Wonderland

The garden was indeed untended, just as I had heard — but because of the season, it wasn't as desolate as I'd expected. Amidst the tangled greens of varying shades, grown without any human intervention, a certain vitality still pulsed.

As the sun dipped lower and the garden's shade expanded, we spread several mats across it at overlapping angles. Stripes, ethnic prints, checks, and even gaudy floral patterns. Laying out the delivered hamburgers, fries, and salad on top of these distinctly patterned mats, with beer sponsored by the Director, it felt just like a picnic in the park.

Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung didn't say a word until they had completely devoured their respective hamburgers. They had skipped lunch and rushed to finish the shoot while there was still natural light, so the hunger was entirely understandable. Unlike the two of them — who busily alternated between taking large bites and gulping beer with their cheeks puffed out — the Director and I barely touched our hamburgers, picking at fries while drinking beer.

As predicted, he had likely overindulged at last night's after-party. He had seemed unusually cheerful throughout the event. Perhaps he wasn't hungry because the alcohol was still lingering. Contrary to his earlier words — that he'd be passed out asleep and we shouldn't disturb him — here he was, out and mingling.

I glanced at his profile, which looked little different from usual despite yesterday's presumed excess, and swallowed a couple of sips of beer, whose taste I was now starting to appreciate.

The early summer breeze, filtering through the tall junipers forming the garden's backbone, was soft against my skin, accompanied by the pale late afternoon sunlight. An osmanthus tree, untrimmed and grown nearly two meters tall at its own will, also contributed to creating the garden's shade.

Although he didn't hire a gardener for dedicated landscaping, regular cleaning was evidently performed. It wasn't a neglected garden.

"What is this? Did the Director actually scan Yeehyeon with his lens? What is this… the photos are just oozing with ulterior motives. Push it a little further and it'd be a full sexy pictorial."

As soon as she was somewhat full, Yuni nuna grabbed the camera and started scrolling through today's results, exclaiming. I choked unbecomingly, swallowing my beer the wrong way. The Director, who had glanced my way, dipped a fry in ketchup, took a bite, and spoke nonchalantly.

"You have to have that level of obsession with the subject to get a good photo. Shall I delete it if you don't like it?"

"Who said I don't like it?"

As if he might snatch the camera and delete the photos, nuna completely turned her back and hugged the camera to her chest. Juhan hyung, also curious about the photos, slid his seat over to nuna's side.

"This isn't just scanning — it's full-on caressing with the lens. Wow… we're too pure to take photos like this. Only corrupted people can take these kinds of shots."

Juhan hyung shook his head and muttered. To avoid being affected by the embarrassing words and to maintain my composure, all I could do was read the label on the beer bottle in my hand.

"Your body is pretty. I never really noticed since you always wear long pants. I think this is also the first time I've seen you without a striped T-shirt."

Leaving the two of them to their heated debate over which photos to use for the update and which to delete, he turned his attention to me. He seemed completely unfazed by the assault of words like "ulterior motives," "sexy pictorial," and "caress."

Of course. He was talking about his direction for the subject, not his personal feelings toward me. And as always, nuna and hyung had expressed it mischievously — the actual photo was probably just infused with a slightly languid mood.

While I couldn't answer quickly and was slowly pushing up the beer label with my fingernail, nuna reacted first.

"'Your body is pretty'? Isn't that sexual harassment?"

"Hmm. I tried to say it as mechanically as possible so it wouldn't sound sexual… I guess it was impossible for the words 'your body is pretty' coming from my mouth not to sound sexual."

At his nonchalant self-defense, Juhan hyung laughed and offered a toast by extending his beer bottle toward him.

"Yes, I'm sure. Who could fall for that?"

Click. The moment their beers clinked, nuna pressed the shutter. But I seemed to be the only one who noticed the sound.

As the lens shifted to capture his profile drinking beer, his wide-open mouth biting into a hamburger, his bare feet on the mat — neither of them showed any self-consciousness. In fact, he deliberately smeared ketchup from a fry onto his lips and even playfully winked at the camera.

There was no feeling that they were excluding me, but the fundamental difference between them and me was too clear for me to feel like a natural part of this group.

A well-maintained beautiful two-story house with its contrasting unkempt garden, two people with distinct personalities and presences, and an early summer picnic with a sophisticated, wealthy, overwhelmingly good-looking Golden Alpha.

The experience was as alien to me as becoming Alice in Wonderland, peeking in on the Mad Hatter's tea party hosted by the March Hare.

