A couple who appeared to be in their late thirties were going through the check-in process at the counter with their daughter, who looked to be around first or second year of middle school, standing behind them.

Perhaps they weren't very experienced with international travel as a family — the couple's faces were clearly tense, each carrying not just their checked luggage but a backpack and a crossbody bag as well.

Once check-in was finally completed without incident, the couple was instructed to wait on a nearby bench until the final inspection of their checked baggage was finished. They pulled the now-empty cart over and settled down side-by-side in the seats directly across from where I was sitting.

"You didn't put the camera battery in the suitcase, did you?"

"No, it's in my backpack."

The father asked while carefully brushing aside his daughter's hair, which had slipped down over her temple from being tied up loosely. The daughter answered in a slightly annoyed tone.

"I'm worried because she didn't sleep well last night. She's going to be uncomfortable on the plane too."

The mother said, looking at her daughter with a worried expression.

"Mom, what time do we arrive in Prague? I want to go to Charles Bridge as soon as we land."

Seeing their daughter asking about the schedule — tired but clearly excited about the trip — the parents wiped the worry from their faces and exchanged smiles.

When the Phantom group traveled to Hong Kong together, I'd barely noticed my surroundings. There was excitement, yes, but the tension was stronger. Like this couple in front of me now. But sitting on an airport bench as a non-traveler, things I hadn't noticed before came into view.

Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung had left.

They'd decided against the cliché scene of watching until they disappeared through the departure gate. We'd said our goodbyes at the check-in counter instead — they would head toward the departure hall, I would go back the way we'd come. No one would linger to watch the other's back. We'd each go our separate ways.

But after waving goodbye and turning around, I came back and sat down on this bench. I just felt like I shouldn't leave this place too quickly.

Families setting off on trips for summer vacation and the holidays could be spotted everywhere in the airport. This was an era when thirty million people traveled abroad annually, and international travel had long ceased to be the exclusive domain of the wealthy.

Even in my grandfather's village, there were opportunities several times a year for inexpensive package tours organized by groups like the fisheries cooperative, the agricultural association, and the women's group. Even back in middle school, after breaks ended and the semester started up again, I often heard friends' stories about traveling to various countries.

The three of us — my mother, my father, and I — had never taken one of those trips, as ordinary as they'd become. My mother seemed to have traveled a lot in the past, but there had never been an opportunity for our family of three to go together.

I never thought our family was unhappy because of that, and I never felt dejected listening to friends' travel stories. My parents prioritized economic activities that left time for painting, so our household wasn't wealthy, but I never felt unhappy or unfortunate simply because we couldn't wear brand-name shoes or clothes.

I was thinking about the days immediately following my mother's award announcement.

I was recalling my parents' faces, how they discussed at the dinner table every evening — happily, with bright expressions — how best to use the sizable prize money for our family.

Should they put it toward replacing the used car they'd driven for over ten years? Or supplement my mother's digital equipment, replace the laptop I'd inherited from my father with a new one, have a suit tailored for him, and save the rest?

The dinner table was lively with excited chatter every evening, as if the process of deliberating where to spend the money was more enjoyable than actually spending it. My mother never explicitly suggested it, but I knew at the time she had a European museum tour in mind — the three of us, together.

But that scene had no reality to it now. Not a genuine memory of time spent with my family, but something that felt like a video staged to perform happiness. And then, as if the signal had been scrambled, the screen crackled and went dark. Like our plans — none of the options had ever materialized.

The moment I sensed I had dug up too much, I felt a safety catch click at the back of my neck, deep inside my chest. A signal to stop.

I pulled my gaze away from the girl flipping through a travel guide covered in colorful tape tabs and sticky notes marking important pages, and stood up.

Following the driver's instructions to call when I was on my way out — he'd said he couldn't park long in front of the departure gates — I let him know I was leaving the airport. He told me to come to the gate in five minutes, but I hurried out without waiting.

Outside, the drizzle from yesterday was still falling and the air was humid, but my body temperature had dropped from the air conditioning inside, so I didn't feel the heat.

Everyone moving in and out in front of the departure hall wore expressions flushed with the excitement of imminent travel. Just like in front of the hotel, I felt out of place here too.

Suddenly, exhaustion washed over me. As the tension eased, the weariness of a body that hadn't properly slept or rested in days seemed to crash down all at once.

I crossed two traffic lights to reach the spot the driver had indicated. The black sedan that had transported us comfortably yesterday and today was approaching slowly, reducing its speed.

I bowed my head toward the faint silhouette of the driver visible through the heavily tinted windshield of the stopped car, then approached the rear door and opened it.

"You parted ways sooner than expected."

It was his voice. He was inside.

Resting one hand on the edge of the doorframe and leaning in, I froze in place for a moment.

"How..."

It was clearly the same car I had ridden in with Morae nuna and hyung, with the same driver. As far as I knew, he had never traveled in this car with us.

Tsk — he clicked his tongue, shifted closer, and tugged at my wrist where my hand rested on the door.

"You'll get soaked again. Get in quickly."

Even after I climbed in awkwardly as he guided me, I couldn't quite process the situation. I sat pressed against the door, looking at him with eyes full of questions.

"Is my being here really such a surprising thing?"

On the contrary, he looked as though he hadn't expected me to be this surprised.

Honestly, it wasn't surprise so much as relief. I was so glad to see him that I didn't know how to manage my expression. It was only after seeing Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung off safely that I'd realized just how frayed my heart had been over the past few days — as though someone had squeezed it mercilessly — and so his completely unexpected appearance was a joy. Just seeing him felt like the beginning of healing.

He was already exerting the influence he held over me as someone I cared for deeply.

"I truly never expected it..."

The car pulled away, and I settled back more comfortably, murmuring to myself. For some reason, looking him directly in the eye felt awkward.

"It doesn't seem that surprising for me to be in my own car."

I laughed at his joke, delivered with that strange, stubborn logic of his. Whatever the reason he was here, the comfort he offered in this moment couldn't be undone.

Afraid my delight at this unexpected encounter was showing too plainly, my gaze, which had been resting somewhere around his chest, caught sight of his sunglasses. It was the rainy season, but he still kept them tucked into the left breast pocket of his jacket out of habit.

"Those sunglasses are cool..."

"Hm?"

Perhaps it was an unexpected topic — he raised the end of the word in question.

"Can I... try them on?"

That was a bold move for me. I wasn't sure if the exhaustion from the recent ordeal, combined with the excitement of his arrival, was drawing out a different side of me.

He looked at me with an intrigued expression, as if I'd made a genuinely interesting proposal, then smiled silently, pulling up the corners of his lips, and readily handed them over. With their simple frames, dark lenses, and thin, sleek arms, they gave an intellectual impression and were perfectly suited for concealing one's expression.

"Let me see. They look good on you."

He turned me by the shoulders to look closely at my face, clearly amused — and I found I could hold his gaze without looking away. A very useful item.

He stared intently at my face with shining eyes, as if examining something novel, before finally looking away after a long moment. Then he pulled a phone from his inner jacket pocket and held it out to me.

"What is this...?"

"This is Seo Ihyeon's new phone."

The phone I accepted in my surprise was the latest model from the brand Juhan had been longing for lately.

"Until now, their objective was those two, so there was no particular need to apply direct pressure on you, Seo Ihyeon. But once they realize they can no longer track those two, you become the only remaining target from whom they can extract information. The situation is different now. You could easily become a target. You need to prepare for it."

He tapped numbers on his phone screen as he spoke, his voice devoid of humor, and a moment later a light vibration resonated in my hand. A message from him.

"This is a new number, so use this one from now on."

The blank message inbox displayed only his number, not yet saved to my contacts. The empty device in my hand, holding no trace of the past, felt like a futuristic tool that would allow me to reset everything and start anew. I silently mocked my own sentimental, groundless hope.

"Where you work and where you live — finding out that much information within the country is easier than you might think. Even if they figure out where you are, it's best to stay somewhere they can't easily approach."

Behind the sunglasses, his outline was a little hazier, but the color of his eyes seemed even clearer for it. His eyes — which during sex boiled up bright blue and white like carbonation — now turned toward me with calm steadiness.

"I know a suitable place that can serve as Seo Ihyeon's atelier and temporary residence. I was thinking we could go there now — would that be alright?"

Keeping up with the rapidly unfolding plan was a bit overwhelming, but dragging things out wouldn't change the situation anyway. I nodded, and he showed a satisfied smile.

"You must have been at your physical and mental limits for days. Try to get some sleep on the way."

Since I wasn't familiar with the seat controls, he reached across me to the console on my side, reclining my seat for me. The sight of his arm crossing in front of my chest, and the intensity of his cologne, made my whole body tense for a moment.

It wasn't the usual cologne today. Though this deeper, heavier, more present scent suited him too, I felt a strange pang of disappointment for no particular reason. It was just cologne, after all.

As he pulled his arm back, he glanced at my face, let out a soft, sigh-like sound, and lightly ruffled my hair.

"I get it, so stop looking at me like that..."

Saying that, he turned his head toward the window. The profile of him — brow furrowed, rubbing his mouth with his large hand — looked troubled.

Stop looking at me like that. A strange thing to say. He couldn't even see my eyes through the sunglasses.

· · · · ·

"Each floor has its own private elevator and dedicated hall, so residents rarely run into each other."

He spoke as he unlocked the glass door directly in front of where he had parked with a card key. Inside was a hall space of about ten to thirteen square meters, furnished with a comfortable three-seater sofa.

