Parting

Almond cereal, a one-liter carton of milk, a pack of plain yogurt, and finally cranberry juice — I placed them into the basket and was heading toward the register when I noticed the Korean melons were already out.

You could eat watermelon in the dead of winter and tangerines in the height of summer, but the melons sitting on the green nonwoven fabric-covered stand were, despite being brought out a little early, undeniably seasonal fruit.

I picked one up and held it under my nose. The fragrance was pleasantly sweet. If I peeled it, cut it into easy-to-eat pieces, and left it in the refrigerator, it would be convenient to take out whenever.

Grocery shopping wasn't officially part of my duties at the Teacher's house, but I knew that if I didn't buy things like this, the eating situation at home would get even more chaotic. So about once a week, I restocked juice, milk, fruit, cereal, and bread. I wanted to cook something simple if I could, but all I knew how to make were instant ramen and fried eggs.

These days, delivery food was convenient enough that I was told grocery shopping wasn't necessary — but it seemed the Teacher still ate what I bought, perhaps out of consideration for the effort. She was already paying me generously for work that wasn't particularly difficult, so I wanted to be of more help in whatever small ways I could.

After picking up a few sandwiches and pieces of bread from the bakery across from the checkout counter, I stepped outside into the intense sunlight. I shielded my eyes with my hand for a moment to adjust, then started walking.

The Teacher's place was a luxury apartment with a view of the Han River, but it was a small complex made up of only two buildings, so there was no commercial area inside. The complex next door had a small row of shops, but it only contained a small supermarket — so I usually did my grocery shopping at a large mart about a ten-minute walk away and walked to work from there.

"Seo Yeehyeon!"

I was just entering the alley that led straight from the crosswalk to the apartment when someone called my name. I turned reflexively toward the sound and saw the Teacher smiling at me from the passenger seat of a sleek white SUV. I smiled back instinctively and started walking toward the car — but over the Teacher's shoulder, I caught sight of the person in the driver's seat.

Phantom's Director.

Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, my chest gave an involuntary jolt.

"I told you, you don't need to carry groceries. It's heavy."

"It's not much."

"Get in. Let's go up together."

While I hesitated, another car was trying to enter the alley. It didn't feel like the kind of situation where I could politely decline, so I climbed into the back seat. The moment I closed the door, the car slid smoothly through the alley toward the Han River side where the apartment stood.

"I had a minor fender-bender on my way to work this morning. Left the car at the repair shop — they said it'll take about a week. Thanks to that, I'm heading home in Director Liu's car."

"An... accident?"

At my raised voice, the Teacher turned around and gave me a gentle smile, as if to reassure me.

"Oh, yes. Just a minor collision. I'm fine."

"What do you mean minor? There's no such thing as a small accident and a big one. I know it wasn't Manager Han's fault this time — but how many times has this happened already? Try thinking about what it's like for the person who has to keep getting calls every few months saying there was another accident."

I hadn't even had a moving job scheduled today, so I'd left earlier than usual — and I'd already been wondering why the Teacher was heading home so early. But even if uninjured, the fact that there had been an accident... I couldn't help but agree with the Director this time.

To hide my trembling hands and calm myself down, I pulled the eco bag I was using as a grocery bag up onto my lap and held it tightly.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for worrying you."

"I keep telling you your driving style is too aggressive."

"Director Liu, can you stop scolding me and get back to talking about Shushu? Please?"

The Teacher tried to quickly change the topic, but the Director seemed genuinely angry. It was an emotional tone I had never heard from him before.

"If you don't want to be lectured, then change your driving style. And if you can't change the habit, I'll assign you a driver."

"Do you expect me to ride around with a driver when you drive yourself? What would people say?"

"What does it matter what people say? If something happens to Manager Han, do you think those people will take responsibility for Phantom in their place?"

"Yeehyeon-ah, you heard what Director Liu just said, right? This is what they call being a tsundere, isn't it?"

The Teacher turned to look at me in the back seat and asked. It wasn't really a question seeking genuine agreement.

"If you're just worried that I might get hurt, then just say so. Don't make excuses and bring Phantom into it."

