D.D.

It took about two hours to slowly tour Harvard University. Under a clear mid-September autumn sky, we strolled leisurely through the campus, which felt more like a rural village than a university.

There were, of course, many people who looked like students, but residents out for exercise or a walk were not uncommon either. The layout didn't sharply divide the university from the surrounding neighborhood with walls or fences, which made it feel surprisingly community-friendly — contrary to the imposing, austere image that a world-renowned institution's name might suggest.

After having breakfast with Marcus and Ellen, we left their house around eleven, enjoyed Edward Hopper's Room in Brooklyn and other works in the collection at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and then took the number 1 bus across the Charles River to Harvard.

That's right. We took the bus together. He had deliberately arranged not to have a car waiting in Boston so our trip would feel a little more like something familiar to me.

Yesterday, when we traveled from Chicago to Boston, we took a chartered plane.

Travel by bus and chartered plane.

He explained that domestic flights in the U.S. often lack proper business-class seating, let alone first class, which is why he usually charters a plane when traveling within the country. He tried to reassure me by saying that chartering in the U.S. was quite common — like rental car companies stationed at every airport, in his words — and wasn't "as expensive as people think." His reasoning was that he would have chartered a plane even without me, and since the cost was the same whether there was one passenger or two within the standard limit, it wasn't an extra expense on my account. Still, I couldn't quite feel comfortable with the situation.

Upon arriving at the airport, we took a taxi straight to the neighborhood called Beacon Hill. That was where he had lived while being homeschooled from age thirteen to fifteen — the home of the person who had guided him toward becoming the near-perfect Golden Alpha he was today.

Marcus, a world authority on pheromones and Alpha pheromones in particular, had spent many years researching and teaching at a university in Boston. He and his wife, Ellen, had been living in that house for thirty years.

Marcus and Ellen were kind and warm — as much as I had imagined, and then more. Their welcome wasn't courtesy or social obligation; it was genuine. The words that might have carried resentment for years of absence instead spoke of their joy at seeing his face again after so long.

They extended the same warmth to me, introduced as his partner. Just as Jane, who had heard him describe me as "my precious person," had offered me a tender smile, as if I were her son.

Our accommodations in Boston weren't a suite at a five-star hotel, but Marcus and Ellen's house — the room at the very end of the second floor, overlooking the alley in front, preserved exactly as it had been when he was a teenage boy.

Yesterday we arrived in the afternoon, enjoyed a meal Marcus and Ellen had prepared for us with good wine, and the evening passed in lively conversation. Today, we had the time until dinner to go sightseeing together. It was the only day on this entire trip to America allotted for just the two of us.

Perhaps because he wasn't wearing the tailored suits or smart casual outfits he usually favored in Seoul, or perhaps because he wasn't behind the wheel of a luxury sedan or sitting in the backseat, he looked much younger than usual — and even a little... casual, almost careless in a way that suited him.

Black pants, black shoes, a black t-shirt, a leather jacket, hands tucked into his back pockets or jacket pockets — or his arm slung over my shoulder. Even his gait and expression were slightly different from usual.

While telling me the legend that touching the left foot of the John Harvard statue would ensure one's descendants got into Harvard, he reached out and touched the worn, shiny foot, then pressed his lips close to my ear and made a mischievous joke: "When we get back to Seoul, I suppose I'll have to start working hard on making descendants who can get into Harvard first."

In front of the statue, he and I took our second selfie together. We were still awkward in the photo. Even he — usually so comfortable in front of a lens pointed his way — seemed thoroughly unaccustomed to selfie mode. Looking at the photo, he ruffled my hair and let out a soft laugh.

After the awkward commemorative photo concluded the tour, we stopped by the souvenir shop to buy gifts. Watching his profile as he complained, with that air of faint annoyance, that Boston had no particular specialty worth buying — just like Chicago — so we should grab a few Harvard T-shirts and be done with it, I smiled quietly to myself. If he were truly that bothered, he could have just left without buying anything.

The store, marked with a sign reading "COOP," was enormous. It seemed as if every conceivable everyday item had been fitted with a Harvard logo. He looked uninterested, as though he intended only to fulfill his gift-buying obligation and leave immediately, yet in the clothing section he urged me to try on a gray hoodie with "HARVARD" embroidered across it in brick red.

"Hmm... how does it look?"

I asked him after stepping out of the fitting room, though it was a completely unremarkable piece — neutral enough to suit anyone, with nothing particular to say about it either way.