On the wall beside the elevator, where buttons should have been, there was only a black digital pad. When he tapped his card key against it the door opened, and when he touched the card to the interior pad, the button for the fifth floor lit up automatically. The elevator could only move between the parking level and lobby floor, the first and second basement levels, and the fifth floor. No other floors were accessible.

"As you probably saw when we came in, outsiders can't even access the complex itself. That's partly because this is a hillside location, but we also raised the ground during construction to get a clearer view of the Han River. There are five units in total, one per floor from the first to the fifth, but you should think of it as floors three through seven. The first and second basement levels don't have a great Han River view, so they were designated as common areas."

I listened to his explanation as he waved the card key like a fan, but the only thing I could glean from the situation was that the villa he had brought me to was exceptionally high-end.

The elevator doors opened on the opposite side from where we'd entered. As soon as we stepped out, there was the entryway — more precisely, a rectangular room used as an entrance hall. The long foyer, paved in light gold-beige marble, was neat and devoid of any unnecessary ornamentation.

"You can leave your shoes on."

As I hesitated at the threshold leading from the entryway to the corridor, he closed the sleek, handleless built-in storage unit he'd been checking and approached from behind as he spoke.

To get from the entrance hall to the actual living space, we had to pass through another L-shaped corridor. The structure was designed with significant attention to privacy — the interior was completely invisible from the entryway.

"The architecture itself makes it difficult for outsiders to approach, but we also keep five or more guards stationed here twenty-four hours a day, so you can be quite assured about safety."

At the end of the corridor, a vast space opened up — there was no other way to describe it. The high ceiling provided a superb sense of openness, and one entire wall was finished with glass. Thanks to that, even on a cloudy day like today, there was plenty of light.

"I bought this place for rental income from foreigners, but the previous tenant's contract ended in May, and they completely settled their affairs in Korea and returned home. Since then, no new tenant has appeared, and I was already considering moving here myself. What do you think? Do you like it?"

He asked, glancing back at me — still standing awkwardly at the end of the hallway — as he slowly surveyed the simply furnished living room. His tone was as casual as if he were picking up a T-shirt from a display rack and asking about it.

It would be a lie to say I had no idea what he meant by asking if I liked it. But if my understanding of his intention was correct, the reason behind it this time was incomprehensible.

Perhaps thinking my hesitation meant I wasn't particularly impressed, he began elaborating on the house's good qualities.

"It's a duplex structure, so our privacy will be guaranteed almost as if we're living separately — both for you, Seo Ihyeon, and for me. Since I'll only be home in the evenings due to work, you should be able to concentrate on your painting without any issue."

He walked toward the living room window, twisted the handle down to unlock it, and slowly slid the large glass door open to the left.

Despite being on the seventh floor of a villa, a spacious garden unfolded right in front of the panoramic window. A real garden — grass, soil, and landscaping. Beyond it flowed the gray Han River, speckled with drizzling rain.

A cool draft carrying the scent of damp earth rushed inside. Only then did I notice how stuffy the air in the room had been.

"When the weather is nice, you can work out in the garden, and there's nothing to disturb you. Quiet, isn't it?"

After sliding the door all the way open, he turned toward me and smiled.

If I hadn't misunderstood, he was recommending this luxury villa as my atelier and temporary residence — and probably suggesting that I live here with him.

Seeing that I still hadn't reacted, he walked back toward me. He made almost no sound with his dress shoes as he stepped across the marble tiles, which were so finely colored they appeared pale pink.

He walked up to me — standing awkwardly in one corner of the living room like a potted plant that didn't match the décor — and bent slightly at the waist to look closely at my face. Sunglasses. I needed sunglasses, but I'd already returned them to him in the car.

"You don't look like you like the place."

It wasn't a question of liking it or not. Even if I couldn't stay at Manager Han's place indefinitely, I hadn't been expecting anything this luxurious.

"So where were you planning to stay?"

"......"

He asked as if he could read the question in my mind.

"They'll figure out you're staying at Manager Han's place pretty quickly. Frankly, I suspect her residence was already exposed some time ago anyway."

As he spoke, he straightened up and folded his arms firmly across his chest.

"We will provide every convenience necessary so you can focus on your art in a secure space."

"......"

"It's not like I bought this place specifically for you, Seo Ihyeon. I was already considering staying here since it was empty anyway, so you don't need to feel burdened at all. I did purchase it as a rental property, but I've always liked the layout and the view — I've been interested in living here for a while myself. Besides, even if I live here alone, I won't be using the entire space anyway."

Setting aside the fact that he was an incredibly wealthy man, I rarely felt the gap in our financial circumstances during conversations with him. He wasn't the type to flaunt his wealth.

This was the first time I had felt such a stark difference in our sensibilities to the point where it left a strong impression.

The house was empty anyway, he was already considering moving here anyway, and even if he lived alone there would be leftover space anyway — so there was no financial sacrifice on his part. Explaining to him, who offered this simple logic, that one could feel emotionally burdened regardless of financial sacrifice probably wouldn't be persuasive.

"About the Phantom work, and Manager Han's situation..."

After looking down at me for a moment as I barely managed to ask that, he uncrossed his arms and lightly took hold of my wrist. He tugged me gently down the hallway past the living room, suggesting that since I had come this far, I should at least look around the house.

"You've been a great help with the practical work, so I certainly regret losing you for the Phantom matters, Seo Ihyeon. But you need to focus solely on your painting. Or do you plan to treat it like Choi Inwu — just a hobby?"

He turned to me in front of the master bedroom downstairs and asked as if seeking confirmation.

I hadn't planned on treating it as a hobby, but ever since my uncle appeared, I'd been focused entirely on Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung's affairs, and hadn't yet thought concretely about other aspects.

He paused, looking down at me for a moment, then opened the bedroom door inward and continued.

"You understand that the work assisting Manager Han must also be put on hold, right? Aside from the work itself, simply entering and leaving that house right now isn't particularly safe for you, Seo Ihyeon. The same goes for Manager Han."

That was another aspect I hadn't considered. Even though it was my own situation, the fact that he was viewing it from a much broader perspective and preparing countermeasures made me feel grateful and ashamed at the same time.

He stood me in front of the bed, its mattress cover removed to prevent dust from settling, then walked to the large window facing the garden — just like in the living room — roughly pulled aside the sheer curtains, and left the window halfway open.

Although decorated to be slightly cozier than the living room, the bedroom was just as stark, showing no signs of life.

"It's all too sudden, and everything is moving so fast... I don't quite... grasp what's happening..."

He came back to me as I mumbled incoherently, absently running my hand over the bare skin of my arm beneath my short sleeves.

I felt stifled looking up at his face as he let out a breath, his chest lifting and then falling. I felt bad for not being able to readily accept his kindness and goodwill, but I was too small right now to keep up with the rapid developments that had far exceeded my expectations.

He looked down at me with an apologetic expression, furrowing his brow as he scratched the top of his smooth forehead.

"Did I push you too hard?"

"......"

I shook my head emphatically, as if that were the only way I could convey my sincerity to him.

I also hated how he always noticed my hesitation and worry first, and then apologized for it. Even as I told myself I liked him, my own inadequacy — the fact that I was only ever receiving from him — forced me to hang my head low.

"No. It's just that you considered aspects I hadn't even thought of... I'm very grateful."

If he hadn't been here, if I hadn't met him, how would I have handled this situation?

I wouldn't have been able to handle it. The reality was that Morae nuna, hyung, and I were still socially incapable and lacked the real power to solve problems.

Even though not all the issues were cleanly resolved, escaping a crisis that could have spiraled into the worst-case scenario and advancing things to this degree was entirely thanks to his help.

"It's just that these were options I'd never considered... so I'm flustered. You've done nothing wrong, Director..."

"I know."

He stopped my halting confession — as if reaching into my chest, stirring it gently, and carefully drawing out the right words.

"I know you're grateful enough. You don't have to keep saying it."

"......"

Gathering my courage from his warm words, I looked up to meet his gaze, and his face was contorted. It was a very subtle fissure, but emotions like pity, empathy, and regret — all tangled together — were flickering in his eyes as he looked at me.

I recalled the earlier him, who had kept me fixed outside his frame as someone who would help for a little while and then disappear.

At least one thing was clear.

In one form or another, I was now included within the scope of his kindness and concern. His eyes told me there was no need to doubt that.

Anything beyond that — being special, being the only one — to wish for such things felt like pure greed, setting aside any question of my station or place. I was already receiving far too much help as it was.

He had been watching me silently from about two steps away, but then darted his gaze away as if fleeing, his expression strained and unsteady. The side of his face — fingers laced through his casually styled hair — looked almost nervous as he restlessly ran them through it.

"What do you like? Drinking? Shopping? Traveling? It probably isn't any of those... I just wish I knew."

It occurred to me then that perhaps coming to the airport, bringing me to this house, making a new offer — perhaps all of it was to console me after seeing Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung off.

"Or maybe you want to go have drinks with Baek Yuni or Kwon Juhan? They'd probably be better company than me."

I grabbed his arm as he pulled out his phone, looking as if he were about to contact nuna and hyung immediately. He looked back at me, his eyes widening slightly in surprise at my sudden, clinging insistence that stopped him in his tracks.

Unsure how to begin, I bit my lower lip before finally resting my forehead against the edge of his shoulder, a gesture of surrender.

Now that Morae nuna and hyung had safely left the country, the relief I felt was ironically allowing me to gradually realize just how deeply anxious I had been. Behind the reassurance that they were safe and I could finally breathe — there followed closely a hollowness, as if a part of my chest had been torn away.

