City of Wind

The wind grew stronger as we neared the lake, but the weather was clear enough to see the sky, which was an unreal shade of blue.

"It's Sunday — I wondered where all the Chicagoans went, but it turns out they all gathered at Navy Pier."

Yuni muttered, pulling her hands out of her leather jacket pockets to tuck her scarf inside so it wouldn't fly away.

It wasn't exactly a crowd, but compared to the relatively quiet downtown area, there were quite a few people around the pier. Families out for a stroll and tourists were particularly clustered in the direction of the amusement rides, like the Ferris wheel and the carousel.

Yuni and I looked for a spot where we could enjoy the scenery of Lake Michigan more peacefully, heading toward a direction that offered a diagonal view of the observation wheel. Wherever we looked, the view seemed wide open and not far away, but as we actually walked, the destination didn't get closer as easily as it looked. We thought it would take two or three minutes, but it took almost ten minutes before we reached the bench we had picked out.

"Alright, let's taste it now."

As soon as we settled onto a backless bench under a coniferous-looking tree, Yuni opened the popcorn with a face full of anticipation. This was the popcorn she had been looking forward to trying, insisting that no matter how busy she was, she had to eat it because it was a Chicago specialty, even before the business trip.

She opened the cheese-flavored and caramel-flavored popcorn bags we had each bought, took a few pieces of the caramel popcorn first, and then immediately made a face.

"Whoa, this is seriously sweet! Is this even safe for humans to eat?"

Intrigued by Yuni's assessment that the sweetness felt like it could melt one's brain, I tried a few pieces myself. Ah... it really was intensely sweet. In my case, I thought my teeth might dissolve before the sweetness even reached my brain.

"Hurry up and eat the cheese flavor, the cheese flavor."

Yuni frantically shoved the cheese popcorn into my mouth as if performing emergency first aid, and a few pieces missed their target, tumbling down inside my jacket or between my legs. We both burst out laughing.

After laughing for quite a while over something so trivial, we alternated reaching into the cheese and caramel bags while chatting about trivial things. Yuni talked about the strange people she'd met during this business trip, and I talked about the artwork I'd encountered at galleries and museums.

"It really is vast, though. You can't even tell how vast it is because you can't see the end. Not many people think of the sea as being wide, do they?"

Looking out at Lake Michigan before us, Yuni spoke. As she exhaled a breath that seemed deep enough to lift her shoulders, it sounded less like a deep breath and more like a sigh.

Yuni was right. The limitless blue panorama stretching before me, defined only by the horizon, resembled the ocean in that applying the concept of "vastness" felt awkward. Just as no one talks about the vastness of the sky, the sea was the same.

When I was at my grandfather's house, the ocean was a part of my daily life. Just as the sky and the land are taken for granted by those who live inland.

The ocean was always present — in the wind, in the salty scent mixed with that wind, in the corrosive power that rapidly rusted every gate and car, and in the blue and white shimmer visible whenever I turned my head.

And my father was still there.

Did my father feel abandoned by me, just as I had felt abandoned by him?

I recall my father's silence the night I left that house with Yeehan hyung — a silence that didn't try to hold me back, as if he saw me as nothing more than a part of the darkness.

Perhaps my father didn't feel the same way I did.

In his world, I had already been excluded — no, everything had been excluded — so even if the world, rather than I, had turned its back on him, he wouldn't have needed to feel a sense of loss or abandonment.

Thanks to his persuasion and goodwill, I started painting again, traveled to unexpected cities like Hong Kong and Chicago to find inspiration, and even though I began to have stories I wanted to paint, as he predicted, and seemed to overcome something by confiding my past to him... in reality, it was like riding a bicycle where he held the seat from behind, wearing protective gear within the safe boundaries of his affection. The actual reality I left behind in that other world remained completely unchanged.

Perhaps that very fact was the source of the anxiety he felt because of me.

The part of me that I wasn't fully revealing to him — in other words, the part of myself I was turning away from — was still right there, in the place where my father was.

The gentle smile I offered him in his embrace last night, the whispered "I love you" we shared, all the affectionate words, and the happiness of sleeping and waking in his arms — these were not a present that the two of us had built together through mutual effort.

I knew it. Just as I had done with my father's silence, I had only pretended not to know.

He had told me Chicago would be colder than Seoul, and even this jacket I was wearing was something he had prepared for me before the trip. No, everything currently on my body, down to the sunglasses blocking the sun and the single piece of underwear, was a gift from him. In the closet of my Seoul studio hung striped T-shirts by a brand even Picasso was said to favor, organized by design and color.

The light I created myself was still nowhere to be found. This wasn't merely about financial matters. What he gave me wasn't just clothes, a place to stay, or luxurious travels. I relied on the light he cast to see my own hands, to see what lay ahead and around me, and I clung to that light to grasp at something substantial.

I dropped my gaze to the coffee in my hand, as if fleeing from the sight before me that reminded me of the sea. Water droplets beaded all over the surface of the iced coffee cup. It was the coffee I bought at the Starbucks where I had stopped by for Inwu's gift. By now, more than half the ice had melted.

