Price of Silence

The Neo-Byzantine stained glass adorning the dome-shaped ceiling — reportedly thirty-three meters high — was intricate and beautiful. The enormous tree erected beneath it amplified the splendor to its peak, making the entire department store feel like one massive Christmas tree. It was less like simply appreciating a gorgeous visual and more like stepping into a fairy tale, a fantasy constructed from material things.

It was obviously a commercial strategy — designed to stoke the already excited emotions of the year-end crowd and coax them into spending more — and yet everyone, wearing expressions of happiness as though performing contentment, seemed more than willing to be fooled by it.

Feeling a slight disconnect from the exaggerated atmosphere where everyone seemed prosperous and happy, Yeehyeon quickened his pace toward the location he had already looked up on the pamphlet.

The cosmetics section and the perfume section for the same brand occupied adjacent booths, separated from each other. Both were bustling with customers. Yeehyeon approached an employee dressed entirely in black and stated the name of the product he was looking for. It took over five minutes just to catch someone's attention, as every staff member was already occupied.

The employee led him immediately to the display case and lifted a perfume in solid black packaging that gave a sturdy impression. With practiced ease, the employee sprayed a small amount onto a scent strip, fanned it lightly several times, and handed it to Yeehyeon.

The moment he inhaled, his heart lurched as if the person himself were standing right beside him. Even knowing it wasn't the actual pheromones — that very scent he had been so completely absorbed in — the mere fact that this was a component of the fragrance Liu emanated made his insides sway violently, as though something had seized him hard and shaken him.

The employee beside him launched into a rapid French explanation of the perfume's characteristics, but the words barely registered.

It was unmistakably one of the several perfumes Liu blended and wore. It was the one Yuni nuna had correctly identified on the day they'd had a barbecue in his garden — she had been certain she recognized this particular scent as one of the components in his blend.

A phantom impression of the scent alone was far too insufficient; since arriving here, he had wanted to come buy this perfume more than once. But he hadn't trusted himself not to fall apart if he were exposed to anything that close to the real thing.

He didn't want them to seek each other out again because he was worn down by loneliness, because the longing to see him had become unbearable, or because of the pull of sweet memories. Not for those reasons.

If they were to meet again and speak of love, it had to be a decision rooted in accepting the other person's existence — with a full and clear understanding of what that situation would mean and what it would change. If they chose to be together without that foundation in place, the unresolved residue would eventually seep back out, and they would find themselves trapped again in resentment and hurt.

That wasn't forgiveness, and it wasn't love. He didn't want to seek him out just to soothe the hunger of his sentimental side and cure the pain of the moment.

After lightly spraying the perfume on himself as the employee suggested, Yeehyeon tucked the purchased bottle into his backpack and hurried out of the department store. Since arriving in Paris — or perhaps in his entire short life — this might have been his most extravagant purchase.

The heavy snowfall had made the subway more crowded than usual. The area around the Canal Saint-Martin was festive with the season.

Carols spilled out of every café and bar, and adults and children alike had gathered along the canal — having snowball fights, rolling snow into lumpy snowmen. Even though snow had become more common than it used to be (there had even been a blizzard back in April this year), heavy snowfall was still a rare and exciting sight in Paris.

On the street in front of 'The Hands,' a few small children had gathered to scrape snow off the parked cars and throw it at each other. One, a boy who looked about six or seven and wore a red knitted hat pulled down low, spotted Yeehyeon, broke into a grin, and shouted "Joyeux Noël!" Christmas was still a few days away, but the snow seemed to have made him want to start celebrating early. Yeehyeon smiled back, replied "Joyeux Noël," brushed the snow from his coat shoulders, and stepped inside.

He could hear the noise even in the lobby — everyone had gathered in the second-floor living room, drinking beer. Yeehyeon took off his bag and coat and sat down next to Jun.

"Where's Ben?"

"…Not here yet."

Jun shook his head with a somewhat bitter expression. Ben was usually the one who pulled these gatherings together, but since failing his interview — for knowing too little about cameras and the field — he had been difficult to find for several days.

