The Offer

Perhaps he had been holding back a craving to smoke for a long time, because as soon as we settled at the bar, he lit a cigarette. Flipping through the long, vertical pages of the menu — one given to each of us — indifferently, he spoke.

"It's raining, how about something strong?"

I fidgeted with the bag I had set down next to me, awkwardness stemming from being in a place I'd never been before, and nodded in agreement. In truth, the awkwardness of being in a place like this alone with him was greater than the awkwardness of the location itself.

The bar was about a ten-minute drive from the restaurant where we had dinner, situated on the uphill road leading toward Namsan. The building itself wasn't tall, but being halfway up Namsan gave it a good view. Apparently, this was also a place he frequented, as the manager — who introduced himself to me — came out personally to greet us warmly.

The seat we were shown to was almost like a semi-private room. One edge of the partition wall was open to allow people to pass through, but from where we sat on the sofa, we couldn't see the main hall, and the structure was such that the interior wasn't visible from the hall unless one deliberately tried to look.

The cozy room was furnished with a deep, high-backed, plush sofa, and in front of the sofa was a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the night view. It was a suitable spot for two or three people to drink privately and talk.

It wasn't far from where Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung lived. The view outside the window was also similar to what I used to see from the outdoor platform on the rooftop — although there was about as much difference between this space and that one as between Morae nuna's old place and Grandpa's house.

Rain was falling over the Seoul nightscape, which brought to mind squid fishing boats. Suddenly, a laugh escaped me as I realized I was living it up way beyond my means. The only bars I had ever visited in that port town were shabby raw fish restaurants or grilled clam joints. I hid the grin spreading across my face by pretending to pore over the unfamiliar menu so he wouldn't notice.

After calling a waiter and finishing our order, I kept flipping through the menu even though we were done, because his gaze felt fixed on my profile.

He and I were sitting at the corner where the L-shaped sofa bent, so technically we weren't sitting right next to each other, but we were close enough that I had to be mindful of our legs potentially touching. If we had been side-by-side, it would have been easier to avoid his gaze, but our position forced us to look at each other while talking.

A slightly muffled voice followed a deep drag of his cigarette.

"Looks like you had fun yesterday."

He must have been talking about meeting Inwu hyung. I looked up from scanning the cocktail list meaninglessly and stared at him. Just as I expected, we were seated too close for either of us to easily look away.

Even if he mentioned meeting me, Inwu hyung wasn't the type to go around broadcasting the details of our conversation. I didn't know what basis I had for thinking this, but I was sure of it. If it were some trivial chat, fine, but I doubted he would know I had asked him specific questions about Alphas and Omegas.

I hadn't reacted strongly, nor had he said anything particularly funny, yet he suddenly ground out the cigarette butt in the ashtray and let out a short laugh.

"Gay people, honestly."

He muttered it almost to himself.

It was unclear who the "gay people" in his laughter referred to. Judging by the conversations we'd had over hamburgers and beer during the shooting of Old Future, he himself was gay, or at least bi, and Inwu hyung — who had shown no hesitation in expressing interest in me, a man, from the start — couldn't be much different. Because of that impulsive declaration where I'd said, "I'm like men," he categorized me as gay too. There was no need to piece things together; we had already... slept together.

Was that self-deprecation, a repeated evaluation of Inwu hyung as not being a great romantic prospect, or an accusation directed at me? The information gleaned from that brief mutter and subtle smile was too sparse to figure it out.

After smoking the entire cigarette, he shifted slightly toward me, relaxing his posture.

"I heard you initially refused, saying you had a prior engagement, but then you called back and asked to meet."

There was a faintly negative nuance in his tone. I still couldn't tell if Inwu hyung had expressed it that way, or if this was a new interpretation he had layered onto hyung's words.

He didn't look angry or displeased. In fact, he held back a smile by lightly biting his lower lip, then released it and chuckled once more. I couldn't figure out what he found so amusing by himself, as he had been doing all this time.

"Right... People can't all be the same, can they?"

He was talking to himself frequently today. He would toss out a remark directed at me, only to immediately conclude it with his own private monologue. Faced with his stubborn behavior, a rebellious spirit stirred within me for the first time in a long while.

