome them cleanly like a hero. Because of that, I think I was able to find the courage… to show myself."

Jun's expression shifted — it looked as though he knew exactly who had said those words — and then, a moment later, he fixed Ihyeon with a gaze that carried a faint challenge.

"Hyung, why does your boyfriend never come to see you?"

"Because… I don't let him."

Ihyeon ran a finger along the rim of his mug and offered a faint smile.

"Why? Don't you miss him?"

It had been just over a year since anyone had asked him anything this direct. People who knew both Ihyeon and Liu hadn't deliberately avoided mentioning Liu in front of Ihyeon, but they hadn't tried to pass on news of his current life either. Where Ihyeon and Liu's private relationship was concerned, they acted as though it simply hadn't happened. The Liu that came up in their conversations was only Phantom's director, a Liu connected to each of them individually.

Though he felt a little sorry for Jun, whenever Jun circled around the subject of his boyfriend, Ihyeon could feel it faintly — that his love and his relationship were still ongoing, that Liu was still, in some real sense, his 'boyfriend.'

Confronted with the blunt question of whether he missed him, a wave of longing swelled at the edges of his heart, threatening to spill — the way a child who has bravely dusted themselves off after a fall suddenly feels tears well up the moment someone asks kindly if they're all right.

That was why he couldn't answer right away. He responded with an ambiguous smile and took a sip of his coffee.

He tried to smile, but to Jun it may have looked worse than crying. Jun, clearly regretting the question, quickly shifted the subject, deliberately brightening his tone.

"Hyung, do you have plans for Christmas? Are you going out with Yuni nuna?"

Ihyeon traced the surface of his mug and shook his head with a smile. Even now the three of them sometimes shared a meal or a drink together, but Michelle and Yuni nuna were an official couple these days — one that could easily go out on their own without needing to include him.

"Then… you'll be attending 'The Hands' party again this year, like last year?"

"Yeah, unless something unexpected comes up, probably."

'Late Blooming' was also preparing a small gathering, but that was scheduled a few days before Christmas. The party 'The Hands' held on Christmas Eve was a formal event — inviting patrons, clients, and gallery friends who visited the exhibition hall regularly but didn't buy work — and all affiliated artists were strongly expected to attend unless they had other plans.

"What about New Year's? I saw the Arc de Triomphe countdown last year… Would you be interested in a private party instead? Nothing grand — just tickets sold at a bar, and a friend of mine works there. It's on the second floor near the Eiffel Tower, so the atmosphere should be nice."

"Uh… I might have other plans by then."

"Oh? Well, I can't force you. Ben seems to be at loose ends lately — maybe I'll ask him to come with me."

Jun was clearly curious about the vague, possibly nonexistent plans, but he simply drank his coffee in silence and didn't press.

And Ihyeon had nothing more to say on the matter.

He had sent a message, but Liu wasn't a free man. Even if he'd received the painting, his situation might not allow him to come rushing over — or perhaps, perhaps he was simply exhausted now, and the message might not stir anything in him anymore.

He believed the latter wasn't true. But a two-percent sliver of anxiety refused to let go.

"Are you bothering Ihyeon again?"

The kitchen door burst open. Ben. Passing behind Jun, he roughly rubbed the younger man's chin the way a mischievous older brother might torment his youngest sibling. Ihyeon smiled at Jun, who was swatting his hand away with an irritated look, and said,

"Jun made dinner for me."

Ben, pouring the last of the coffee from the machine into a mug, glanced over.

"Beef bourguignon?"

Did he recognize it by smell? Ihyeon nodded, slightly surprised. Ben let out a knowing snort, leaned back against the shelf, and brought the mug to his lips.

"So that's why you were practicing so much — to make it for him."

"Ben!"

Jun's face flushed crimson all the way up his neck. He turned on Ben with an indignant glare. Ben seemed entirely unbothered, walked over to the table with his mug, and ruffled Jun's hair.

"Going out somewhere?"

To give Jun a moment to recover, Ihyeon changed the subject with a question aimed at Ben. He had been curious anyway — Ben was dressed unusually neatly.

"Going for an interview."

Ben sat down across from Jun, leaving one chair between them, and replied as though it were nothing.

"An interview…?"

"A photography studio is looking for an assistant. I sent in my résumé. They scheduled me for this time, so I must be a pretty good fit, don't you think?"

"A photography studio… all of a sudden, why?"

Jun asked hesitantly.

"I've always been interested in photography, honestly. For someone like me — impulsive, instinctual — doesn't photography suit me better than painting, which requires you to sit still and really confront yourself? And if I become a fashion photographer, I get to shoot gorgeous, beautiful people all day long."

Ben draped an arm over the back of his chair and spoke in his usual laid-back way, sipping his coffee with a grin.