If I was going to find comfort and solace for that feeling from someone, there was only one person I wanted to be my companion.

"......"

He paused for a moment before putting his phone back into his pocket.

His palm cupped my entire cheek. My head was lifted by a gentle force.

"Are you sad?"

His voice, refined and unbefitting the word sadness, was nothing but calm, unlike just a moment ago.

I had given up on naming the emotion because it was too complex to be defined simply by the single word "sadness," but if I looked at it in the most straightforward way — this was sorrow. Because the people I loved had gone far away, I was sad.

I had been pretending to accept the situation, as I always did, without expressing it — but I was already feeling wistful and lost about my life continuing without them, and their lives continuing without me. To me, who was hovering at the edges of those feelings, afraid to touch them for fear of not knowing how to process them, he offered the chance to admit my sadness.

His hand burrowed a little deeper, as if cupping my ear rather than my cheek. Even if it wasn't quite that scent — anything was fine.

"I... think I am sad."

Leaning my face gently against his hand, I corrected myself and answered.

"Yes. I am sad."

"......"

He narrowed his eyes and carefully examined every part of my face, as if trying to read some invisible message from me. That scent, which I hadn't detected at all just moments before, was beginning to register faintly amidst the other fragrances.

"I told you — if you want something, you just have to say the word. That you can have it anytime. You silly thing..."

As if throwing the last words into the air, the moment he finished speaking he lowered his head and pressed his lips deeply against mine. My waist was pulled in, and my chest pressed tightly against his.

The force of his hand against the back of my head parted my lips, and his tongue filled my mouth. That familiar scent instantly overwhelmed my nose and mouth, and I took a deep breath through my nose as it swept in, wrapping my arms around his back and holding him tight.

He held me close, tilting his head as he kissed me deeply, as if pouring a precious medicine into me.

The embrace — which pressed against my waist and chest so tightly it made breathing difficult — was almost like being restrained. Feeling a sense of relief in his arms where not even a gap remained between us, I squeezed his broad back hard with my own arms.

His tongue scraped the roof of my mouth before hastily withdrawing from mine, and unwilling to let go, I grabbed his jacket and thrust my tongue toward his lips. My tongue was immediately swallowed.

"Mmm, ugh... yes."

The strong suction pulling my tongue in all at once to its maximum depth echoed deep inside my throat. His left arm, which had been gripping my waist, clamped down on my rear over my jeans.

We kept our eyes open. At a distance close enough that our noses brushed, we sucked and probed each other's tongues, obsessively searching the other's eyes as they grew rapidly slick with desire. As if that scrutiny itself were another stimulant for arousal.

His strength — holding me and kissing me so hard that my ribs ached and my tongue went numb, as if asserting his presence — conversely affirmed my own existence. Even if I was a faint outline, a blurry color, in this moment I was an object of his desire and need.

No, today at least, I was more than merely an object of lust. This heat was surely the comfort he was offering me.

"Hah, ugh."

He released his tongue, which had been filling and sucking mine, and pressed me against the wall. A dull pain shot through me as my back hit the surface, and his thick thigh drove between my legs.

The explicit friction applied more directly to my cock momentarily blurred my mind, and I felt as if my body was rising. I looped my arms up under his armpits and wrapped them over his shoulders, pulling myself closer.

"Ahh—ugh… hah…"

He heated up instantly, his shoulders heaving as he breathed deeply, then clasped my hips with both hands and pulled me up as if hoisting me onto his thigh.

Looking down at each other's lips from beneath our lowered eyelids, we extended our tongues to rub tip to tip. The friction of wet flesh touching outside the body was entirely different from the kisses happening inside our mouths. Even with no one watching, the rebellious pleasure of exposing something intimate to the outside sent a thrilling jolt through my tongue.

My heels lifted with each upward pull of his hands. The thigh pressed between my legs felt harder than usual, taut with a sudden surge of desire. My chest, pressed against his shoulder, was the same. His body was so aroused that the distinct contours of his muscles were clearly visible even through his clothes.

It was as if he were moving inside me while staying outside. As he pulled me up and let me down, he occasionally shook his thigh, adding an obscene stimulation between my legs.

"Ugh—hah… ngh…"

Each time he shook, the vibrations of my body carried over into tremors in my breath, and he looked down at me with half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight.

Depending on the angle, his eyes broke into shades of white and blue, and it seemed as though he were seeing ecstasy through me. Even if that was my delusion, it was at least a relief not to feel like the only one craving his warmth, burning like this.

I had no experience, no techniques gained from experience, not even any inherent seductive charm — I couldn't fathom what sexual appeal he could possibly find in someone as bland as me...

He glanced down and muttered.

"What should we do? I don't think I can hold back today..."

As if to prove his words weren't a lie, the front of his pants was already pressing outward.

It might sound a little strange to say this, but even normally, his cock was often impossible to ignore. When he twisted his body into certain positions, when he shifted the angle of his crossed legs, when he had both hands jammed into his pockets — honestly, it made its presence known in a way that was hard to look past. Ever since I slept with him, I had to force myself to push it out of my line of sight whenever that happened.

Now his erection was straining so prominently it looked almost constricted, pushing the zipper of his pants taut. Noticing my gaze fixed downward, he smiled faintly and kissed my forehead.

He kissed my forehead, then my eyelids, then my temples, with a hot intensity, before burying his lips in my ear and whispering.

"You really like my thing, don't you."

"Ugh..."

I wanted to deny it, but I wanted to stop being cowardly — leaving him to be the only one raising the tension while I pretended I had no part in it.

It was true that I'd been looking at him. It was true that I was anticipating something thrilling and slick to come, given the unnatural prominence of his bulge, as if something artificial had been inserted. So — let's stop denying it just because I was embarrassed.

He deliberately rubbed against me more, pressing his thigh deep. The slow, sweeping motion of his hips was unbearably erotic.

"Hah… ugh…"

I was on edge — the way he moved his waist just enough for my swelling cock inside my jeans and the thick mound of his own arousal, which looked ready to rip through the zipper, to barely brush against each other. The teasing friction made me impatient.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, trying to suppress the groan that was already threatening to burst out, but his lips immediately came and stole the lip I was biting. The way he sucked hard enough to cause a throbbing ache was one of my favorite forms of foreplay.

Savoring the sweet, spreading pain, I tightened my grip on his shoulders. Pushing off the marble floor with my toes... I couldn't hold back and pressed my own cock against his.

"Mm…"

He sucked at my lips harder, slipping his hand under my T-shirt to stroke my back. His hand glided smoothly across my skin before reversing course and sliding inside my jeans. Since I was practically sitting on his thigh, his hand fumbled over the fleshy curve of my hips that had pushed up, before working its way between my legs.

"Ngh… ah—"

I turned my head, pulling my lips free, and shook my head. I was aroused by the mere fact that he was approaching my hole, the place he could enter... and I was rocking my hips on his thigh as if bouncing. The moment I became aware of it, I felt ashamed enough to die, but I couldn't stop myself.

My shaking head and my heaving hips were both parts of my body, yet they were expressing completely different intentions.

He pulled me into his chest with one arm and rubbed my skin hard with his middle finger, sliding it into the crevice between my legs. Resting my chin on his shoulder, I rubbed my body freely against his in a state of complete contact.

Shoulders, chest, abdomen, thighs — every part of his body was composed of well-trained muscle, and the prominent contours of that mass stirred arousal in me every time we ground against each other. Bulging, firm, unyielding — hard enough that it wouldn't budge even if I punched it — I ran my hands over all of it.

Because the thigh supporting and bouncing between my legs, and his fingers sliding in and out of the crevice, kept evoking the sensation of penetration, my hips twisted of their own accord. I could no longer suppress the craving to have him naked.

Burying my lips against his neck and rubbing softly, I gathered all my courage and confessed.

"I can't hold back either."

It was a faster, more voluntary surrender than before — when I'd only begun to be honest under his teasing and encouragement, after the heat from his caresses had sufficiently muddled my head.

"......"

Without a word he stilled, then pulled his hand out of my jeans while simultaneously grabbing the hem of my T-shirt and lifting it up. I reflexively raised my arms, and in an instant the T-shirt was off. He tossed it carelessly onto the low cabinet where the slim, modern TV sat, then wrapped his arms around my thighs and lifted me.

"Ugh."

I wrapped my arms around his neck on instinct so I wouldn't fall. My body was now high enough to look down at his face. Though I was only a little shorter than him — less than half a hand's span — objectively speaking, I was by no means small or petite. He hoisted me up without any help from momentum, and even shook me up and down a couple of times as if gauging my weight while walking toward the bed.

"I knew you were thin, but... you're not hollow inside, are you?"

His face was serious, as if this was genuinely unacceptable.

"You've got height, at least. Do you even eat one meal a day?"

His muttered remark — adding, as if to himself, that he'd have to keep me locked up until I gained some weight — reminded me of the witch from the gingerbread house in the fairy tales I'd read as a child, and I burst out laughing.

"You think I'm joking."

He collapsed onto the mattress while still holding me, then looked down at me from above, cupping both my cheeks in one hand and squeezing them. The pressure from both sides repeatedly puckered and released my lips, making my face feel like a goldfish's. I gently pulled his wrist down, which only made him let out a soft chuckle.

Then he sat up, tossing his jacket aside. He gathered my legs together and pushed them toward his left side as he leaned in to kiss me. My lower body was angled to the side while my upper body faced forward, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

I felt his arm wrap around the back of my neck and pull my shoulders in, and I looped my arms around his neck in return. His other hand moved below, unfastening my jeans and pulling down the zipper.