"What do you mean by that..."

It was frustrating. He clearly had something he wanted to say, but unlike his usual self, he just danced around the subject, occasionally bumping into me.

He rolled the cold, metallic lighter in his palm, then looked up at me with a smile.

"It's a compliment. Hmm... it's probably a compliment. You're twenty-two, a grown adult after all, so it would be strange not to know anything in that area, right? I assumed that because you usually seem so demure, you'd be reserved about those things too, but I judged Seo Yeehyeon-ssi unfairly. Actually, being that way is more natural."

There was no hint of sarcasm on his face as he spoke, but it was also true that a shadow, less refreshing than the lightness of his tone, lingered around him.

It was as if I had deliberately used some kind of "technique" to seduce Inwu hyung more effectively. He was steering the conversation.

It was a strange feeling. Misunderstandings were certainly unpleasant, and while that discomfort wasn't entirely absent, it wasn't the only thing there either. There was also a slight, buoyant excitement, as if both body and mind were lifting off.

Were the reactions he was showing now perhaps jealousy?

The thought struck me as absurdly fanciful. It was a thought I'd kept entirely to myself, but my face flushed hot, wanting to scribble over the trace of that thought with a pen. So much so that I almost laughed at myself.

To think my thoughts were leaning toward jealousy. Did I really have such an optimistic side to me?

"That kind... what kind is that?"

In my fluster, I might have unknowingly turned the arrow back on him, spilling out the rebelliousness that had been stirring inside me. Still, I didn't adopt a challenging expression or use that kind of tone. I simply asked a question.

Yet he looked at me as if blindsided by a sudden ambush, his eyebrows twitching and his gaze weighted with intensity.

It was strange that I knew nothing about "that kind," but it wasn't that I was indifferent to "that kind" either. I wanted him to erase those vague boundaries and just get straight to the point.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say."

The silence stretched on. He pulled out a new cigarette, lit it, and seemed to be peering into the very depths of his own mind, searching for an answer to my question. All I had wanted was to see him flustered, just a little.

After a long moment, as if he had finally found his answer, his dry lips moved.

"You're right. I was speaking vaguely. What I want to say is..."

Footsteps approached from the entrance of the partition wall. It was a deliberate sound, meant to let us know he was coming closer so we could prepare and pause the conversation appropriately.

The manager who had guided us brought the liquor himself. Dark amber whiskey in a bluish bottle, several types of crystal glasses that looked elaborately cut but felt sturdy rather than delicate, and a basket of ice were quietly served onto the table.

"Straight for me. And something easy to drink for this one."

The manager, who had poured two drinks into different glasses in different ways according to his order, vanished as silently as if he were a person floating on a cloud, unlike when he had entered the room.

He held and fiddled with the slender glass, smoothly emptied the liquor inside, and then continued the conversation where he had left off.

"What I want to say is... that every human being has an unexpected side to them."

It felt as if the tension drained right out of my shoulders. I strongly felt that he was running away, and I could clearly see my own disappointment in that realization.

I felt unfamiliar with myself for expecting something in this manner.

It was also true that I didn't feel repulsed by him when he sought my attention and asked me to get into bed with him. I had genuinely believed his words that being with him would numb my pain. At that time, if someone else — say, Inwu hyung — had said the same thing to me, I probably would have refused.

But that was all. At least for now.

Though I had never dated, or even had a crush, the combination of wanting someone's attention, wanting to draw that attention, and not minding physical contact — that whole spectrum of feelings wasn't necessarily love. The intimacy that night felt like emergency first aid from him.

To borrow his expression, I wasn't so much of a novice as to not know the difference.

"That day, why did you do it?"

Again, his question came with no prelude or knock. He opened the door and looked around the room first. This was much more his style than beating around the bush.

What was the subject of the "why" he was asking about? As I slowly turned the gears in my head, I brought my own glass of liquor to my lips. I had braced myself for the harsh burn of strong alcohol since it was whiskey, but the unexpectedly smooth swallow made my preparation feel pointless.

"I'm asking why you reacted the way you did to your own painting."

He clarified his question further.