He tilted his head toward his shoulder, looked at me for a moment, then rolled his eyes, made a playful face, sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. Unable to understand his reaction, I stood there quietly. He walked over, wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, pulled me close, and pressed his forehead against mine.

"People are going to think I'm dating a minor."

"It's not that bad..."

"It is that bad."

He muttered, lowering his voice and glancing around. His expression was serious, but this was how he joked.

I went back into the fitting room and changed. When I came out he took the hoodie from me and, instead of returning it to its spot, dropped it into the shopping basket.

Noticing my puzzled look, he picked up one of the many mugs crowding a three-tiered display stand, turned it over in his hands, and explained.

"I wasn't saying don't wear it — or that we weren't buying it. I said you look young. I didn't say it doesn't suit you. That's a different thing entirely."

I shook my head and laughed. He looked over at me with a faint smile, then went back to repeatedly attaching and detaching a Harvard magnet from a metal pillar.

"How about getting something for Yeehan and Morae too?"

"We already bought a T-shirt, mugs, notebooks... and pencils," I said, pointing to the already overflowing basket he was carrying.

"No, Bali."

"......"

My gaze dropped without meaning to. I was on this trip because of his generosity and consideration, and it wasn't as though I felt no guilt or burden alongside the gratitude. Even setting me aside, he was generous to the people around him — especially those younger than himself — but what he gave me far surpassed ordinary generosity, favor, or kindness. Even accounting for the fact that we were together.

He had even prepared a separate allowance for me before we left Seoul, for personal use on the trip. With it I'd bought popcorn and coffee for nuna, eaten a muffin at a café, paid museum entrance fees, and bought a tumbler for Inwu hyung. I could have used it for gifts for Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung too, but it was still his money at the end of the day. I was trying to spend it carefully, planning to return whatever was left over.

"Seo Yeehyeon, aren't we dating?"

He'd probably seen right through the meaning of my silence. He stuck the magnet against the metal pillar like a dart and turned to look at me. Then he walked over to where I stood holding the edge of the mug display and draped an arm over my shoulder.

"It's not just dating... we said we love each other. We've even talked about marriage."

He continued, bumping his temple lightly against the side of my head.

"Ah — though I was the one who got turned down when I brought up marriage."

I laughed. He lowered his head, brought his lips close to my ear, and dropped his voice.

"That measly hundred million won — you'll clear it in no time."

"......"

"And then you'll be free of me."

He slipped his arm from my shoulder and walked ahead, stopping in front of a wall hung with rows of keychains bearing tiny animal character plushies.

"And even before you clear the hundred million — if you go to New York, you could get a part-time job."

"......Is that really okay?"

I moved up close to him and grabbed his right hand as I asked. He turned his head and looked down at me, his gaze tracing every corner of my face. Only then did I realize my eyes were bright and my lips were smiling. He glanced down at the hand I was holding without quite meaning to, then rubbed a little bear keychain against my nose.

"Your reaction to this is better than when I brought up marriage, which is unsettling."

"......"

He laughed, stepped back, and hung the keychain in its place.

"You asked if it's okay, but this isn't a question of whether I permit it or not. Mr. Lim isn't the type of person to send someone all the way to New York to tail you or drag you off somewhere. It won't be dangerous for you to work there."

I tried briefly to recall if I had told him that Morae nuna's father was called "Mr. Lim," but I thought that if it were him, he would have looked into a few more things to be certain.

After finishing our purchases — including gifts for Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung — we left the store and took the bus back across the Charles River. There was still time before the seven o'clock dinner with Marcus and Ellen, and though it wasn't much, we decided to spend every minute of it just the two of us.

"Is this too shabby?"

He asked, leaning his arm on the table.

"I like it. It feels like the America I've seen in movies."

I answered, looking around the pub while holding a single-page menu — densely packed with text on paper roughly the size of a small sheet — in my hands.

The pub, on the second floor of a corner building in downtown Boston, had none of the refined or upscale atmosphere of the other restaurants and bars he'd taken me to. He had suggested we stop by, saying that since we were in America, we should try the most genuinely American pub we could find. It was worn and unpretentious, but comfortable for it, and I felt more keenly aware of being in America here than I had visiting the art museum or gallery.

Despite falling in that awkward stretch between lunch and dinner, the pub was bustling, and dim despite the windows. There was a comfortable-looking semicircular booth near the window, but since there were only two of us and we weren't planning to stay long, we settled at a standing table against the right wall near the entrance.