"Ngh… ah…"

The moment the zipper opened, his hand shot inside and gripped my cock through my briefs with surprising strength, making my arms around him tense up immediately. Seeing my reaction he seemed to heat up further, and the movement of his tongue inside my mouth grew more urgent.

His large hand moved deep past my cock, rubbing broadly between my legs, then wiggled his fingers and scraped across my entrance over my underwear. The teasing, suggestive touch made me groan and twist, able to do nothing but keep readjusting my hold on his neck.

His hand swept back across the space between my thighs and then pulled my jeans and briefs down together from behind. Since my lower body was already angled to the side, my clothes came off easily. The jeans, pulled down inside-out, fell heavily to the floor below the bed along with my underwear.

When I became conscious of it, I was already naked.

It was darker than usual because of the rain, but it was still the middle of the day. This was an empty house — his property, but not the home where he lived. A setting I had never imagined for us coming together again. The unexpectedness of the time and place tensed my body in a way that felt different from before.

Before I could dwell any deeper on that thought, he began undoing his belt buckle. The act itself — him leaning his body over mine while continuing to kiss me, working his belt below for serious sex — made me swallow hard.

With a soft sound he broke the kiss deeply, gently rubbing my shoulders as he whispered.

"Will you take off my shirt?"

My movements reaching for his shirt — already unbuttoned to the second button — were slow and clumsy. This was the first time I had ever undressed someone else.

While I fumbled clumsily with both hands, he peppered kisses alternately on my forehead, the bridge of my nose, my cheeks, and my lips, and before I realized it, he had taken off his pants and was down to his underwear.

Looking down, I could clearly see the shape of his erection through the black briefs. The tip of his cock, which strained against the fabric as if threatening to tear through the cotton, was already slick and stained a darker color.

"Thank you."

Once the last button was undone, he brushed my hair back with the hand that had been on my shoulder and kissed my brow. Receiving thanks just for unbuttoning his shirt made me have the foolish thought that perhaps I should have been thanking him every time he lifted me or helped me undress — but I knew that would only ruin the mood.

He pulled away and sat up, positioning my now-naked legs along both sides of his waist. The way his body moved between my spread legs called to mind the intimate contact and union that would soon occur at our most private point. My cheeks flushed.

"Hnngh..."

He pressed his lips tightly shut, regulating his breathing through his nose, and swept the hair falling over his forehead away. He began rubbing his briefs between my legs with a supple roll of his hips.

Beneath the damp fabric, the prominent bulge pressing against the space between my thighs sent a strange thrill through me, and I felt myself growing wet inside. Without touching my body at all, he stayed pressed there for a moment, moving only his hips to bring his cock into contact with my entrance.

His torso, glimpsed through the open buttons of his shirt, traced clear lines — deeply carved abs, thick and firm. But the way he slowly rotated his hips, pressing his cock exactly where he wanted it, showed a fluidity that was impossible for someone so powerfully built.

"Ngh… hah… ah—"

Each time he pushed his hips forward, grinding his prominent flesh against me, I couldn't help but moan. He was so focused, so present in the act that mimicked intercourse — it was impossibly sexy... My glutes contracted involuntarily, clenching around him without my command. I couldn't believe my body was reacting this way, but this was the pleasure of sex I had learned through him, discovered because of him.

"Try bringing your thighs together?"

He told me to do it, but his hands were already lifting my legs and pressing them together over my chest as he spoke. From my balls, which bulged slightly between my pressed-together thighs, he slowly dragged his finger downward to my hole.

"You're so thin, but your ass and this part are surprisingly plump."

He added that with a sly smile and eyes narrowed as if glancing sideways — and the expression was even more obscene for it.

Kneeling, he shifted position and pulled his cock free from his briefs. Released from the cramped fabric, it sprang upright as if bouncing off the waistband. Pre-cum flowed from the swollen head, coating the entire darkened shaft. Beneath the shadow his body cast, the sheer presence of his slick, gleaming cock made me instinctively cover my mouth.

"I'm going to... rub against you here."

Holding my legs firmly so they couldn't spread apart at all, he pressed his cock — throbbing as if it were alive — deep between my closed thighs.

"Ah! Ngh… ugh…"

The sensation of his hot, pulsing, wet cock brushing the sensitive skin inside my thighs was peculiar. Even though it wasn't tearing through me like anal penetration, it felt as if it were parting flesh as it entered.

His cock, pressing in past my upended balls, met mine. His heavy scrotum bumped against my slightly lifted backside, and in the next moment the thick heat slipped back out from between my thighs only to plunge back in.

His cock, thoroughly slicked with pre-cum, slid effortlessly between my thighs. The friction sounds — resembling the sloshing of intercourse deep in a wet hole — permeated the room like the sound of rain on damp ground.

Because it wasn't enclosed by the delicate inner walls of my hole, he didn't adjust his speed. Each time he thrust down from above, pressing quickly, I had to bite my lip at the sensation of our two cocks rubbing directly against each other.

The recoil of his balls slapping against the area around my hole with each thrust was just as hard to bear. Thud, thud, thud, thud-thud... Even the sensation of that resilient weight hitting my tailbone alone made the image of his scrotum — swinging forward only to get crushed and flattened between him and me — vivid in my mind.

Only the point of entry differed; his weight pressing down from above, the resulting sway, the tingling in my lower abdomen, the cramping in my fingertips and toes... all of it felt much the same as when he was penetrating me. If anything, the thickness, heat, and slick texture of his cock grazing my skin felt more pronounced here between my thighs.

The pre-cum flowing down his shaft dripped onto my own cock and pubic hair, and further back, over my balls and groin, all the way down to the outside of my entrance. My body was so sensitive I could feel the exact path the fluid took across my skin.

He was already driving me to the verge of climax — and this was only between my thighs, not even inside me, not even my hole.

Gasping as if I couldn't catch my breath, I reached out and grabbed his hands pressing down on my thighs from either side.

"Hah… ah… ngh…"

My wet, pleading gaze sought his eyes. I couldn't tell if I was begging him to stop or begging him to push me further; I simply left the judgment up to him.

Keeping his head angled down, he lifted only his eyes to look at me, a faint smile playing on his sweat-beaded face.

"What if I slip while doing this... and accidentally go in?"

He withdrew his cock slightly, tilting his head to look closely at my entrance.

"Oh... you're already so wet... this might be dangerous."

"…ah!"

My head snapped back at the sudden touch directed toward my entrance. I squeezed his hand tightly in mine, pressing the back of my head against the bare mattress.

His fingers pressing firmly around my entrance were devoid of any sexual nuance, as if he were only assessing the situation. For reasons I couldn't explain, that very fact made my shame burn hotter. It wasn't the shame of wanting to bolt — of being the only one sexually invested in this moment.

Because I knew there was no way he wasn't aroused as he touched my wet entrance.

He was deliberately upsetting the balance of arousal between us — pretending to be unaffected by my moaning and lip-biting, maximizing the tension.

He smeared his hand, heavy with fluid, broadly across my entrance, frowning slightly. Then he tugged my hand, which was gripping his, downward.

"Look at this. It's completely soaked, isn't it? Look at how much you've leaked..."

He made me smear the fluid onto my own skin around my entrance, fixing his excited gaze downward.

"Th-that's because you, Director...!"

I lifted my head, face flushed, and struggled to pull my hand away. The wetness was from his pre-cum, but he was talking as if it were my own slick — and the embarrassment of that made me desperate to stop him somehow.

His gaze locked onto mine. A gaze boiling over, beyond the ordinary. Whether I had let go of his hand or he had released mine, the moment my freed hand retreated, a single fingertip pushed inside me.

"Ugh...!"

I flinched, startled by the sudden entry, but it wasn't from pain. There was no resistance at my entrance.

Keeping one finger inside me, he pushed my knees outward from where I'd drawn them up toward my chest, then bent his upper body deeply to kiss me. Up close, his eyes held something like joy alongside a faint glint of madness.

"That's right. I got you this wet... You're leaking, soaking wet, because of me. It's because of me."

He slowly worked his finger in and out, looking alternately between my eyes. His gaze was both urgent — as if searching for something — and hazy, as if wandering in ecstasy.

Mingling with the strong cologne I'd noticed before, that scent was growing stronger. Like a fragrance that had soaked into his skin and under his nails from long use, rising now from his bare skin with his shirt off. I greedily flared my nostrils, pulling him by the neck to inhale it — that scent that felt more distant and faint than usual.

He turned his head and our lips met. I accepted the kiss — now with considerable skill — rubbing my tongue against the wet inner surface of his mouth.

Below, as his finger repeated its entry and retreat, more pre-cum flowed into my hole, and wet, slick sounds leaked from both above and below.

I had to finally confront the part of myself that wanted something deeper — a pressure and movement that felt like it would break me. The soft insertion of just one finger was no longer enough to destroy or transform me.

He kissed me deeply, swirling my tongue in circles and then sideways... when suddenly he narrowed his eyes and pulled back from my mouth.

"Do you know how much you've been clenching down there?"

I shook my head, gasping as if sobbing. It wasn't a denial to his "do you know?" — I simply wanted to refuse to admit it. That I was tightening my hole myself, demanding greater stimulation from him.

He lightly bumped his forehead against mine, tapping my lips with the index finger of his other hand — the one not inside me.

"You don't say a single word about what you want with this mouth."

"......"

A fleeting expression of mild dissatisfaction — as if hoping I would beg for something — crossed his face and vanished. When I came to him asking for help with this matter... it had felt like such a large request...