I realized the meeting at the restaurant with Manager Han had only been a preview, or perhaps a light warm-up for him. He hadn't brought me here to probe about my time with Inwu hyung last night, nor to have a drinking buddy on a rainy evening.

"You said you wouldn't ask anything..."

"And that's why I didn't actually ask anything that day."

That was true.

"I'm the one who took care of Seo Yeehyeon-ssi the entire day; don't I deserve that much of an explanation?"

His gaze, fixed directly on me without any sign of backing down, looked ready to bring up even more direct topics.

I felt like he was about to corner me and force me to speak by saying things like, I'm the one who brought Seo Yeehyeon to the boiling point that day and stayed with him until he was completely exhausted and could fall asleep. Remember? Every part of your body I touched and kissed with such care. Even though I didn't even get to finish.

"It wasn't because of the painting... I just suddenly felt unwell..."

"I see. So it wasn't because of the painting..."

He slowly rubbed his chin, nodding as if savoring my words.

"Then it seems the internal obstacle isn't related to wanting to paint again."

"......"

"She told you to just focus on whether or not you want to paint again and think about it slowly. Although Manager Han said she would respect Seo Yeehyeon-ssi's decision, frankly, I won't."

Fiddling with the empty glass, he didn't take his eyes off me. I couldn't believe this was the same person who, that night, had preemptively understood my feelings, telling me not to strain myself making excuses because he wouldn't ask anything. Yet this felt somehow different from being coercive. Perhaps it was a delusion, but I sensed something like anxiety at the edge of his gaze.

"I strongly hope you will paint again."

I hope you will paint.

Though at first glance it sounded like he was expressing a hope or a wish, the intensity in his gaze and the stubbornly set line of his mouth suggested something else entirely: that he would make sure I painted, no matter what.

Whether it was my imagination or the lighting, his pale eyes — which I often felt might shatter and vanish — looked deeper than usual. It was as if a blue flame were burning within the transparency of his eyes, just like the liquor bottle set before him. Having grown accustomed to black eyes, his eyes sometimes seemed utterly inorganic to me. The emotions reflected in his bluish eyes were like a foreign language I couldn't quite grasp.

"Accompany me on the next business trip to Hong Kong."

The conversation had suddenly surged in an unexpected direction. The man who had been with me when I was with Teacher was a facade. He must have planned all along to pull me onto his boat and drive me forward relentlessly.

"After encountering works by artists with diverse nationalities, styles, and thematic concerns at the Art Fair and feeling the energy of the art market, you might receive good stimulation and your perspective could change. It will help you make up your mind."

I recalled Yuni nuna's post I had seen on the Old Future website. The curiosity about that unfamiliar city I felt after reading that article. The excitement for sunlight I had felt for the first time in a long while concerning the future. It was also true that I faintly sensed the scent of that sunshine in his proposal.

But could I really paint again? Was it truly that hopeful? This wasn't a matter of feeling.

"Director... I appreciate what you're saying, but..."

"Suki Kim."

"......"

The boat, which had been about to lose its balance and capsize against the rocks, suddenly stopped. The current ceased, the boat halted with its front end lifted, and the water droplets that had splashed everywhere froze in mid-air. I was immobilized, as if trapped in a photograph.

"Foreigners who found the Korean pronunciation difficult started calling her that, and now 'Suki Kim' has become its own proper noun, almost a nickname. But even though she was born and raised in America as a Korean American, she used her Korean name, Kim Suki, from the very beginning of her career. Well... asking foreigners to pronounce Kim Suki clearly is an unreasonable request, of course."

It was natural that he, the gallery owner, knew the internationally famous artist Suki Kim — or rather, Teacher Suki Kim. Moreover, if he owned the piece titled Alienation, he would likely know that Teacher had been a judge in the contest where that painting became known to the world. He might have even purchased the painting directly from Teacher. It wasn't an impossible scenario. However, the proposal he made immediately afterward was something I absolutely had not anticipated.

He pulled a fresh cigarette from the pack, placed the white stick between his lips, and flipped open his lighter.

"I'll arrange a meeting with Suki Kim."

And then he played his trump card — one I simply couldn't refuse.

Swept away by a dizzying current, the boat carrying me was already drifting downstream at an unstoppable speed.