"Yesterday... our dinner reservation was canceled, so I went out to meet Reed instead."

"......"

Snapping out of my thoughts, I looked back at Yuni. Her face was still turned toward Lake Michigan. But I couldn't tell what those sharp, dark eyes behind her sunglasses were actually seeing.

"I got a message on social media. He said he was flying back to Paris the next day and asked if I wanted to grab a drink."

Yuni, who had been munching on popcorn, dusted the crumbs off her hands and checked her wristwatch. "He should be on the plane by now," she murmured indifferently.

"I was in a gloomy mood, so I agreed to meet him, but honestly, I suspected it wasn't just about grabbing a drink. I got a feeling when we talked for quite a while at the party."

"......"

I thought I knew what Yuni was trying to say, too. But instead of interrupting, I waited silently for her to continue.

"Do you remember that organization Reed runs? The one Jane and Conner sponsor?"

"Yes."

"He asked if I wanted to work with them."

"......"

Even though I expected what she was going to say, I was speechless. As we nibbled away, the popcorn bag lightened, and I grabbed it to keep the wind from blowing it away, swallowing dryly.

"Ah... um... what did you tell him, Yuni?"

"I haven't answered yet. I asked for some time."

Yuni's face turned toward me. I couldn't see her eyes, but I knew she was frowning.

"But I wasn't the only one who got the offer."

"......"

The organization "The Hands," which Reed established by designing the system himself and personally recruiting sponsors, was an arts foundation that selected emerging artists struggling to create due to financial constraints — those whose vision aligned with the foundation's — and provided them with accommodation, materials, and studio space for a set period, even handling the management of exhibiting and selling their work.

According to Yuni, the headquarters of "The Hands" — which served as both the artists' residence and the organization's office and exhibition space, in a small Parisian apartment — was where Reed wanted to recommend me as the new resident for an available studio.

"The Hands," which was funded not only by Jane and Conner but also by several art patrons and corporations, did not charge a commission on art sales, unlike typical galleries or dealers; all profits earned while under the organization belonged entirely to the artist. Even so, since all the artists were emerging talents, the amounts weren't substantial, but it went without saying that this was incredibly helpful in establishing themselves as painters.

Galleries usually charged commissions ranging from 30 to 50 percent of the artwork's price. If the commission was 30 percent, that was considered quite low. Therefore, if the commission wasn't factored into the sale price, it wasn't just the artist who benefited. More people, beyond the wealthy few collectors, could have the opportunity to acquire good art at a "reasonable price."

That was the artistic direction "The Hands" pursued, and I couldn't deny that I agreed with their philosophy and found it appealing.

"...What do you think?"

Yuni leaned forward slightly, glancing at me tentatively, and asked carefully.

Fiddling with the coffee cup, its color now much lighter as the ice had nearly melted, I lightly moistened my lower lip with my tongue. I felt thirsty, and though I held coffee, I had no desire to drink it.

"I'm very happy about the offer... and grateful, but..."

I shook my head at Yuni. She moved closer to sit beside me and took off the sunglasses she was holding.

"They want to email me some information about the organization's nature, operating system, and facilities. It shouldn't hurt just to receive it and look it over first. They haven't told me yet... but it's okay if I give them your email address, right?"

"Even if I receive the materials... my opinion won't change."

Yuni's clear eyes, which had made such a strong impression on me from our first meeting, stared at me intently. Her short black hair was blowing messily toward her face in the strong wind, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Is that because of the Director?"

"......"

"You and the Director... are dating... right?"

Perhaps sensing how strange her question was, Yuni let out a short laugh even before hearing my answer.

"I truly never imagined I'd end up asking you a question like this, considering the Director."

Yuni laughed, resting her legs on the bench with her knees up, her arms crossed over them. She shook her head while holding the sunglasses to her lips, explaining the reason for her amusement.

"No. The issue isn't that it's you. There was absolutely no information about who the Director's romantic partner was, or even if he was dating anyone. But he is certainly not the type to play games with someone like you. You are definitely dating, aren't you?"

"......Yes."

Back when Juhan warned me to stop if I liked him, saying I wouldn't get what I wanted. Even then, I had a certain level of certainty about the relationship between him and me. Back then, it was such a cautious stage that only the two of us could be included, so I couldn't tell Juhan that we liked each other, or that I wasn't just one-sidedly crushing on him.

But now... I was admitting to Yuni that we were in a "definitely dating" relationship. Although I hesitated a little before answering, it wasn't because I lacked certainty.

At my answer, she smiled faintly and reached out, tapping the lens of the sunglasses I was wearing.

"These are the exact same ones as the Director's. To think that man would buy you the exact same pair just to assert ownership."

She laughed, sounding teasing and disbelieving, then took a sip or two of the coffee she had set down next to the popcorn.

"I did think he was particularly fond of you, but he's the type who carefully looks after all his affiliated artists anyway, and you're not the kind of person anyone would dislike. I just figured he doted on you because you were young and endearing, and then you became one of his artists, so of course he'd be fond of you. Even if he acted rudely at first, as if you two would never see each other again, he's not the type to pretend not to notice the other person's good qualities as time goes on."