"Hah... ugh."

Before I could dwell on that thought, the finger that had traced the inside slid out.

"I'm going to spread your legs a little wider."

By the time he said that, my legs were already parting, and his cock was aimed at my entrance.

It was completely different from his finger. Just having the slick head pressed against my entrance made my breath catch from the heavy pressure. Unlike his finger, which had entered easily in one motion, his thick cock struggled to penetrate.

Before even half the head was swallowed, he pulled back and pushed in again, repeatedly, drawing as much of the glistening pre-cum around my entrance inside as possible.

"Ahh… hah…"

My lower body felt loose and twitching from the repeated in-and-out. I let out a sound like a sob and raised my arms to cover my eyes.

"Why cover them? Curious Seo Ihyeon."

He gently took hold of my wrist and pulled my hand down, speaking in a soothing tone. A faint smile lingered on his face as I looked up, but below, his broad, swollen cock was writhing, pressing through my entrance.

"You don't have to wait until all of it is in... I'll make you feel good right away."

"......"

Unsure what he meant, my body trembled slightly with a mixture of fear and anticipation, and my entrance tightened involuntarily.

"Ngh—ah!"

Forcing its way through the contracting entrance, his cock pushed abruptly inside. I had only just swallowed the head, yet my lower body felt numb, as if more than half the act was already done. But it wasn't from tightness — it was from the size of him. My entrance was already thoroughly slicked.

Looking down at my dilated, trembling pupils, he gently wrapped his hand around my other wrist as well. Then he pulled taut toward the place where we were joined.

Thrusts rained down, the prominent head striking that sensitive spot deep inside me with precision.

"Ngh… ah… ah—ugh!"

It felt like lightning striking inside my head. Like lying naked in a field where lightning was hitting continuously. Rain was pouring down on my bare body. The sound outside seemed to grow louder, but that wasn't what mattered.

The sensation was different from when the shaft dragged over that spot after being pushed all the way in. This was raw, direct stimulation. It made that place inside me feel like a second sex organ hidden in my hole.

It gave me the illusion that his cock wasn’t fucking my hole at all, but something else inside it — that hidden spot, like another sexual organ buried deep in me.

His thrusts — shallow, not meant to drive deeper but to work that spot, pressing right against it and pulling back fast — felt like they were grinding my lower body to nothing.

Unlike the previous penetrations, which had built and crested in waves, this was different. Power surged instantly to the root of his cock and the tip of his head tingled.

"No — please stop... Stop!"

"That's not what this is... Be honest, quickly."

I struggled with all my strength to pull my arms free, but he used that very thrashing as leverage to drive into me even more persistently.

With my hips slightly elevated off the surface, he pressed my wrists down onto my own pelvis to hold me in place. Then, with unbelievable speed, he began striking that spot inside me and pulling back over and over, as if measured by a ruler.

Though hidden beneath his shirt, I could sense the rapid movement of his firm waist. The rise and fall of his flexible hips, tightening and releasing the muscles of his ass as he moved in and out of me.

Between the open buttons of his shirt, his broad chest and sharply defined abs glistened with sweat.

"Take... take your shirt off."

"......"

"I want to see everything."

My mouth was parched from the uncontrollable moans I could neither suppress nor swallow. The honesty I revealed to him — my voice cracking and breathless — was neither a plea for him to stop nor a demand to be let go. I wanted to see the obscene movement of his hips and ass as he drove pleasure into me.

His eyes looking down at me narrowed with satisfaction. Even as he released my wrists and shrugged his shirt over his shoulders, he didn't stop moving his hips.

"Hah… ah… ngh…"

Even after he let go of my wrists and I was free, I was still surrendering my body to him below. The feeling that I was so close — just a little, just a little more — was tormenting my lower abdomen with an itch that was becoming unbearable.

Perhaps because the sleeves, sweat-soaked and clinging to his skin, wouldn't slide off easily, he unrolled them carefully first. Then he roughly tossed the shirt, inside-out, onto the armchair beside the bed.

My greedy gaze was tracing the beautiful proportions of his body and the contours of muscles that felt both firm and flexibly resilient — plainly visible in my eyes, and I had no desire to hide it, nor the energy left to try.

He, too — upper body muscles swelling with tension as if on the verge of explosion, breathing hard — let his gaze roam over my naked form sprawled beneath him, connected still to his cock.

Then, in a sudden flicker, the weight of his gaze curved with playfulness.

"Now that I'm naked... do you like me?"

It wasn't that I didn't like how he looked with his shirt on...

"Ugh… ahh—ngh!"

Before I could even answer, the rapid thrusts scraping that sensitive spot inside me began again.

Because he wasn't driving all the way in, his hips weren't slamming against my entrance and there was no jolt of my body bouncing back. And yet — looking down, his hips were moving ceaselessly, working in and out of me.

Unlike me lying still, his movements alone stood out in sharp relief, carrying a different texture of excitement from the usual sense of unity when we moved as one. It was as vivid as if a camera had zoomed in for a close-up on his movements during sex and every bead of sweat forming on his skin, stimulating my vision intensely.

I watched him — his focused expression, furrowed brow, lips parted, hips bucking rapidly in that obscene rhythm, targeting that one spot relentlessly — and layered my own excitement on top of the pleasure of it being stroked deep inside me.

"Why are you watching so... intently? It's a little embarrassing."

A lie.

I didn't say that aloud, but perhaps he sensed my thoughts from the shift in my gaze, because he braced his fists on either side of my chest and bent his upper body forward, giving an awkward smile. He was feigning composure, but it was a smile that seemed somewhat anxious. He, too, was not free from the rising excitement.

"Ahh… ngh… ah…"

As he changed position, pressing deeper between my hips, my legs and ass lifted slightly off the surface beneath him. With his cock only halfway inside, he began to rotate his hips in a wide circle. The vivid sensation of my entrance stretching wide around his turning cock made me shake my head and grip his forearms.

When I managed to pry open my squeezed-shut eyelids, he was looking down at me with the concentrated expression of someone confronting a serious problem.

Slowly, the thick shaft dragged along my inner walls as it withdrew, and my eyes went wide.

"Ah—hh… ah…"

I felt his cock catch right at my entrance, and without thinking I shook my head "no" and gripped his arms tight.

"Ugh—ah!"

As he pulled his hips back further, his head — which had been precariously perched at the edge of my hole — snapped free and grazed his lower abdomen. The sensation of that slick, pre-cum-coated head flicking out and lifting the upper rim of my entrance made my toes curl inward. No — it made them stretch wide open. Whatever it was, a vibrating sensation coursed through me, demanding expression all the way out through my toes.

The same motion repeated several times. At a steady pace, neither rushing nor lingering. He would press halfway in, then pull back out. He teased the rim of my hole with his distinctly shaped head, flicking at it. Yet he never entered fully.

Having been pushed to the very threshold of climax a couple of times only to be pulled back, with the added stimulation tormenting my entrance where all the peripheral nerves gathered, I was now completely ready to be honest and abject.

Pressing my forehead and the bridge of my nose against his arm, solid as a pillar, I pleaded in a crawling voice.

"Please..."

My body, sensitized to the point of nearing climax, craved release in the way I wanted it. I could no longer reach it through the dry, mechanical self-pleasure I used before. I made no attempt to hide the quivering of my inner walls or the twitching of my entrance. On the contrary — I wanted him to notice and be aroused by it.

He pressed down slowly on my hips, lowering his upper body to kiss the bridge of my nose.

"What is it?"

His voice was deliberately low, as if someone might be eavesdropping on a secret. This time, with each tiny increment of his cock advancing inside me, I was completely desperate. I kicked my feet in the air.

The paths to pleasure he guided me along were so varied, and the techniques he used to conquer me seemed endless. Not all penetration was the same. How... are all Golden Alphas this good at sex?

"My stomach... it feels... strange..."

"How does it feel strange?"

The crease of his brow, jaw clenched tight, proved he too was restraining the urge to push harder — and yet today he possessed more patience than he had a few days ago.

As if he disliked, or perhaps feared, going deep inside me — he was only working from my entrance to that spot inside. He had never pushed all the way in.

"It itches... inside, my stomach itches..."

Without realizing it, I was actually scratching my lower abdomen. An itch from deep inside that scratching my skin couldn't relieve.

His breath, as he looked down at me, collapsed and grew rough, as if someone had torn everything apart inside him.

Not wanting to miss the moment his defenses crumbled, I turned my head and kissed the wrist of his arm braced next to my chest.

"Please... just... hard... all the way inside..."

Even if my appearance might have seemed like I was coaxing or flattering him to get the sex I wanted, I didn't care. He wasn't the type to be overcome with cheap triumph just from something like this. He was the only one who could reach my inner walls — the ones I couldn't reach myself — and relieve this maddening itch. If I could just reach that pleasure right now, I felt I could do even worse. Thinking about what I'd already whispered in his ear on this bed, this was nothing.

"How?"

I think I might have anticipated that brief question, delivered with eyes that gleamed down at me.

Breathing in short, ragged gasps like someone terrified, I moved the hand that had been scratching my lower abdomen down between my legs to feel where we were joined. His eyes burned frighteningly, as if he were fully prepared to swallow me whole the moment I gave the signal.

Staring directly into those eyes, I found the base of his cock — more than halfway withdrawn from my entrance — with my trembling hand. Then I pulled him back inside me.

His pupils, looking down, dilated and trembled as if facing something impossible. As his lips parted, a sound like an exclamation escaped.