Trying to lighten the mood, the Teacher kept speaking in a casual, joking tone as the Director gently turned the steering wheel toward the entrance of the apartment's underground parking. As he did, his voice — which had been a half-tone higher than usual — dropped back down into its natural low register.

"If you know that well, then just be careful."

It was a voice laced with a sigh that sounded like it could dissolve at any moment. Anyone could tell his concern was not just ordinary nagging.

The Teacher didn't turn around this time, but even from the partial profile visible to me, I could tell there was a smile there — one tinged with both apology and gratitude.

The indifferent, somewhat careless attitude he showed toward the man in the passenger seat. The businesslike politeness he used toward clients at the party. And the hostility he had shown toward me, an outsider.

That was all I had known of him. I thought he was a playful, warm boss to the Phantom staff — but I had never imagined he could be someone who worried about others in such an anxious voice, in a way that almost felt overprotective.

But then, that's how it is. Unless he literally had blue blood flowing through his veins the color of his eyes, even someone who seemed incapable of caring too deeply about anyone would lose their composure when it came to someone they treasured. That was only human.

When we arrived at the underground parking lot, the air felt stifling. No one else seemed to think anything of it — but I was bothered that I had missed the moment to greet the Director properly.

When I got out of the back seat and walked toward the front of the car, our eyes met for the first time. I said, "Hello," in a quiet voice, and he gave a slight nod.

For someone who had allegedly asked the Teacher questions about me, those pale blue eyes still showed not the slightest interest in my direction.

To him, I was just a temporary worker who had helped out at Phantom for a short time and would soon be gone — and now, a live-in housekeeper at the Teacher's home. Unless someone was especially warm or sociable, there was no reason to go out of one's way to offer kind words or a smile to someone like that.

Courtesy-driven politeness, the barrage of questions disguised as social niceties — those were exactly the kinds of things that made me uncomfortable. So there was no reason for me to feel slighted by his indifference.

As soon as we arrived home, the two of them began discussing work at the dining table, and I started on my own tasks.

To give them room to talk comfortably, I began with the four rooms and two bathrooms first.

From the fragments of conversation that drifted in whenever I passed by, I gathered that a solo exhibition by one of Phantom's in-house artists was being planned. The Director, who had visited the artist's studio earlier that day to check on progress, seemed intent on moving the exhibition schedule forward as quickly as possible.

A different kind of excitement from his worry over the Teacher's aggressive driving habits came through in his voice.

If I had heard correctly, the artist's name was "Shushu." Every time his low voice — slightly husky, as though scraped by thorns — pronounced that sweetly-sounding word, it produced a strange texture in my mind. Like a record suddenly skipping at a particular track. Or like watching a large man bend down to hug a poodle and shower it with kisses.

It might sound like a mismatch — but it wasn't the unpleasant, frowning kind. If anything, it was unfamiliar and newly intriguing.

Shushu. What kind of paintings would an artist with that name create? It was probably not his real name, but I found myself curious.

"Are you really planning to let him move in?"

While cleaning the bathroom off the living room, I paused with the scrub brush in hand and heard his voice drift through the tiled wall. Not loud enough to catch every syllable clearly, but enough to roughly follow the conversation.

"It's not confirmed yet, but it looks like it'll happen. It took a lot of persuading."

"Calling it a live-in helper is just sugarcoating it. It's basically living under the same roof as a complete stranger."

"A complete stranger? I told you, he's someone I used to teach."

"Oh, from ten years ago?"

"Do you really have to put it that way right now? I'd appreciate it if you stopped."

"How can you bring a man into your home when you don't know what might happen? Even someone who looks completely normal can change at any time."

"Then I should start by kicking Director Liu out. You're a man too."

"Am I the same as that guy? To Manager Han?"

If he wasn't the same as me, then what exactly was he to the Teacher?

I understood the concern about a precious person potentially living under the same roof as someone who wasn't family. It was, perhaps, a natural and reasonable worry. But as the person who had become the cause of that concern, it was hard to say the conversation felt particularly pleasant.

"I know you're worried, but I've already thought everything through. I don't want Yeehyeonie hearing this, so if you really don't want to see me get angry, let's stop."

He stopped there for the moment. The topic shifted back to the artist named Shushu. The Director wanted to hold the exhibition as soon as possible, while the Teacher hesitated, saying the schedule was too tight. The conversation went on like that.