Looking only at appearances, Yuni nuna suited the March Hare, and Juhan hyung the Mad Hatter. By coincidence, hyung was wearing the flat cap he'd worn during today's shoot. Nuna, dressed head-to-toe in black as always, would be a rabbit with black fur instead of white.

Then what role should I assign to him?

It was difficult to find a character that perfectly suited him within Alice in Wonderland, but if I absolutely had to choose one, it might be the White Rabbit in the waistcoat.

I considered the arbitrary Queen, the cynical Caterpillar, the Cheshire Cat that appears and vanishes without warning — but setting aside all other details and their roles in the actual story, the White Rabbit was, to me, practically the symbol of Wonderland: the guide who led Alice into that world, and the first thing to spark her curiosity.

Alice — the visitor who felt curiosity and excitement about the experiences in Wonderland while also feeling confused by the incomprehensible things — was, of course, me.

Imagining myself in a blue dress with a white apron like the commonly depicted Alice, my face instinctively scrunched up as if I had drunk a strangely flavored beverage.

Under the late afternoon early summer sun, they all looked free and radiant. Unlike me — who was fortunate enough to be here thanks to a confluence of coincidences and the kindness of many people — everything they possessed, from their professional achievements to every smile, was something they themselves had created.

They were "the people of Wonderland."

His exaggeratedly provocative pose toward the camera elicited louder laughter from Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung.

Like yesterday during the event, he truly seemed in a good mood today. Perhaps because all of Shushu's works had sold out at the VIP opening combined with the press conference. Though he — or rather, Phantom — had purchased about a third of the works, that was an investment for sale at the Hong Kong Art Fair in July. They weren't troublesome pieces the gallery was stuck with.

As I fumbled, flustered by the camera suddenly pointed at me, nuna approached my side and mimicked a reporter at a breaking news scene, changing the camera angle here and there. Along with the question, "How does it feel to become the muse of Phantom's Liu Weikun-ssi?" a flash went off right in front of my eyes.

"Rumors are rife that the two of you are more than just a photographer and model. Is it true? Looking at the photos Liu Weikun-ssi has taken, it doesn't seem like a baseless rumor at all! Seo Yeehyeon-ssi, please say something!"

Nuna, who had taken the beer bottle I was fiddling with and held it like a microphone toward my lips, looked at me with eyes full of laughter. His gaze, visible over nuna's shoulder, was also directed this way.

"Um… no comment."

"Are you aware that 'no comment' is usually taken as an admission?"

"In that case… no comment."

"……"

The playfulness vanished from nuna's face, and conversely, he burst out laughing. Juhan hyung blew a whistle and tapped the mat.

I knew I wasn't a humorous person, but in a situation like this, I wanted to match the mood to some extent. Nuna dropped the surprised expression, smiled faintly, and gently shook my cheek without hurting it.

"Sometimes you're adorable."

Then she returned to her spot, opened a new beer, and took a long swig. Picking up a fry, she said,

"Director, others might be fine, but not Yeehyeon. Don't even dream about it."

"Hmm… what dream?"

"The risqué dreams unfolding in your Adult Land, Director."

"……"

Before he could react, Juhan hyung — who had taken the camera nuna set down and was pressing the shutter here and there — stepped in.

"No need to worry about that. Sure, if Yeehyeon stripped, he'd have a slender body with fine lean muscle, a handsome face, and skin like it's been coated in honey — but thankfully, that's not your type, Director."

"Isn't that sexual harassment? Isn't anyone going to say anything? That's a far higher-level remark than mine."

While appealing his grievance to Yuni nuna, he skillfully deflected the situation with a joke. But an affirmation or denial of Juhan hyung's statement that I wasn't his type was actually unnecessary.

Because I still remembered the answer he had given Inwu hyung when we first met — Inwu hyung getting out of his car in front of Phantom and pointing at me, asking if I was his new lover.

The beer suddenly tasted bitter, but it was just the last sip of what I'd been drinking. As I reached for a new beer from the icebox, he — sitting a little closer — pulled one out and handed it to me.

"Come to think of it. I once dropped by here on a holiday because I urgently needed to pick up some work, and I actually saw one of the Director's guys. Unexpectedly, he was the bulky type?"

"What? Really? Director, is this true?"

At hyung's voice, which rose almost to a shout, he frowned and covered his ears.

"What if it's true, what if it's false? Is there some reason I shouldn't prefer the bulky type?"

"Wow… you usually see people like Shushu every day — how could bulky be your type? Do you get tired of only looking at beautiful things and want something rough?"

"I never said that was my preference. Even if it were, it's none of your business. And not everyone who was at my place is my partner. Besides, Kwon Juhan — you're in no position to comment on other people's tastes, are you?"