Feeling it would be better to erase the distance between us, I wrapped my other arm around his neck and pulled him close. As our cheeks met, our ragged breaths dampened each other's ears.

"Harder... push this in more... fill me up inside... use your cock to rub me. Pound me like you're going to break me...!"

Once I opened my mouth the words came faster and faster, but his lips sealed mine. As if trying to swallow all my filthy words before I could speak them aloud, he ransacked my entire mouth.

"Mm—! Ugh… mmph!"

He thrust the remaining half of his cock inside me in one go.

My moan — swallowing his tongue as it probed my mouth wide open without holding back — echoed dully as if in a cave.

The hand holding his base got caught between his pubic hair and my leg. As if unwilling to let go, he twisted his groin forcefully, pressing down even on my hand. The coarse brush of his pubic hair against the back of my hand made my hips arch involuntarily.

Before I could exhale the breath I'd been holding, his lips bit down hard.

"What exactly is this... supposed to be preventing?"

Muttering it like he was talking to himself, he bit my lips savagely — looking almost angry. His thrusts, lifting my hips into the air and pounding into me at full speed, were unhesitating, making his earlier restraint seem absurd.

But the eyes looking down at me seemed completely bewildered and afraid, like a boy experiencing sex for the first time. It was impossible — and yet that's how it looked.

"What... what should I do? Huh? What should I really do...?"

Sighing those words, he bit down on his own lower lip. The world blurred before my eyes as he drove into me, filling not just the space between my legs but my entire body, pounding relentlessly.

It feels strange. Like I'm going to die. Like all the thin knowledge I possess and every single memory — good and bad — is about to be wiped clean. Feeling wetness trace a line toward my temple, I appealed to him.

"Why are you scared of that? That's why I'm shaking my hips so hard right now."

I opened my eyes to his touch wiping away the traces of tears and looked up at him. He was right. This was what I wanted today.

"Erase everything, blow it all away. Huh? Let's just blow it all away."

His mumbled words, corrected from a command to a gentle request and whispered against my breath, scattered weakly. He said nothing more.

He pressed down on me using the full weight of his body as if to drive me into the mattress, and for a moment stopped moving his hips, plunging deep inside me.

"Ah—hh… ngh…"

Unable to even moan under the intensely addictive pressure of his swelling knot, I gasped with my mouth open as I spilled onto my stomach and chest. This was the climax I had desperately sought, yet the pleasure pulsing deep inside me — like a new heartbeat — overpowered the sensation felt through my cock.

He was throbbing inside me. Even without the friction of pulling back and thrusting forward, his knotted cock contracted and expanded on its own — like a heart just ripped free — pounding against my insides.

My whole body trembled from that intense heat, as if it were pushing my organs upward and choking my throat. It was a dangerous thought, but in that moment I could almost understand why some people liked having their necks held during climax.

The pressure of his kiss compounded the pressure rising from below. I was running out of air, but I clung to the scent he was pouring into me and didn't refuse the kiss.

This sex — where I was crushed and driven by overwhelming force — made me forget myself. It was sex that demanded I let everything about me be disassembled and exposed, and in turn accept everything exposed about him.

Everything was swept away, and in that void, everything that was him rushed in all at once. A strange sense of relief, born from the vague certainty that this sex meant the same thing to him, settled over me as I closed my eyes within his scent.

· · · · ·

He returned from the dressing room inside the bedroom with fresh sheets and draped them over my naked, curled-up form. It was embarrassing that my throat, hoarse from trying to thank him, was so wrecked — but I didn't even have the energy to clear it.

Even without screaming, my throat always ended up raw after being with him. Even the effort to artificially suppress moans seemed to strain my voice.

Just as my voice cracked as usual, his cock remained rigid despite having come. I suddenly wondered if he had ever had sex until the point where he returned to his flaccid state — and if so, with whom, what kind of sex, and for how long. I didn't have the courage to ask.

Unlike last time — when we had sex for a very long time, through knotting and multiple rounds — this time ended relatively quickly, but the feeling of utter collapse, as if my spine had turned to liquid, was the same.

I had no idea how it felt for him as the one doing the knotting, but for the recipient, it seemed to be a physically draining act. A lingering, tingling sensation still remained deep inside me, making my body tremble intermittently.

Perhaps the reason I felt so drained was because I was a Beta. An Alpha's knotting was never meant for a Beta, after all.

After covering me with the sheet, he left the room and returned with a large cup of water.

"There's no bottled water since it's an empty house, but this is from the water purifier, so drink some."

I fumbled to sit up and took the cup. Perhaps sensing my trembling arms were unsteady, he didn't let go of the cup until I brought it properly to my lips and drank.

It felt awkward to know where to look — his cock was still hard and glistening beside me where he stood. The traces of our intense penetration and the come he'd spilled were beginning to dry pale on the shaft he'd left uncleaned after pulling out of me.

"Shall we rest briefly, just long enough for a cigarette?"

He placed the empty cup on the bedside table as he proposed that, then walked around the bed to the opposite side. He cupped himself between his legs as he moved to stop his cock from swinging awkwardly.

Though the movement was mundane — almost clinical — the sheer size of him, large enough to require holding in place to move comfortably, was inherently too sexual.

When he bent over to pick up his jacket from the floor, his scrotum peeked out between his legs. Catching glimpses of that heavy, elastically swaying weight, I had to secretly rub my thighs together under the sheet. To hide my slightly stiffening cock, I slowly slid my body — which had been leaning against the headboard — down onto the mattress, lying face down.

He glanced down at me, then took a cigarette from his jacket and lit it while standing.

His profile was the human embodiment of the word "perfection."

The thickness of his chest and the swell of his muscles, the lean waistline curving sharply down from his back, his firm raised backside, and his long solid legs. Even his cock called to mind that champagne bottle wedged between a foreign model's legs — the one Yuni nuna and Juhan had giggled about when they first found it in a magazine.

His thick black hair, always floating lightly despite its fullness, and his blue eyes tinged with gray, which seemed to shift in color and temperature with his emotions.

Even if every single reason I liked him were based purely on his looks, I'd have no choice but to agree with myself — he was beautiful, once again.

But it wasn't the same beauty I'd first seen when we met — the flawless, self-assured beauty of a jewel exquisitely cut and displayed behind glass.

He too had a past that weighed on him, a past that sometimes governed him. He also had clumsy aspects, like fumbling through nervous speech when he wanted to comfort someone but didn't know how.

The beauty he showed now — one that reflected and refracted light through his own unique flaws and distortions — felt incomparably more alluring. I wanted to know more about his curves and scars, and if he wanted, I wanted to tell him about myself too.

Some might dismiss them as ordinary things that happen in the world, but to me, the one who had lived through them, they were events that carried enough weight to warp my very being beyond recognition — and also the trivial, insignificant, laughably small things.

It was the first time I'd ever felt the desire to tell someone else about myself.

Within the immense tenderness that soothed my anxiety, it was only natural that my feelings deepened the more I became physically intimate with him.

It was almost mysterious how Juhan or Yuni nuna could be exposed to this kindness and still manage not to like him as a romantic partner.

He sat on the edge of the bed, picking up the ashtray that had been on the table in front of the armchair, and took a drag from his cigarette while pushing back his now quite disheveled hair.

Watching the side of his face as he raised both arms as if stretching — the cigarette still between his lips — I unconsciously murmured.

"...Thank you."

"......"

He stopped mid-motion and looked down at me with surprised eyes, then slowly lowered his arms and transferred the cigarette from his mouth to his fingers.

"Was it good enough to warrant thanks?"

His voice and expression, tinged with a smirk, spoke of satisfaction with the sex.

I considered adding an explanation that it wasn't about that, but it didn't seem necessary. His free hand reached over and gently stroked my hair where I lay sprawled on the mattress, cheek still pressed against it. It was a smile that seemed to say he knew exactly what I meant, and what I didn't.

Because the glass door to the garden was open, the sound of rain tapping on the wooden deck was close. The downpour had thickened since we'd left the airport. The thin sheer curtains repeatedly billowed up and sank back down. Against the gray backdrop as they settled, the image of him touching me seemed to carve itself into my vision with a distinct texture.

After drawing his hand back from my hair, he flicked cigarette ash into the ashtray at his left and spoke in a calm tone.

"To be honest, I expected you might be uncomfortable staying in this house. Plan B was something I offered just in case, knowing that might happen... but there's also a Plan A. The order in which I presented them has simply been reversed."

He pressed his cigarette-holding hand against the mattress and turned toward me, meeting my eyes.

"Manager Han also said she'd feel more reassured if you stayed with me rather than alone. I feel the same way. Things will probably be unsettling for a while, but it's too much to ask you to call ahead every time you go in to take a shower, isn't it?"

With that playful remark, he took a short sharp drag. My whole body felt listless and it was hard to gather strength in my waist, but this seemed like a conversation I needed to take seriously, so I pushed myself up from my prone position and pulled the sheet up to cover my lower body.

From this new vantage point, where our eye levels were much closer, he cast a fragmented glance at me. Then, as if avoiding something, he turned his head away and took another drag.

"I would like to give you more leeway, but... as you know, Seo Ihyeon, this is the situation we're in. Securing safety is the top priority, and on that I can't compromise either. Please understand."

Despite the finality of his words — leaving no room for negotiation, firmly stating he could not yield — his voice carried a desperation that didn't match their content.

It felt strange that he, an outsider, was appealing to me for understanding based on my own safety.

Whether it was loyalty to someone he had shared his body with, a sense of responsibility toward his exclusive artist, or perhaps some other small, lingering affection layered on top... his firm insistence — driven by serious concern for my safety, leaving me no room to refuse his offer — was a clearer, more distinct comfort than alcohol, than shopping, than the promise of a life in a luxurious villa.