Because I turned the shower lever to rinse off the soap suds, I couldn't hear anything after that.

The Teacher rarely used the living room bathroom, so there wasn't much to clean — but for some reason it felt uncomfortable to go back out, and I lingered longer than usual. Thanks to that, the bathroom ended up spotless and shining.

After finishing the living room, kitchen, and dining area, I reached for my bag from the sofa — but just then the Teacher pushed back from the dining table, as if the discussion had concluded, and walked over.

"Yeehyeon-ah, if you don't have a shift at the moving company next Saturday, could you help out at Phantom that day?"

"I'm free next Saturday."

"The closing day for the exhibition you helped open last time is that Saturday. But the next exhibition schedule has been moved up considerably... Our Director over there apparently can't wait any longer and wants to open it as soon as possible."

It seemed his insistence on rushing Shushu's exhibition had won out.

"I'm fine with that..."

I found myself looking at him — leaning loosely back in his dining chair, coffee in hand. I had done it without even realizing it.

Sensing the direction of my gaze, the Teacher glanced back at him once, then placed both hands on my shoulders.

"Why are you looking at Director Liu? I'm the one asking you."

From over the Teacher's shoulder, the Director set down his cup and stood up from his seat.

"Of course. The real power at Phantom is Manager Han. I’m heading out." He picked up the summer jacket draped over the adjacent chair, checked the wristwatch beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves, and quickly took another sip of coffee while standing.

"Kun, give Yeehyeonie a ride on your way out."

"Oh, no — I'm really fine."

He glanced at me briefly, then shifted his gaze back to the Teacher.

"He says he's fine."

"It's on your way. Just give him a ride."

He silently looked down at me for a moment, then turned toward the front door.

"Let's go."

"I'm really fine. There's a bus."

"Manager Han wants it this way. So let's just do that."

His tone made it clear he wasn't offering out of any real willingness — just trying to get the minor hassle over with as quickly as possible.

"Don't mind him. Just get in the car and go."

The Teacher murmured this while giving my shoulders a couple of light pats. I offered an awkward smile. It seemed the Teacher perceived my discomfort toward the Director as significantly less than it actually was. The Director had already put on his shoes and opened the front door, waiting, while I crouched down to tie the laces of my Converse.

In the elevator, he asked where I lived. When I mentioned the neighborhood name along with the large church that served as a landmark across from the steep staircase leading up to my place, he responded with a quiet "Mm," as if he recognized it.

"I heard you used to study painting under Manager Han."

That was his first remark after we got into the car and left the apartment complex.

"Yes. When I was very young."

"How young is 'very young'?"

"From fourth grade in elementary school for about a year."

While waiting for the right moment to turn right onto the main road, he asked if he could smoke. I nodded, and he rummaged through the jacket he'd loosely thrown over the armrest, took out a cigarette, and put it between his lips. In the meantime, a car pulled up behind us and briefly honked. With the cigarette still between his lips, he turned the steering wheel and entered the road — taking out his own lighter instead of the car's built-in one to light it. Most of the smoke drifted out through the half-open window.

"I heard you didn't study art formally. Do you still paint now?"

"I... these days, no."

I had already known from Juhani hyung that the Director had asked the Teacher about me — but I didn't think she would have told him everything. The Teacher wasn't the type to casually reveal details about someone else's past beyond a certain point, and my current situation was closer to that of someone in hiding anyway.

Was he asking me this out of politeness now? At our third meeting? He didn't seem like the type to go to such lengths just to avoid the awkwardness of a confined space.

As I let my gaze drift meaninglessly out the window at the passing scenery, he exhaled a breath of cigarette smoke and spoke again.

"Manager Han was the one who suggested you work there as a live-in arrangement, correct?"

This was the real point.

"I'll be honest with you."

"......"

"Even if you had some connection when you were young, it was only brief — and you've both lived separate lives since then. At this point, you're essentially strangers. For someone like that to move into the house and live together... from my perspective, I'm concerned."

The brief pause in the middle of his words wasn't him hesitating out of consideration for my feelings. It was simply the gap created while he took a drag from his cigarette.