A man in his late thirties, facial contours just beginning to soften — caught somewhere between youth and middle age, sunk in a kind of lethargy. He would have known. I certainly did.

"My tastes are niche — the whole world knows it, I admit it myself, and even my parents know it by now. But Director, you can honestly choose whoever you like, can't you? I hate to admit it, but in terms of looks alone, you're the embodiment of a Golden Alpha — and the image of you swapping bulky guys in and out… ugh, my delicate aesthetics refuse to imagine it."

Juhan hyung shook his head several times as if chasing away the vision before his eyes, then downed his beer in gulps.

Wiping the condensation off the beer bottle with my thumb, I caught — from the edge of my lowered vision — the flicker of his gaze toward me for a moment, but I didn't lift my head to confirm it.

"Hmm. Bulky or not, pushing it as if I fool around indiscriminately is a bit much, don't you think? Just because I sleep with someone who isn't my lover doesn't make it promiscuous. So should adults my age resolve all their sexual desires through masturbation if they don't have a lover? Well, there might be people like that — but choosing that life doesn't give them the right to criticize those who don't. If sleeping with someone who isn't your lover is the definition of promiscuity… as far as I know, you two aren't exactly paragons of chastity either."

He finished with a somewhat sly smile, looking back and forth between nuna and hyung. They both nodded with expressions that said "touché," and hyung even raised a hand as if making a declaration.

"Whatever sex life one has within a consensual relationship is a personal domain. I agree with that the most."

"Yes, it's thoroughly a personal domain."

Nuna also raised her hand in agreement.

Masturbation was the entirety of my sex life — but I didn't view those who weren't the same with a negative gaze. I also agreed with the Director's opinion that sleeping with someone who wasn't your lover didn't automatically make it promiscuous.

Then, what about in the case of someone you liked? If we — the people gathered here — maintained this same stance regarding someone we liked, could we avoid being hurt by a partner who shared a bed with someone other than us?

Since it wasn't a lover relationship, the act itself couldn't be condemned. But it would be difficult not to get hurt. Not just the act of sleeping together — probably even seeing the person treat someone else affectionately would cause pain.

"Getting treated as someone with a messy private life, accused of soliciting sex or whatever — that's enough to deal with from the critics. Ah — if I had actually played around promiscuously, I wouldn't feel so wronged."

I had arbitrarily judged him as someone who wouldn't care at all about such things. But thinking about it, of course it would be unpleasant for anyone — even someone who just shrugs at cheap, malicious evaluations of themselves. Being able to tolerate it and maintain composure didn't mean taking no damage at all.

Staring down at the beer label — dampened enough by condensation that it peeled away cleanly with a light push — I quietly laughed at myself. I had been looking forward to today with nothing more than the simple curiosity of someone who wanted to see inside his house.

"But Director, why are you defending yourself so hard — it's so unlike you. You know it's all a joke between us. Could it be… you really hated the idea of Yeehyeon misunderstanding that much?"

"Of course I hate it when a handsome man misunderstands me as promiscuous."

In response to nuna's playful provocation, he opened his light blue eyes wide and exaggeratedly spread both arms.

In truth, all of this was meaningless banter. Jokes possible because everyone knew he had absolutely no personal interest — or "ulterior motives," as nuna put it — toward me, regardless of how the photos had turned out.

Feeling myself worn down by those harmless conversations, I seemed like an overly sensitive person. Or perhaps there was a special reason I couldn't help being sensitive to this kind of joke. Whatever it was, I didn't want to think about it right now.

The beer he had handed me was also nearing its bottom before I knew it. Still not knowing my exact limit, I tended to drink too fast when I let my guard down. Since I wasn't good with words, I also tended to drink more whenever I felt embarrassed or flustered.

I wasn't drunk yet, but feeling slightly woozy, I wanted to clear my head for a moment.

"Nuna, the shoot is all done now, right?"

"Why? Want to change clothes?"

"Yes, and I'd like to wash my face too."

I answered, lightly rubbing the cheek where the fake freckles were with my fingertips. I felt his gaze lingering on my left side but pretended not to notice.

"Go inside, change, wash your face, and come back. You remember the room where you changed earlier? There's a bathroom to the right of it. It's a guest bathroom anyway, so feel free to use it."

"Talking like it's your own house?"

"Then why doesn't the Director just show him himself? Even after I do all the tedious work for you."

Watching nuna and him exchange words so casually and freely, I put down the empty bottle and got up.

As I passed behind him toward the entrance, he lightly caught my wrist. Looking back at me, he said,

"Feel free to use anything in the bathroom."