"Why? You still have a few months of leeway. Or have you already decided to leave? Have you talked to Reed about it?"

"I can't just sit here without results. I should give the opportunity to people with more potential than me."

Ben said it cleanly, as if it were someone else's business entirely, while still messing up Jun's hair. Then he stood, washed his mug, and left the room without lingering — telling Jun to wish him luck on his way out.

Jun, who had been struggling to find his own breakthrough, fell noticeably quieter after that, as though the situation had landed a little too close to home.

During his more than a year at 'The Hands,' Ihyeon had seen several colleagues leave for failing to show results, and several new faces arrive to fill their places. Some gave up and left on their own even while opportunities remained; others signed with major galleries within a few months and departed early.

If the goal were simply to keep painting, a hobby would be enough. But to communicate with the world through one's work required a certain level of recognition — and that couldn't be achieved by sitting alone in a room, focused only on painting.

Since coming here, he had come to understand more clearly what Liu had done for his affiliated artists, why marketing mattered, and how fortunate it was for an artist to encounter a gallery like Phantom. But the harder truth was that not everyone got the chance to meet a dealer like 'The Hands' or Phantom.

Watching Jun's young face lost in thought, Ihyeon unconsciously raised the mug to his lips. The coffee had gone cold, and it tasted more bitter now than it had when it was warm.

The Neo-Byzantine stained glass adorning the dome-shaped ceiling — reportedly thirty-three meters high — was intricate and beautiful. The enormous tree erected beneath it amplified the splendor to its peak, making the entire department store feel like one massive Christmas tree. It was less like simply appreciating a gorgeous visual and more like stepping into a fairy tale, a fantasy constructed from material things.

It was obviously a commercial strategy — designed to stoke the already excited emotions of the year-end crowd and coax them into spending more — and yet everyone, wearing expressions of happiness as though performing contentment, seemed more than willing to be fooled by it.

Feeling a slight disconnect from the exaggerated atmosphere where everyone seemed prosperous and happy, Ihyeon quickened his pace toward the location he had already looked up on the pamphlet.

The cosmetics section and the perfume section for the same brand occupied adjacent booths, separated from each other. Both were bustling with customers. Ihyeon approached an employee dressed entirely in black and stated the name of the product he was looking for. It took over five minutes just to catch someone's attention, as every staff member was already occupied.

The employee led him immediately to the display case and lifted a perfume in solid black packaging that gave a sturdy impression. With practiced ease, the employee sprayed a small amount onto a scent strip, fanned it lightly several times, and handed it to Ihyeon.

The moment he inhaled, his heart lurched as if the person himself were standing right beside him. Even knowing it wasn't the actual pheromones — that very scent he had been so completely absorbed in — the mere fact that this was a component of the fragrance Liu emanated made his insides sway violently, as though something had seized him hard and shaken him.

The employee beside him launched into a rapid French explanation of the perfume's characteristics, but the words barely registered.

It was unmistakably one of the several perfumes Liu blended and wore. It was the one Yuni nuna had correctly identified on the day they'd had a barbecue in his garden — she had been certain she recognized this particular scent as one of the components in his blend.

A phantom impression of the scent alone was far too insufficient; since arriving here, he had wanted to come buy this perfume more than once. But he hadn't trusted himself not to fall apart if he were exposed to anything that close to the real thing.

He didn't want them to seek each other out again because he was worn down by loneliness, because the longing to see him had become unbearable, or because of the pull of sweet memories. Not for those reasons.

If they were to meet again and speak of love, it had to be a decision rooted in accepting the other person's existence — with a full and clear understanding of what that situation would mean and what it would change. If they chose to be together without that foundation in place, the unresolved residue would eventually seep back out, and they would find themselves trapped again in resentment and hurt.

That wasn't forgiveness, and it wasn't love. He didn't want to seek him out just to soothe the hunger of his sentimental side and cure the pain of the moment.

After lightly spraying the perfume on himself as the employee suggested, Ihyeon tucked the purchased bottle into his backpack and hurried out of the department store. Since arriving in Paris — or perhaps in his entire short life — this might have been his most extravagant purchase.

The heavy snowfall had made the subway more crowded than usual. The area around the Canal Saint-Martin was festive with the season.

Carols spilled out of every café and bar, and adults and children alike had gathered along the canal — having snowball fights, rolling snow into lumpy snowmen. Even though snow had become more common than it used to be (there had even been a blizzard back in April this year), heavy snowfall was still a rare and exciting sight in Paris.