"Manager Han trusts and favors you quite a lot, so I don't think my words will carry much weight with her. That's why I'm asking you directly."

The distance from the Teacher's place to mine wasn't far by car, even if it took some time by public transit. The roads, just past rush hour, were still congested, and the car stopped at a red light heading straight toward the War Memorial area.

He rested both hands on the upper part of the steering wheel, leaning his upper body forward slightly, and turned to look at me. I held his gaze without looking away. The cigarette in his left hand looked as though it might brush against my hair.

"Quietly. Peacefully. I hope your life here stays that way. Do we understand each other, Seo Yeehyeon-ssi?"

In that moment, the man who had seemed like the very symbol of a refined, elegant world — a Golden Alpha who looked as though he had never once touched dirt or dust — suddenly looked like someone from the underworld, someone who wouldn't hesitate to resort to threats or backroom schemes to get what he wanted. More convincing, even, than the private investigation agency director who had helped us get burner phones and find a place to rent.

As I had sensed on the very first day, he was someone who, for the sake of those precious to him, paid no mind whatsoever to the feelings of those outside that circle. He wasn't considering my feelings at all — nor whether his rude behavior might make me dislike or despise him. It simply didn't matter to him if I did.

The light turned green and the car started moving again. As we turned off into a side road before the Namsan Tunnel and climbed the winding uphill streets, I simply stared at his profile and made no effort to hide it.

It was a gaze that could not easily go unnoticed — yet he showed no discomfort and paid it no mind at all.

What was I supposed to say? "Yes, I understand. I won't do anything to the Teacher"?

Making a promise like that — about something I had never intended to do in the first place — felt strange. Such a promise would feel like an admission that I might have been a threat to the Teacher, and I didn't want that.

It was surprising enough that he knew my age, and now my name. I had never imagined I would hear it from him in a context like this.

Just as I pulled my gaze away from his calm, focused profile, his phone rang. He glanced down at the softly vibrating phone in the cupholder, checked the caller ID, clicked his tongue as if annoyed, and answered.

"Yeah... I stopped by.... No, not now... I'm driving."

My understanding of his relationships was likely only a very small fragment of the whole — but judging from his dismissive tone, it sounded like the man from the passenger seat at the VIP opening, or someone similar.

Whatever the caller said, he paused briefly and glanced toward me.

"Nobody. I'll be there on time, so hang up."

"Part-timer."

"Am I the same as that guy?"

"Nobody."

His words, the ones that had been directed at me, linked together in my head like episodes in a series. And as expected, even after ending the call, there was no explanation or apology for having turned a clearly present person into "nobody."

Up ahead, the large church — far too grand in scale for this neighborhood — had come into view.

"You can stop there. In front of the stairs."

As the car began to slow, I unfastened my seatbelt. He stopped a little past the bus stop.

"I have a question."

"For me?"

"Did you really act like this with Juhani hyung too?"

His brows furrowed, eyebrows drawing closer together. He looked as though he genuinely didn't understand what I was referring to. Maybe it's the kind of thing where the one who gets hit never forgets, but the one who hits easily does. hyung had apparently even contemplated scratching his car and running.

I could now perfectly understand what hyung had meant when he said he felt like this person would chase him to the ends of the earth for revenge. I had just received something very close to a threat from him — a man who, in that moment, looked exactly like the boss of a dark underworld.

"Teacher... Please don't worry about Manager Han."

He rested his left arm on the steering wheel and turned his upper body toward me, looking at me with the expression of someone who had been stopped on the road by a stranger and forced to listen to nonsense.

"I'm gay."

I don't know why I said that. Men or otherwise — I'd never been in a relationship, never liked anyone.

But the moment I saw his expression shift — not just his eyebrows, but the pupils beneath them twitching — I knew I had hit the mark. I had only wanted to see him flustered.

"Well then, thank you for the ride."

I bowed slightly, grabbed my bag, and got out of the car. As I climbed the stairs, I wanted to look back several times — but each time, I gripped the strap of my bag more tightly and stopped myself.

If I couldn't leave a mark on him, I at least wanted to rattle him. He was a rock as hard as a diamond — and even if all I'd thrown was a raw egg, it still landed.