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 themselves 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 and 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'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 he called a server and finished 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 hyung specific questions about Alphas and Omegas.

I hadn't reacted, 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" included in his laughter were. 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, another man, from the start — couldn't be much different. My own impulsive declaration, "I'm gay," had put me in that category as far as he was concerned, too. There was no need to piece together the evidence; we had already... slept together.

Was it self-deprecation, another assessment of Inwu hyung, whom he'd said wasn't a particularly good man to date, or criticism directed at me? His brief mutter and subtle smile gave me too little to go on.

After finishing his cigarette, he turned slightly toward me and relaxed his posture.

"I heard you initially turned him down because you had a prior engagement, then called back and asked to meet."

There was a faintly negative note in his voice. I still couldn't tell whether Inwu hyung had described it that way, or whether he had put his own interpretation on hyung's words.

He didn't look angry or displeased. If anything, he was suppressing a smile by lightly biting his lower lip. He released it and gave another short laugh. I couldn't figure out what he'd been finding so amusing all this time.

"Right... People aren't always what they seem."

He was talking to himself a lot today. He would direct a remark at me, then draw his own conclusion in a mutter to himself. The way he kept being contrary stirred a rebelliousness in me that I hadn't felt in a long time.

"What do you mean...?"

He seemed to have something he wanted to say, but, unlike his usual self, he kept circling the subject and prodding me. It was frustrating.

Rolling the cold metal lighter in his hand, he looked up at me and smiled.

"It's a compliment. Hmm... probably a compliment. You're twenty-two — an adult. It would be strange to be completely clueless about that sort of thing, wouldn't it? Just because you're usually so quiet doesn't mean you're indifferent to that sort of thing, either. I let my assumptions get the better of me and treated you as an innocent, Seo Yeehyeon-ssi. Actually, that much is only natural."

There was no hint of sarcasm on his face that he was deliberately mocking me. Still, something shadowed his expression, at odds with the lightness of his tone.

He was steering the conversation as though I had deliberately used some kind of "technique" to make certain of seducing Inwu hyung.

It was a strange feeling. Being misunderstood was certainly unpleasant, and that discomfort was there, but it wasn't all I felt. There was also a faint excitement, as though both my body and mind had become a little lighter.

Could his reaction be jealousy?

Now that I'd thought it, it seemed like an absurd fantasy. Nobody else could know what had crossed my mind, yet my face grew hot enough that I wanted to scribble out every trace of the thought. So much so that I almost laughed at myself.

To think I'd interpreted it as jealousy. Did I really have such an optimistic side?

"'That sort of thing'... what exactly do you mean?"

In my embarrassment, perhaps I'd turned the arrow back on him without thinking, letting loose the rebelliousness that had been stirring inside me. Still, I hadn't put on a defiant expression or spoken in a challenging tone. I had simply asked a question.

Even so, his eyebrows twitched as though I'd caught him in an unexpected ambush, and his gaze grew heavier as he looked at me.

It would be strange to know nothing about "that sort of thing." Being quiet didn't mean being indifferent to "that sort of thing." I wanted him to put aside those vague terms and get to the point.

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

A long silence followed. He took out another cigarette and lit it, seeming to search the depths of his own mind for an answer to my question. All I'd wanted was to see him a little flustered.

After a long moment, perhaps having found an answer, he parted his dry lips.

"You're right. I was being vague. What I want to say is..."

Footsteps approached from the entrance to the partitioned space. The sound was deliberate, announcing someone's approach so we could prepare and pause our conversation.

The manager who had shown us in brought the drinks personally. A bluish bottle of dark amber whiskey, several ornately cut crystal glasses that looked sturdy rather than delicate, and a basket of ice were quietly placed on the table.

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

The manager served two drinks in different glasses, each prepared according to his instructions, then disappeared without a sound, as though moving on a cloud — unlike the deliberately audible approach.

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

"What I want to say is... everyone has an unexpected side."

The tension seemed to drain from my shoulders. I had the distinct feeling that he was retreating, and I could clearly recognize my disappointment.

This side of myself, expecting something from him like this, felt unfamiliar.