On the street in front of 'The Hands,' a few small children had gathered to scrape snow off the parked cars and throw it at each other. One, a boy who looked about six or seven and wore a red knitted hat pulled down low, spotted Ihyeon, broke into a grin, and shouted "Joyeux Noël!" Christmas was still a few days away, but the snow seemed to have made him want to start celebrating early. Ihyeon smiled back, replied "Joyeux Noël," brushed the snow from his coat shoulders, and stepped inside.

He could hear the noise even in the lobby — everyone had gathered in the second-floor living room, drinking beer. Ihyeon took off his bag and coat and sat down next to Jun.

"Where's Ben?"

"…Not here yet."

Jun shook his head with a somewhat bitter expression. Ben was usually the one who pulled these gatherings together, but since failing his interview — for knowing too little about cameras and the field — he had been difficult to find for several days.

Even so, less than ten minutes after Ihyeon joined them, a pleasantly tipsy Ben appeared. Rather than taking an empty seat somewhere else, he wedged himself between the three people already sitting on the three-seater sofa and tightened the knot of his already loose tie.

"Ah… I got lucky today! I saw that man again! I just knew with all this snow I'd run into him today."

Ben spoke with theatrical flair, as if recounting a fated love story. His attire suggested he'd been to another interview somewhere today. The exaggerated excitement felt like a performance put on in spite of his disappointment.

"He turned into the alley with all the eyeglass shops. Maybe next time I should follow him home to see where he lives."

Someone lightly called it stalking. Ben just shrugged and twisted the cap off a beer.

"I've got nothing left to lose here — why not follow him and make a move?"

"You said he lives around here. You're going to keep awkwardly avoiding each other every time you cross paths? Just drop the confession idea."

The person sitting next to Ben waved a hand, trying to talk him out of it.

"Hey, why are you acting like rejection is guaranteed? Huh? Sure, that guy is unrealistically handsome, but I'm still worth something, you know?"

"Didn't you say he looks like a combination of the best of Eastern and Western features? Do you think 'worth something' is enough for a man like that?"

Ihyeon set his beer down on the table. Ben exaggerating about beautiful people was commonplace at 'The Hands.' But the story about the "handsome man occasionally spotted at the café by the canal" — which he had previously dismissed without much thought — suddenly snagged his attention.

"Hey, Ben, are you perhaps — "

"Yeah?"

"Never mind, never mind."

Ihyeon shook his head and smiled at Ben, who had turned toward him while half-joking around with the sculptor seated next to him.

He'd already concluded it was impossible — and yet, once the suspicion had taken root, he couldn't shake it loose. It wasn't a difficult thing to check, and there was no harm in trying. Ihyeon picked up his coat and quietly slipped out of his seat.

The snowflakes had grown much smaller in the meantime, but it was still snowing.

It had only been about three days since he sent the painting — it couldn't possibly have arrived in Seoul yet. Even when he checked that afternoon, it was still in transit by air freight. And even if the painting had arrived, it would take more time for him to receive it and travel to Paris.

Even while thinking all of this clearly, his steps toward the alley Ben had mentioned grew faster and faster. By the time he passed the eyeglass shops and rounded the corner, he was almost running.

"……"

He had expected tears. Laughter came first.

It was just like it used to be — the way his clumsy heart, which he had always worked so carefully to suppress and conceal, could no longer pretend when it saw him. The joy spilled out as laughter before anything else. It felt like smiling toward him not just with his lips but with his whole body.

In the deserted alley, an orange streetlamp casting a dim glow over the drifting snow, Liu stood frozen — cigarette halfway to his lips, then pulled away — stiff as someone who had turned a corner and walked straight into a ghost.

"For someone on an undercover assignment… you're a little too conspicuous, aren't you?"

White breath rose in unsteady puffs.

"……"

He hesitated, holding his distance as if he might bolt in sheer shock — and then he dropped the unlit cigarette and came forward. Without hesitation, his hand reached out to cup Ihyeon's face, his thumb sweeping gently along his cheek. At that touch, Ihyeon realized he was crying.

He was alive.

The snow settling slowly above his head, the faint festive clamor drifting over from the direction of the canal, the sight of Liu filling his entire field of vision, and the real, physical warmth of Liu Weikun's hand against his cheek — every sense was so vividly, achingly present that he felt truly alive.

He had missed him.

More than in all the time he hadn't been able to see him, it was in this moment of seeing him that the full weight of his longing struck him. He had endured the situation by consciously minimizing it, as though it were a tolerable illness — even as his whole body ached under it.

He had missed him terribly, and yet even that word "terribly" had been too small for what he actually felt.

Fearing, absurdly, that he might vanish the moment he blinked, Ihyeon gripped the arm that was wiping the tears from his cheek.

"Don't go…"

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Liu's hands slowed, then cupped his face with both palms, and he pressed their foreheads together. He nodded.

"I won't go anywhere until you tell me to."