A Distinct Scent

The final day of an exhibition was never as hectic as the opening. Depending on the show, artists and buyers were sometimes invited to a closing party, but since this was a group exhibition with multiple artists, coordinating schedules was difficult. The plan was to wrap things up with the Director and the Teacher hosting a separate reception off-site for the artists and key clients who could make it.

As a temporary part-timer, I didn't need to be there from opening. I arrived just before closing to help Yuni nuna and Juhani hyung pack up the gallery. Unlike last time, the task was simply to take down all the artwork and move it to the underground storage room.

Perhaps because we had already worked together once before, we finished moving everything to storage and repacking it properly before ten o'clock. Most of the pieces were scheduled to be delivered to their new owners starting Monday. Buzzing with excitement, the two of them even broke into some strange impromptu dance in the storage room — apparently the sales rate had been near record-breaking, and a substantial bonus was expected this month.

The work had been fast-paced, but we were completely exhausted once it was done. It was the kind of exhaustion that follows an all-out sprint.

We sat spread out around the office conference table, leaving plenty of space between us. Juhani hyung had his head down on one arm, face resting against the table, while nuna loaded two capsules into the coffee machine and brewed herself a strong iced coffee, which she downed in short order. I felt the tiredness too, so I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair.

"You really must love stripes, huh?"

"Excuse me?"

It wasn't that I hadn't understood — it was a reflex, catching me off guard at an unexpected moment. Nuna had already worked through more than half her large tumbler of coffee and looked somewhat revived.

"You wore a striped T-shirt on the VIP opening day, and the day before. I honestly didn't think you'd show up in stripes again today. Thanks to you, I lost the bet."

"Thanks to you, Yeehyeon-ah, Baek Yuni owes me a meal."

Juhani hyung, still slumped over with only his head turned toward us, flashed a V-sign with his fingers from that position and grinned.

"Ah... I'm sorry, nuna."

Nuna had gotten up and was passing behind me; she patted my back with a laugh.

"If I had won, would you be apologizing to Kwon Juhan instead?"

"Ah..."

Come to think of it, that was true.

"You'll feel even sorrier after you receive this. Oh dear..."

Nuna placed a small shopping bag on the table, retrieved from the desk area. The small black bag, lettered with the words Old Future, was decorated with a black ribbon.

"What is this?"

"A gift. You seemed like a total stripe fanatic. The moment I saw it, I thought of you."

Inside was a black-and-white striped T-shirt. When I shook it out, it was a loose, short-sleeved tee with a slightly wide neckline.

"It's not something I bought separately — it's from the store we run, so don't feel any pressure about it."

"No — do feel pressure. Take it, feel pressured, and come work with us. Yeah?"

Hyung had moved to the seat across from me at some point; he reached across the table, grabbed my hand, and put on his most earnest expression. Hyung’s plea for me to stay was sincere enough that it made me genuinely happy and grateful — but I could only manage an ambiguous smile, my mind drifting to the image of the man who had stressed "peace and safety" to me with all the intensity of someone from the back alleys, saying, Do we understand each other, Seo Yeehyeon-ssi?

"But... you run a store?"

"It's a bit different from what you'd usually call a store, but if you had to categorize it — yes. We haven't been open long. About half a year now?"

Nuna glanced toward Juhani hyung as she finished, as if double-checking her own memory.

"Our taste is just like this, you know? It's hard to find clothes we actually like in Korea. We thought it would be nice to open a website for people with similar tastes. Most of what we carry we pick up here and there on work trips abroad, so there's usually only one or two of anything — the margins aren't huge. But we're not in it for the money. It's just something we both love doing."

Hyung said it so lightly, like he was talking about going for a bike ride near his place when he had time. To me, though, it seemed like a genuinely impressive thing. Regardless of how successful they'd become, I knew that turning an idea into action wasn't easy.

"But then, aren't these clothes you're supposed to be selling?"

"Even so, they're not expensive — wear it without feeling pressured. Kwon Juhan and I are both the type who don't give gifts that burden the other person."

Nuna perched on the edge of the table with her coffee and lightly ruffled my hair. Just the clink of ice against the cup each time she drank felt cooling.

"Thank you. I'll definitely wear it often."

There was no particular reason or stubbornness behind only wearing striped T-shirts. I had no eye for choosing stylish clothes, and I wasn't especially interested in fashion to begin with.

The logic had been simple: stripes wouldn't look too dull, but they wouldn't stand out too much either. Before I knew it, all the tops in my closet had become stripes. In truth, I didn't even own that many clothes to justify saying I exclusively wore striped T-shirts. When I left my grandfather's house, I'd only packed two or three thin long-sleeves I needed immediately — so I'd been meaning to pick up a few short-sleeves anyway, with the weather growing warmer.