As I watched his profile — brow furrowed as he inhaled his cigarette — in the air that had gone gray and subdued under the relentlessly persistent monsoon rains, a distinct impulse arose within me, like hunger: sudden, yet utterly natural.

I hadn't forced it, nor had I compelled myself to feel it. Like water that slowly rises to saturation and then spills over a levee, the urge to paint him — right here in front of me — arose of its own accord.

I fixed my gaze on his profile, trying to concentrate on that faint, flickering sensation — the feeling that the senses I'd believed were completely severed might be coming back to life.

"What's wrong?"

He turned to look at me, noticing how rigid I'd gone with trembling, anxious eyes, and asked with concern. I avoided his gaze and stumbled out a vague reply.

"Nothing, it's just... I feel bad..."

He let out a short laugh, as if to say, are you still on about that. He reached out and ruffled my hair.

I had thought that game — finding myself in the hairline fracture of a mug, in the cement bags abandoned at a halted construction site, in the face of an old woman sitting sulkily before her street stall — was a privilege I had surrendered myself. The price of having put my brush down for so long was that I would never again find a subject I wanted to capture in that way.

But he was right.

Before going to Hong Kong, when we spoke on the phone outside the entrance to my rooftop room — he had been certain that I would find something new I wanted to paint. And he was right.

The pulse throbbing above my head felt as if it were hammering through my whole body. Just like when he was knotting inside me.

· · · · ·

· Suppression ·

A weekday evening.

The man stopped his car in front of a pharmacy on his way home. He stalled for a moment, smoking a cigarette, then seemed to make up his mind — hurriedly stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and stepping out.

Though it probably wasn't necessary to go this far, he had deliberately chosen a neighborhood with no connection to either his workplace or his home, somewhere he had no usual reason to visit. He entered the largest pharmacy among several located in front of a mid-sized general hospital.

A plastic sign outside indicated the pharmacy was open until 10 p.m., but though it had only just turned eight, the inside was quiet.

"Welcome."

Instead of the casually dressed middle-aged man sitting with his back to the entrance, absorbed in a computer screen, a pharmacist in a white coat emerged from the dispensary in the back. She appeared to be in her early to mid-thirties, and replaced a question of what he needed with a gentle smile.

The man was strikingly handsome with an exotic air rarely seen, and tall with a powerful build that drew attention even from a distance where his features weren't clearly visible — but he looked anxious, as though someone were chasing him.

Still, she waited patiently.

Judging by his clothing, where refined taste seemed to seep through effortlessly, and from the polished manners revealed even in the smallest unconscious movements, the man didn't appear to be a desperate criminal driven to robbery by financial ruin.

Patients who came to pharmacies for conditions they found difficult to discuss were far more common than people tended to think. Even ailments as medically ordinary as athlete's foot or hemorrhoids could be difficult for patients to bring up.

But the man's hesitation — even after stepping up to the counter with a tense expression — stemmed not from shame he wanted to hide from others, but from a humiliation he felt toward himself.

And yet he had no choice. He forced his reluctant lips open.

"I'd like to purchase... suppressants."

"Certainly. May I see your identification?"

Despite the man's clearly unusual demeanor, the pharmacist maintained a purely professional attitude. That response offered him a small measure of relief. He was grateful she hadn't glanced at him as though he were a beast, assuming he was an Alpha in rut. If she had, this would have been even more agonizing — particularly since he wasn't in rut.

After confirming the Alpha designation on his ID, she returned it to him and asked,

"If you usually take a specific brand, shall I give you that one?"

He shook his head.

"No. I don't have a particular one."

Turning briefly away, the pharmacist scanned the shelves behind her, then set a paper box on the counter — its design emphasizing luxury through deep green and gold.

"This is the one most people ask for."

Pushing the box back toward her, the man said in a low, firm voice.

"I've already tried this one. I'm looking for something stronger."

The man had already purchased and taken suppressants from another pharmacy.

Suppressants. The entirety of the man's experience with them amounted to a brief period as a supplementary measure during the early stages of his second puberty — the distant days of his boyhood. As a Golden Alpha, he had never needed them, and because he refused to become a beast that had to manage his urges with medicine, he had pushed himself all the harder to perfect himself as a Golden Alpha.

But the suppressants he'd sought out again after nearly twenty years had almost no effect. At first, he thought there might be some slight result, but the moment "he" began to show sexual desire toward him, they quickly became useless.

"As you know, an Omega's heat follows a somewhat regular cycle due to hormonal action, making fundamental suppression more stable — but an Alpha's rut is highly volatile, triggered by their own libido or stimulation from an Omega's pheromones. So even a suppressant can only work to dull the sense of smell to some extent."

The pharmacist explained with a somewhat apologetic expression.

The man already knew this well.

An Omega's heat — during which sexual impulses intensified and large amounts of pheromones were secreted — occurred according to a fixed hormonal cycle. An Alpha's rut was different. No regularity, no cycle. The moment they felt desire, they emitted pheromones; conversely, exposure to an Omega's pheromones immediately triggered arousal.

This was one of the reasons he had never been able to feel that Alphas were superior to Betas or Omegas, and also the reason he had poured so much effort into becoming a Golden Alpha.

He had believed that this animalistic instinct — where pheromones opened in response to another's stimulation, and one surrendered to another's pheromones beyond one's own control — had ended completely alongside his immature boyhood.

"We do carry a higher-potency product, but it can cause a near-total temporary loss of the sense of smell. With continuous use, it can affect olfactory function itself at a fundamental level. You are aware... of that, aren't you?"

The pharmacist asked cautiously, watching the tension in his face.

"I have no intention of taking it long-term. Two boxes of this one, please."

At the man's words, she packaged two smaller boxes than the previous one and handed them over, along with instructions to take no more than two pills at a time, no more than twice a day.

"Are you perhaps... a Golden Alpha?"

After he completed payment, just as he turned to leave the counter, she called out to stop him. Then she added carefully, toward the man who had turned back,

"If you are a Golden Alpha and have suddenly found yourself needing suppressants, it would be better to consult a specialist rather than relying on over-the-counter medication."

The man nodded as if agreeing with her suggestion.

"I'll do that."

But even a specialist — indeed, even a world-renowned authority in the field — was unable to explain the situation the man was currently in. A Golden Alpha temporarily experiencing dysfunction in pheromone regulation. It was a problem far more complex than that.

The man tossed the bag containing the medicine onto the passenger seat and lit a cigarette. The fact that the only thing he could rely on right now was a few trivial capsules was almost enough to make him laugh.

Only after burning through three cigarettes in a row could the man finally grip the steering wheel again.

· · · · ·

"So then he rejected them all again!"

Yuni nuna spread her arms wide, her voice rising with an aggrieved expression.

The complaint was about the final interviews for the new hire Phantom was recruiting. Among the candidates she and Juhan had carefully shortlisted through a week of interviews, the Director had eliminated every single one at the final round — and nuna was far from pleased.

"Right now it's peak season with graduating seniors job-hunting, so there are plenty of applicants, but if this keeps up, forget a vacation — we'll be doing overtime every day through August without a single day off before Chicago! Is it really that easy to find someone you instantly click with? Why is our Director so incredibly picky?"

Sitting next to me in the backseat, nuna leaned over and hugged the back of Juhan's seat in the front, pulling a face like she might cry.

"It's because I suddenly quit..."

"That's not your fault, so don't go thinking such things."

Before my apology could go on any longer, nuna raised her index finger and firmly silenced me.

Yuni nuna, Juhan hyung, and I were on our way back from shopping together at a large supermarket.

After Yeehan hyung and Morae nuna left last Sunday, I stopped going to Phantom the very next Monday. And I moved my things into the basement of his house.

The Plan A he'd mentioned was the basement of his own home.

Though technically underground, the space was more than half exposed above ground — the first floor was reached by a flight of stairs and sat a story and a half up. There were large, plentiful windows, so there was plenty of natural light, and ventilation wasn't an issue either. It was comfortable and completely free of the dampness and mustiness typical of basements.

Just as he had explained, the previous homeowner had renovated it cleanly into a studio apartment for his son who had been studying abroad, so there was nothing inconvenient about staying there. The floors and walls were tidy, and it even had a kitchen and bathroom.

If I absolutely had to choose between Plan A and Plan B, my answer — without a second thought — was A.

Even that space was luxurious enough for me, but he had paced the epoxy floor with his hands in his pockets, expression reluctant, repeatedly urging me to reconsider the villa one more time.

Though the move itself was modest — a single backpack and a couple of shopping bags — today was a gathering he had proposed, something like a housewarming.

"It's not like he's picking a lover, so what's all this about feelings? When you first came to help, he gave us a bit of trouble, but then he told us to do as we pleased... Ah, matchmaking would honestly be easier than this."

Listening to nuna's perfectly justified complaints, I thought that the indifference he'd initially shown me might actually have been on the friendlier side. I could see now that if he had truly disliked me in the end, he never would have hired someone with such a complicated background.

"In the end, the ones who have to actually work face-to-face with the new hire are Kwon Juhan and me! Whoever has the interview scheduled for Monday, I'm pushing them through no matter what."

While nuna was steeling her resolve, the car was pulling into the parking lot of his building.

We convinced the driver not to help with the bags, and each took two grocery bags from the trunk.