To keep our appetites for dinner, we ordered two beers and onion rings. The food arrived quickly.

"Since we were talking about New York earlier..."

After taking his first sip of beer, he leaned forward and rested his upper body on the table, which came up to roughly his navel.

"It looks like things can move faster than expected."

He explained that the lunch with Chloe Kent had progressed much further than anticipated. H&W New York had expressed strong interest in an exhibition by the artist he'd mentioned to Chloe at the party, and he had essentially reached an agreement to loan works from his and his father's collection at favorable terms.

"And of course, in return, the opening of Phantom's New York branch will proceed smoothly."

After a few more sips of beer, he leaned in closer.

"If we prepare quickly, it looks like we could open in time for next spring."

He went on to say that among the contacts Chloe had introduced him to were several suitable partners who could provide real, practical assistance with the branch opening — which would save them a considerable amount of time.

It was already past the middle of September. Even if I were a naive child with no understanding of the world, I could see that opening a gallery in a city like New York wasn't a simple matter. I also knew there were limits to handling something like that from a distant place like Seoul, through emails and video calls and phone calls alone. And he didn't want to hire someone to manage it in his place. To borrow a phrase Yuni nuna had once used — for him, Phantom wasn't a matter of survival. It was a matter of self-affirmation.

"Which means I'll probably need to be in New York a bit sooner than expected..."

He said it with a hesitant expression, then straightened up and drank his beer. He glanced at me where I stood silently turning the neck of the beer bottle between my fingers, then adjusted his posture and placed both hands on either side of the round table.

"I'm not planning to move there permanently right away — but for the preparation, staying there would be far more efficient than going back and forth."

"......"

"Think of it as a slightly longer trip... I'd like you to come with me. We can visit overflowing museums and galleries. You can work part-time, paint... You can decide whether to move there permanently after the gallery is up and running."

His uncertain gaze lingered on my face.

"By when... roughly..."

He pressed his forehead with his long middle finger as though applying pressure and answered.

"As soon as I get back to Seoul I'll need to speak with Manager Han, but if everything wraps up as expected, I'm planning to go to New York within two weeks. I already have an apartment there, and since I only need to pack my personal things, moving itself won't be too much of an ordeal."

I remembered nuna mentioning that he owned two expensive properties in Hong Kong alone, two in Seoul that I knew of, plus apartments in South Kensington in London and the Upper East Side in New York.

He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for his cigarettes, muttered a quiet curse, and put them back. The pub was non-smoking. Instead, I watched him tilt back his beer and drain it quickly, the way a person drinks when they're thirsty, and finished my own as well.

If Phantom wasn't a matter of livelihood for him but a means of self-affirmation, why was he suddenly rushing the New York branch opening, making such a sharp break from his previous approach? I needed to understand that. Especially if I was going to go to New York with him — it was something I absolutely needed to clarify.

I edged closer to him along the wall and bit my lip several times before speaking.

"I'm already receiving so much from Director... Kun... but I really hope that because of me, Awi hasn't had to sacrifice anything important... or change who he is."

His calm gaze rested on me, unmoved by the growing noise around us.

"I... have enough already. I lack nothing. So... please don't push yourself for my sake, or sacrifice anything..."

I looked down at the beer bottle in my hands, then raised my face again. His eyes were the same as before — like the sea on a windless day, peacefully reflecting the light.

"Maybe I'm overthinking this..."

"......"

"...Is rushing the New York branch opening perhaps... because of me?"

He held my gaze, then leaned back against the wall and drew closer. In the dim corner where the light barely reached, we ended up standing side by side against the wall, looking out over the bar. I turned my body slightly toward him. He turned slightly toward me.

Resting the back of his head against the wall, he reached out his right arm and swept my long hair back, tucking it behind my ear. A group somewhere in the pub erupted in loud cheers and laughter — they seemed to be in the middle of a bet. But I couldn't take my eyes off his face.

"I have no memory of ever showing kindness to anyone. So how did I end up meeting someone like you?"

I couldn't tell from his expression or tone whether he was twisting the situation or speaking sincerely. But even if the words were pointed, I could see that their edge was aimed at himself, not at me.

I watched his profile as he slowly dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek, pulled away from the wall, and drank his beer — then I spoke, heavily.

"Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung both rely on you and respect you — as a senior, as someone they look up to. And... they think of you as someone they owe a great debt to."