It was true that I wanted his attention, and that I hadn't felt any aversion when he climbed onto the bed and asked me to sleep with him. I had genuinely believed him when he said that being with him would numb my pain. If someone else had said the same thing to me then — Inwu hyung, for example — I probably would have refused.

But that was all. At least for now.

Though I'd never been in a relationship, or even had a crush, being interested in someone, wanting their attention, and not minding physical contact... those feelings together didn't necessarily amount to love. Just as sleeping together that night had been a form of first aid for him.

To borrow his expression, I wasn't so much of an "innocent" that I couldn't understand that.

"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?"

He stared straight at me without hesitation, as though he might bring up something even more intimate at any moment.

I could almost imagine him saying, I was the one who got Seo Yeehyeon so worked up that night, then made sure you could fall asleep, completely spent. Remember? How carefully I touched and kissed every part of your body. Even though I didn't even get to come. It felt as though he might bring all that up to corner me until I had no choice but to answer.

"It wasn't because of the painting... I really did just suddenly feel unwell..."

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

He slowly rubbed beneath his chin and nodded, as though savoring my words.

"Then there's nothing within you preventing you from painting again."

"......"

"She asked you to take your time and focus only on whether you want to paint again. Manager Han spoke as though she would leave the decision to Seo Yeehyeon-ssi. But frankly, I won't."

He fiddled with the empty glass without taking his eyes off me. I could hardly believe he was the same person who had anticipated my feelings that night, telling me he wouldn't ask anything, so I needn't struggle to explain myself. Yet there was something about this that felt different from coercion. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I sensed a hint of anxiety at the edges 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.

I didn't know whether it was my imagination or the lighting, but his pale eyes, which seemed as though they might shatter and disappear at any moment, looked darker than usual. A blue flame seemed to burn within their transparency, like the bottle of liquor in front of him. To someone accustomed to dark eyes, his sometimes had something almost mineral about them. The emotions in those bluish eyes were still a foreign language to me — almost within reach, yet never quite grasped.

"Come with me on this business trip to Hong Kong."

The conversation was gathering speed in an unexpected direction. The version of him I'd seen when Teacher was with us had been an act. He must have intended all along to put me in a boat and drive me onward without giving me a moment to catch my breath.

"At the art fair, you'll see work by artists from different countries, with different styles and themes they explore. Seeing those works and feeling the energy of the art market might inspire you and help you see things a little differently. It'll help you make up your mind."

I remembered Yuni nuna's post on the Old Future website. The curiosity about that unfamiliar city I'd felt after reading it. The sunlit excitement of looking toward the future, something I hadn't felt in so long. It was true that his proposal carried a faint scent of that same sunshine.

But could I really paint again? Was there truly that much reason for hope? This wasn't simply a matter of how I felt.

"Director... I'm truly grateful for your offer, but..."

"Suki Kim."

"......"

The boat, which had seemed about to lose its balance, strike a rock, and capsize, stopped. The current stopped. The boat hung motionless with its bow raised, and the droplets that had scattered in every direction froze in midair. I couldn't move, as though fixed in a photograph.

"Foreigners who had trouble pronouncing her Korean name started calling her 'Suki Kim,' and eventually it stuck as a single name, almost a nickname. But although she's Korean American, born and raised in the States, she used her Korean name, Kim Sukhee, from the beginning of her career. Well... asking foreigners to pronounce Kim Sukhee clearly is a bit much, of course."

It was only natural that, as a gallery owner, he would know the internationally renowned painter Suki Kim — or rather, Ms. Suki Kim. And if he owned Alienation, he probably also knew that Ms. Suki Kim had been a judge in the contest that first brought the painting to public attention. Perhaps he'd even bought it directly from her. It wasn't impossible. But what he proposed next was something I hadn't anticipated at all.

He took another cigarette from the pack, placed the white stick between his lips, and flipped open his lighter.

"I'll arrange for you to meet Suki Kim."

Then he laid down a tempting card I couldn't possibly refuse.

Caught in the dizzying current, the boat carrying me was already being swept downstream too fast for me to turn back.