Even so, less than ten minutes after Yeehyeon joined them, a pleasantly tipsy Ben appeared. Rather than taking an empty seat somewhere else, he wedged himself between the three people already sitting on the three-seater sofa and tightened the knot of his already loose tie.

"Ah… I got lucky today! I saw that man again! I just knew with all this snow I'd run into him today."

Ben spoke with theatrical flair, as if recounting a fated love story. His attire suggested he'd been to another interview somewhere today. The exaggerated excitement felt like a performance put on in spite of his disappointment.

"He turned into the alley with all the eyeglass shops. Maybe next time I should follow him home to see where he lives."

Someone lightly called it stalking. Ben just shrugged and twisted the cap off a beer.

"I've got nothing left to lose here — why not follow him and make a move?"

"You said he lives around here. You're going to keep awkwardly avoiding each other every time you cross paths? Just drop the confession idea."

The person sitting next to Ben waved a hand, trying to talk him out of it.

"Hey, why are you acting like rejection is guaranteed? Huh? Sure, that guy is unrealistically handsome, but I'm still worth something, you know?"

"Didn't you say he looks like a combination of the best of Eastern and Western features? Do you think 'worth something' is enough for a man like that?"

Yeehyeon set his beer down on the table. Ben exaggerating about beautiful people was commonplace at 'The Hands.' But the story about the "handsome man occasionally spotted at the café by the canal" — which he had previously dismissed without much thought — suddenly snagged his attention.

"Hey, Ben, are you perhaps — "

"Yeah?"

"Never mind, never mind."

Yeehyeon shook his head and smiled at Ben, who had turned toward him while half-joking around with the sculptor seated next to him.

He'd already concluded it was impossible — and yet, once the suspicion had taken root, he couldn't shake it loose. It wasn't a difficult thing to check, and there was no harm in trying. Yeehyeon picked up his coat and quietly slipped out of his seat.

The snowflakes had grown much smaller in the meantime, but it was still snowing.

It had only been about three days since he sent the painting — it couldn't possibly have arrived in Seoul yet. Even when he checked that afternoon, it was still in transit by air freight. And even if the painting had arrived, it would take more time for him to receive it and travel to Paris.

Even while thinking all of this clearly, his steps toward the alley Ben had mentioned grew faster and faster. By the time he passed the eyeglass shops and rounded the corner, he was almost running.

"……"

He had expected tears. Laughter came first.

It was just like it used to be — the way his clumsy heart, which he had always worked so carefully to suppress and conceal, could no longer pretend when it saw him. The joy spilled out as laughter before anything else. It felt like smiling toward him not just with his lips but with his whole body.

In the deserted alley, an orange streetlamp casting a dim glow over the drifting snow, Liu stood frozen — cigarette halfway to his lips, then pulled away — stiff as someone who had turned a corner and walked straight into a ghost.

"For someone on an undercover assignment… you're a little too conspicuous, aren't you?"

White breath rose in unsteady puffs.

"……"

He hesitated, holding his distance as if he might bolt in sheer shock — and then he dropped the unlit cigarette and came forward. Without hesitation, his hand reached out to cup Yeehyeon's face, his thumb sweeping gently along his cheek. At that touch, Yeehyeon realized he was crying.

He was alive.

The snow settling slowly above his head, the faint festive clamor drifting over from the direction of the canal, the sight of Liu filling his entire field of vision, and the real, physical warmth of Liu Weikun's hand against his cheek — every sense was so vividly, achingly present that he felt truly alive.

He had missed him.

More than in all the time he hadn't been able to see him, it was in this moment of seeing him that the full weight of his longing struck him. He had endured the situation by consciously minimizing it, as though it were a tolerable illness — even as his whole body ached under it.

He had missed him terribly, and yet even that word "terribly" had been too small for what he actually felt.

Fearing, absurdly, that he might vanish the moment he blinked, Yeehyeon gripped the arm that was wiping the tears from his cheek.

"Don't go…"

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Liu's hands slowed, then cupped his face with both palms, and he pressed their foreheads together. He nodded.

"I won't go anywhere until you tell me to."