That was exactly how he was. He might not have been polite, but he wasn't one to arbitrarily set expectations for someone only to be disappointed. He clearly recognized and acknowledged strengths, and he was also someone who delicately looked after the needs of those around him.

It was hard to view his actions — providing Yuni and Juhan with an officetel, arranging English tutoring, and creating a comfortable environment for business trips — as mere consideration from a boss.

It was just that I had never encountered that type of person before; thinking back now, he wasn't a cold-blooded person who wouldn't bat an eye at someone suffering from hyperventilation. Even if it hadn't been me, he was the kind of person who would have shown basic kindness, like administering first aid and letting someone rest in a comfortable place. Though he certainly wasn't the type to caress someone and make them climax just to calm them down and get them to sleep after they were suffering from hyperventilation.

After exchanging a small laugh with Yuni while facing each other, I stirred the ice in my cup with a straw and recalled this morning.

Since he was scheduled to attend Chloe Kent's luncheon with Shushu, Yuni and I had agreed to go sightseeing alone today — our last day in Chicago — and I had gotten up first to start getting ready.

To avoid waking him, I showered in the master bedroom's bathroom and quietly finished getting ready. Then, as I sat beside him, looking down at him sleeping with a sense of wonder, just as I was about to get off the bed, he grabbed my wrist.

"Are you just going to look at me and leave without even giving me a kiss?"

Although he said that, he seemed so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. Given the lack of sleep and accumulated fatigue from Seoul, it was understandable. I turned back to him, hugged him, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and lips.

Only after asking if I had taken my medicine and hearing my answer did he release my wrist and bury his face back into the pillow. As I was about to leave the room, he apologized once more, mumbling against my back that he was sorry for not keeping his promise.

However, I really didn't care about sightseeing. I was worried because it seemed like all the difficult things that had been plaguing him had hit him at once since the business trip. Of course, most of those problems had already been pressuring him back in Seoul; I just hadn't known about them.

"Then... do you know why the Director is suddenly rushing the New York branch story so much? Haven't you heard anything?"

Yuni, who had been staring silently out at Lake Michigan, lost in her own thoughts just like me, asked in a low voice. I shook my head.

"Even if you knew something, asking you to reveal what he told you because you're his lover would be out of line."

Yuni glanced over at me, smiled, and then immediately turned her gaze back toward the lake, whose vastness was beyond measure, making it seem infinite to our eyes.

"When I left home, I was completely fed up. I was arrogant, thinking that because I was smart, resourceful, and good at everything, I could build my life exactly as I wanted without relying on my parents' financial support by following the path they set out. In reality, though, I was just an inexperienced high school graduate. I got an entry-level job at some gallery, earning next to nothing, basically being exploited for labor. Since there was a line of people willing to work for even less money, anyone who wanted to build a career had no choice but to endure that period. It turned out that being smart, resourceful, and good at everything... wasn't very important to those people. After all, those aren't the virtues required of a junior. It wasn't just me; that's how it is for everyone starting out in this field, even those who graduated with the right degree from a relevant major. Being called a gallerist sounds impressive, but as you know from working in the field, the actual day-to-day work is mostly just handling miscellaneous paperwork."

Yuni gave a bitter laugh and took a few sips of her coffee.

"That's when I met the Director. Even though the work wasn't much different from what I did at the previous gallery... meeting someone who recognized and appreciated my effort to do better made all the difference. I realized that even though I act like I know everything, I'm still just a kid who needs the recognition and praise of adults like Director Liu or Manager Han to grow better."

"......"

"The Director and Manager Han are like second parents to me and Kwon Juhan... I think."

Having watched them from the sidelines, I understood exactly what she meant, but I couldn't bring myself to say that I knew.

That day, after the afterparty, Yuni apologized in the elevator for confusing the personal and professional with him, but she, he, and I all knew that their relationship, centered around Phantom, wasn't clearly separated into public and private spheres.

"Manager Han is one thing, but if you put it that way, the Director would be annoyed and ask why he's your parent."

I could so clearly picture the tone and expression he would use that I laughed along as I looked at Yuni.

"Please keep Reed's proposal a secret from the Director and Manager Han for a while. I think I need some time to think about it quietly on my own. You should discuss it with the Director, too. Especially if the two of you... are in a serious relationship."

My feelings weren't going to change. So, I just smiled ambiguously without answering.

"You're going to tell Juhan... right?"

Yuni reached out, ruffled my hair, and laughed. Her laughter, too, was unclear.

"Let's go. It's too windy. What if the Director docks my travel bonus because you caught a cold?"

Yuni put her sunglasses back on and brushed herself off. She tossed the popcorn, which she had been craving so much, into the trash can without a second thought, even though she hadn't even finished half of it, as they left Navy Pier.

Shushu and Yuni were heading to Seoul, while he and I were going to Boston.

The next day, we left Chicago — the Windy City, the city of wind that blows everything away and mixes it all up — heading in different directions.