But the joy wasn't purely from receiving something I'd needed.

It was the realization that someone had been watching me closely, had figured out my taste, and had thought of me even when I wasn't around. That unexpected kindness sent a faint, quiet tremor through the edges of my heart.

The warmth of people who had thought of me over something as small as a striped T-shirt felt like a quiet reproach for my self-imposed seclusion — my tendency to shut out everything beyond the narrow circle made up only of Morae and hyung.

Looking down at the T-shirt in my hands, I found myself caught up in a rather grand thought: perhaps salvation wasn't found only in noble and sacrificial affection.

The two of them pushed me behind the partition in the office, saying they wanted to see it on me. I pulled off the old long-sleeved shirt I was wearing, draped it over the partition, and slipped the new one over my head. The design was more stylish than what I usually wore — it felt a little awkward — but their reactions were enthusiastic.

"Does one T-shirt really change the whole vibe like that?"

I let out a quiet laugh at Juhani hyung's slightly exaggerated reaction; he'd been playing a game on his phone.

"Now — bow to the impeccable eye of this Baek Yuni-nim."

Nuna said this smugly, arms crossed, chin tilted up. Hyung, still seated, made a face.

"Baek Yuni-nim, Yeehyeonie was pretty even when he was just wearing plain black pants and a plain T-shirt."

"He was pretty before, but now he's even prettier. Admit it, you little punk."

"Ah, when did I ever not admit it? I admit it, I totally admit it. Baek Yuni is the best."

Their praise, throwing the word "pretty" around so freely, felt just as awkward as the T-shirt I was wearing. I was absentmindedly touching the back of my neck when I remembered the old shirt still draped over the partition; I went and got it, tucked it into my bag along with the shopping bag.

"How tall are you?"

I searched through my memories from the military in response to nuna's question.

"Last time I was measured, I was about 181 centimeters."

"I thought you were taller... maybe because your face is small and your limbs are long."

Nuna scanned me with her eyes from across the table, as if gauging my height.

"It's perfect, honestly. You're not going to model, so being any taller would just make it harder to find clothes that fit. 181 that looks like 183 or 184. Just right. I'm jealous."

Juhani hyung, who looked about five to seven centimeters taller than me, was already tapping rapidly at his screen again, seemingly mid-game. In my eyes, hyung was the one who looked like a model — I'd felt that way since the first time I saw him in the basement storage.

"Good proportions and a good face — just swap out that T-shirt over black jeans and you'd look exactly like a model. Yeehyeonie, you must have had people ask if you were an Alpha."

Nuna said it almost as a certainty, but no matter how much I searched my memory, I couldn't recall ever being mistaken for one. At least, no one had ever said it to my face.

"No, not at all..."

"Ay, Yeehyeonie is less like an Alpha and more like..."

Juhani hyung had lifted his eyes from the screen and was looking at me with a slightly subtle expression — a gaze that pressed down gently, like a hand resting with weight — when a commotion erupted outside the office door.

The main entrance was locked from the inside, so only someone with a pass could get through. Everyone exchanged glances, expressions asking the same question: Who could that be?

"Hello, babies!"

The person who burst through the office door like a musical actor making a grand entrance — after cutting through the hall and corridor — was the man from the passenger seat. Upon seeing his face, nuna and hyung let out unmistakable sighs.

It felt less like a reaction of genuine hostility and more like the playful greeting that comes naturally between people who are close.

"My Juhani and Yuni, greeting me so warmly as always. Is that any way to treat someone who came to take you all out for a good meal?"

"Director, why did you bring Inwu ssaem?"

"I didn't bring him. This guy insisted on coming, so I had no choice but to be dragged along."

The Director, looking displeased as he followed behind the slightly tipsy man, stepped into the office, pushing the man aside with a look of exhaustion.

"Dragged along? Who dragged who? I left because I'd rather come buy something nice for the babies suffering here at Phantom than sit there forcing smiles at people I have nothing in common with — and you're the one who followed me out."

He complained loudly at the Director's back, then — without giving him a chance to respond — came straight to me, bending slightly at the waist until his face was close. A very faint trace of wine. Nothing strong.

"Yeehyeon-ssi, have you been well?"

"Yes. Hello."

The Director had moved past the table and was brewing himself a coffee at the machine by the window, one hand resting on his hip. Seen from behind, he looked a little worn out.

"You said you came to buy us something delicious, but you really came to see Yeehyeonie."

Juhani hyung grumbled, and the man threw an arm over my shoulder, turning to face where nuna and hyung were sitting.

"So what if I came to see him? I'm still the one treating today."

"Then let's get going. Give us ten minutes."

That was Yuni nuna's crisp reply after checking her wristwatch.