It was perhaps the kindest tone I had ever heard from him. Maybe it was because he had been in such a good mood since yesterday.

I thought it was probably Shushu — who wasn't here — who had made him this magnanimous. I didn't bother questioning why that thought stirred an unpleasant discomfort within me.

"Thank you."

Murmuring softly, I headed straight for the front door.

Given his somewhat arrogant ease and flamboyant aura, I had imagined his home would be a towering mixed-use complex, or a luxurious modern mansion with a unique exterior overlooking the Han River.

Of course, the house was grand enough to make an ordinary person like me gape — much like the mansions on the hill where Morae had lived — but the stone steps leading like a garden path from the gate, along with the original red-brick exterior walls, gave the impression of a home built quite some time ago.

The interior, however, seemed to have been completely remodeled.

The corridor starting from the entrance hall branched left and right. We had unlocked the main gate with a key he had given us beforehand, and to avoid disturbing him, we had been using the back door leading to the kitchen. Once I found the kitchen, finding that room would be simple.

Using my sense of direction, I turned left. What appeared before me was the living room.

Unlike the dim, windowless corridor, the living room — open to the second floor with high ceilings — was filled with the slanting late afternoon sunlight. From the look of it, crossing the living room and turning right would lead to the kitchen.

But I couldn't take even one step into the living room.

I was facing an incomparable terror — far greater than the camera lens that seemed ready to dissect me piece by piece. Far greater even than his gaze, which had 'caressed' me through a lens that felt like lips, not eyes, as it crept all the way up my thighs.

It happened in a place I never expected, without any warning or hint.

Like a knife stabbed deep into the abdomen the moment one carelessly turns a corner in an alley.

I had believed I knew better than anyone that life's malicious pranks could be sudden and violent, with no warning and no reason, like a bomb dropped on the most peaceful of places.

But once life decides to play a trick, it seems a person is destined to fall for the same maneuver twice, even three times.

I thought I had come a long way.

My father, eroded by his own sorrow, had let me go — but I had Yeehan hyung and Morae. I had even sacrificed five years, a span of time hardly short when measured against my entire twenty-two years of life.

There had been times when someone provoked me and I didn't want to turn away and avoid it — I felt the urge to stab them back and provoke them in return. In front of someone else's artwork, I had been swept up by an intense desire to pick up a brush again.

Maybe I hadn't exactly overcome it, but wasn't it more like accepting it as part of myself? Like a lump protruding on the skin, or an ugly, distorted scar that no longer bleeds but has settled in place.

It had been a grand delusion.

Nothing had changed. I was still a denied child.

From outside the entrance, beyond the massive living room window, the sound of three people laughing reached me. I wanted to run out into that world where people existed with passion and talent and the strength to face their wounds.

But I couldn't. The past I had thought was safely preserved came roaring back to life as a present that couldn't have been more vivid, tightening its grip around my neck with a smile — and I lacked the strength to loosen even a single joint of that hand.

"I thought maybe you couldn't find the room, so I followed you."

It was his voice. But I couldn't turn my gaze to look. I couldn't turn my head away from myself.

"Ah… do you like it?"

I sensed him moving closer, likely following my fixed gaze.

"The artist who painted this was sixteen at the time. A monster, really."

"……"

"What do you see in this painting? I'm curious what Seo Yeehyeon-ssi, whom Choi Inwu praises so highly, sees."

"Alienation."

"……"

I murmured it in a very small voice, as if talking to myself — and then his silence grew heavy.

No, silence couldn't possibly have weight. From our first meeting, I had been aware of his presence, and I couldn't deny that over time I had shown unfamiliar reactions concerning him — but his gaze, directed at me with interest from right beside me, held not a shred of meaning at this moment.

"Hmm. No one has guessed that correctly before. Should I really ask Seo Yeehyeon-ssi to write the foreword? How did you know? While it's a boldly expressed piece, it gives the feeling that the two people hold affection and lean on each other. The colors are warm too. Most people interpret it as love or lovers, that sort of thing. But you… why did you think this was a painting about alienation?"

He poured out his words, placing a hand on my shoulder and gripping it tightly. He was more excited than I had ever seen him.

I turned my head to look at him. Like someone whose neck was firmly fixed by some device — or like someone with a knife pressed against their back, their entire body's muscles stiffly rigid — I kept my neck still and only moved my face slowly.

When I focused on his grayish-blue eyes, his distinctive scent — grown as thick as his excitement — enveloped me as if it had lunged at my entire body. But this time, even the subtle, stimulating nature of that scent couldn't hook me. Why did you think that? I answered.

"Because I painted it."