"......"

"You probably already know that."

A belated anxiety crept over me — that I might have overstepped by speaking about their relationship, one that had existed long before I came along. My gaze dropped to my hands, which were fidgeting with the beer bottle.

He leaned his crossed arms on the table and stared out blankly at the room, then roughly swept his hair back with one hand.

"Whatever I've done for other people, whatever I've given — it was all shallow kindness that operated within limits where my own life stayed untouched. That's how I've always lived... You're the only person for whom I could tear down every boundary, give anything without limit."

His eyes came back to me. They were no longer calm — there were waves moving in them now.

He pushed himself upright from the table, reached out, and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in. The strength in his hand was gentle, but the lips that found mine were passionate. During the time we'd spent wandering around Boston today we had held hands, embraced, and even kissed, but this was different from the brief kiss we'd shared coming down the museum steps. This was a real kiss — lips pressing, inner walls rubbing together.

"It's fine. They'll just think we're an Alpha and Omega couple."

Sensing my tension about the people around us, he whispered quickly, his forehead still against mine.

"Or they can think whatever else they want."

He added, and pressed his lips to mine again. He didn't use his tongue, but it was a deep kiss — his whole mouth working to lick upward, grind flesh together, shift angles as they overlapped.

I don't know how he interpreted my tension, but it wasn't that I lacked the boldness for this kind of contact in a place like this — it was more that I simply didn't care what anyone thought of us.

With a wet sound of friction our lips parted, and the hand that had been cupping the back of my neck slowly slid down my shoulder and upper arm. Finally he lingered a moment, his fingertips grazing my skin, before letting go. He worked his lips — the ones that had just been on mine — and tapped the tabletop with his index finger.

"But no matter how much I've felt that way... it seems like there's been nothing for me to sacrifice for you."

"......"

"Money, time, affection. If you pour those kinds of things into someone and no loss comes of it — people don't call that a sacrifice, do they?"

I couldn't say anything as he smiled his brief, bitter smile and drank his beer. If I didn't consider the time I spent with him, or the affection I gave him, a sacrifice — then I had no ground to insist that what he gave me was one either.

And the money.

If the amounts he spent on me had no impact on his finances whatsoever... then regardless of how large those figures felt to me, it was true that they weren't a sacrifice on his part. At the very least, I had no basis to argue against his belief that they weren't.

He had been holding a deliberate cynical distance, and now he went quiet and exhaled a heavy breath. Then, one hand still around the neck of his beer bottle on the table, he looked at me.

"Whatever I give you, whatever I do — you don't have to worry about me or feel sorry. In fact, you don't even need to thank me. Because I'm not sacrificing anything."

He slid his long, straight fingers down the side of the bottle. His gaze followed his hand downward, and the delicate shadow of his lashes fell across his cheek.

"In Chicago, I told you that you had plenty of time to think things over at your own pace. But the truth is, I never had any intention of going to New York without you — and even when it seemed like you were being included in the decision, the real motive behind it was selfish and calculating."

He laughed, a sound like the click of his tongue, then released the bottle and looked at me directly.

"So, Seo Yeehyeon-ssi."

"......"

"You will come to New York with me. That's the only answer I want."

His eyes held certainty and confidence — but beneath that, a plea so fierce it nearly resembled desperation.

I, for my part, had no real attachment to life in Korea or Seoul. My work wasn't there, and neither was anything I'd built. Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung had already left. If there was anything precious to name, it was only the few relationships tied to Phantom.

If his home was to shift to another city, and he wanted me with him, I had no intention of refusing and staying behind in Seoul. I was only worried about the motive — why he was abandoning his principles and rushing the New York opening, just as Yuni nuna had said.

I vaguely remembered nuna telling me to discuss Reed's proposal with him, but that had never been part of my thinking. If he was going to New York, there was even less reason for me to stubbornly go to Paris — away from the person who understood my paintings most deeply.

I looked into the depths of his eyes and slowly nodded. He smiled with his lips alone, without showing his teeth.

He wrapped his arm around the back of my neck as if cradling my head, swept my bangs back, and pressed his lips to my forehead. Then he kissed my eyelids, my cheeks, and finally my mouth. Ignoring the awkwardness and embarrassment of letting others see us like this, I closed my eyes and responded to his lips.

Maybe people would think exactly what he said — that we were an Alpha and Omega couple. It didn't matter what else they thought.