His and Manager Han's shared opinion was that I should use the driver's car whenever I needed to go out for the time being. Since I wasn't commuting, there were rarely reasons to leave the house, but the driver was always waiting in a separate guard post in the parking lot until he returned home. Though I couldn't insist on my own discomfort while receiving such care and consideration, it was undeniably awkward and burdensome.

"That driver — he's doubling as a bodyguard, isn't he? Is... your nuna's father really that frightening of a person?"

As we walked down the corridor connected to the studio, nuna asked in a low voice, even though the door had already closed behind us.

If she was asking whether Mr. Lim was capable of dragging me out of my current life to track down the whereabouts of Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung — then yes, Mr. Lim was indeed that frightening.

Even if life here was making me lose my sense of balance, difficult to feel stable in — it was nothing compared to being hauled back to the village by Mr. Lim and interrogated about Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung's whereabouts. I didn't want to be the kind of useless supporting character from a Hollywood cartoon who only complained about morality while being incapable of solving anything, burdening everyone around them.

"Did nuna and hyung arrive safely at their destination?"

Juhan, who had reached the door to the studio first, turned back to ask. I shook my head.

"They're still on their way. I got an email yesterday saying they'd reached Kolkata."

Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung were communicating through the email account he had set up for them. The two had entered Eastern Europe via Minsk, the capital of Belarus, planned to travel through several Eastern European countries before crossing Russia, then traverse Mongolia and China to reach India — from where they intended to alternate between land, air, and sea routes to make their way to Bali. It was a route he had planned and prepared in less than a single day.

"They'll arrive safely. It's the Director's plan, after all."

Nuna, her hands full with grocery bags, tilted her head and lightly bumped her temple against mine as she spoke. Understanding her intention to comfort me, I nodded back.

"Hurry up and open the door. These bags are killing me."

At Juhan's exaggerated complaint, I pressed the password and unlocked the door.

Midway down the corridor connected from the parking lot was the door to the studio; past that door, turning right, was another door that opened out to the garden.

Since I had arrived, he had been using the parking lot via the door from the garden, though there were also internal stairs inside the studio connecting up to the first floor. When he invited me to eat with him, I would go upstairs through those stairs.

Actually... over the past week, from Monday when I moved in through yesterday, Friday, there had been two instances of physical contact between us.

Once after a meal of takeout sushi he brought back from outside, and another time after a meal of oil pasta he had made — we talked for a while, and ended up kissing and touching each other.

But neither time went as far as penetration. We only brought each other off with our hands, and once, standing pressed together, I rubbed between his thighs.

"Wow... what kind of basement is this? In college neighborhoods you've got places on the second or third floor that are pitch black because they're crammed right up against the next building! This is a luxury version!"

An excited Juhan set his bags down on the floor and began looking around the studio. His reaction was wildly different from mine when the Director had first shown me the place.

"Being open like a studio makes it feel even bigger. This side is the workspace... and that side is the bedroom, right?"

Yuni nuna, who had set her bags neatly beside the ones Juhan had carelessly dropped in the middle of the floor, pointed toward the bed barely visible beyond a corner as she spoke. Juhan was already rushing over to test the mattress.

The central space near the door where nuna and I stood had almost nothing in it except for art tools. Looking curiously at the canvases lined up upside-down beneath the window, nuna asked,

"Nothing finished yet?"

"If you're not comfortable with it, you don't have to show anything. We may be gallery staff, but we know how to respect an artist's wishes."

Juhan, who had wandered back over at some point, crouched down in front of his bags, peeled a banana, and joined the conversation.

"It's not that... I've been away from it for so long, I'm just warming up my hands for now..."

Using the tools and materials he had prepared only for sketching felt almost wasteful, and I had only started touching oil paint two days ago. But my working hours were increasing rapidly. I spent almost all my time painting from when he left for work until he returned, and it hadn't been the painful experience I had feared.

That was because I was only moving my hands to draw objects — I hadn't yet poured myself into the work.

But I couldn't keep sketching for practice indefinitely. Having borrowed money on the promise of painting, I had an obligation to produce work with economic value.

"Um... lately I've been doing still lifes and landscapes to warm up my hand, but would you be willing to model for me sometime, hyung? I'd like to try drawing figures too."

Juhan, who had been flipping through books, art collections, and exhibition pamphlets on the built-in shelves while chewing a mouthful of banana, stopped and turned to look at me.

"Me? Not Baek Yuni, me?"

"Your eyes, cheekbones, jawline... I thought the contours of your face had a stronger character, so you'd be better to draw," I explained, hoping nuna wouldn't feel slighted.

I explained it so earnestly, but nuna just let out a soft laugh and waved it off.

"Why are you working so hard to justify yourself? I'm not the type to get upset over something like that."

I smiled at nuna, feeling awkward for worrying unnecessarily — when from upstairs came his voice.

"You're here, so why aren't you coming up? Aren't you hungry?"

He was leaning one arm casually on the railing, looking down at us from halfway up the stairs connecting to the first floor.

"We're looking at Ihyeon's room. Wow — the treatment really is different when you become a contracted artist. I had no idea the basement here was this nice."

He glanced at me as he descended the stairs but didn't respond much to nuna's comment, turning his attention instead to the grocery bags on the floor.

"Why did you buy so much again? You won't even be able to eat it all."

"I have to work through my vacation this summer anyway, so I might as well get something out of the Director for it. Besides, we are going to eat every bit of it!"

Juhan playfully wrapped his arm around his waist with a grin, and even as the Director pushed hyung's forehead away, he smiled — clearly not displeased.

Surprisingly, Juhan was quite natural with physical affection, and had a warm side. This was true not just with him, but also with Manager Han and Yuni nuna, and often with me too — draping an arm over my shoulder or resting his head against me.

As the two of them bickered their way upstairs carrying the bags, they looked like close brothers. Following behind them, I found myself thinking about my own stiff personality — how, even though I had kissed him and slept with him, I still didn't know how to be so easy and uninhibited.

"Huh? The painting. Why did you take it down?"

The moment we entered the living room, Juhan stopped and pointed to the empty space on the wall above the sofa. My eyes instinctively flew to him.

"I was looking forward to seeing how it would feel now that I know it's Ihyeon's painting."

"It's a piece whose value is about to skyrocket. I've stored it carefully. If you want to see that painting, push for an exhibition."

Without letting the other two notice, he glanced briefly at me and led the way toward the kitchen, changing the subject.

Even though I had said I was completely fine now, he still hadn't put Alienation back in its place. He seemed to believe I had some trauma connected to it — but what had shaken me that day had nothing to do with the painting itself, only with the past it brought to mind.

Still, I didn't feel ready to explain that to him, or to anyone. I had simply waited for time to pass and dull the edges without properly processing it inside. I was just grateful he wasn't forcing me to speak.

After the bags were moved to the kitchen, serious meal preparation began.

Since Yuni nuna and Juhan insisted on nothing but meat, tonight's main course was barbecue. He, in charge of the meat, marinated it and then headed out to the garden to set up the equipment, while the three of us unpacked the groceries and spread them across the wide island counter.

Every essential barbecue ingredient was there: Korean beef bought by cut, bone-in lamb chops, handmade sausages, large prawns, potatoes, and sweet potatoes. Vegetables for wrapping, fruit for dessert, ice cream, and even the cheesecake Juhan had insisted on putting in the cart just because he wanted it. As he had said — it was an amount impossible to finish in a single meal.

Aside from the barbecue, Juhan was making spicy whelk salad and nuna was making kimchi stew. Since I can't cook, my role was mainly helping to wash and prep ingredients.

"Manager Han will be here in ten minutes. Should we start the steaks?"

Juhan checked his phone and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He had already eaten two bananas, a peach, and a pack of crackers while we prepped, but still seemed hungry.

"Ihyeon, take this to the Director... then go help him outside."

Taking the tray nuna handed me, I stepped out the front door. He had already set up the table and grill entirely on his own and was filling the grill with charcoal. I placed the tray on the table — designed as a single unit with integrated bench seating, convenient for outdoor use — and walked over toward the grill.

"Manager Han will be here in ten minutes."

"Then we can start grilling."

He ignited the torch, which used a butane gas canister, and pushed the flame deep into the pile of charcoal stacked diagonally to allow for airflow.

The blue flame that hissed as it slid between the pieces of charcoal soon erupted into rising red fire. The harsh heat of midday had passed, but the sun was still up. I glanced at him where he stood beside the flames, wondering if he was too hot, and our eyes met.

"Have you tried lamb before?"

"No."

"It has a distinctive aroma — it can be a little polarizing. But those two have very refined palates, so they probably picked out good cuts. Give it a try. If you don't like it, we also have the Korean beef."

I nodded, watching the black charcoal catch and redden. I wasn't a picky eater.

"It's even better if you let it marinate and rest for an hour or two, but if the meat is good quality, it's delicious even just grilled like this. Though honestly, Kwon Juhan would probably tear into raw meat and declare it delicious."

"Juhan hyung said... that steak you grill, Director, is really delicious."

"He says things like that? I thought he only talked trash about me when I wasn't around."

I laughed at his words, and he checked that the charcoal was adequately lit, put the torch away, and spread the coals evenly inside the grill.

"My mother is from the US and loved barbecue. She used to invite friends over all year round to host them. As I grew up, I gradually took over the chef's role. We often did Korean charcoal grilling too."

It was a small, unremarkable story — and some might say I was making too much of it — but since this was the first time he had brought up something about himself so naturally, my gaze drifted toward him without meaning to.

As he set the grill grate over the coals he'd prepared for cooking, he seemed to sense the look and raised his head to meet my eyes. The contact of our gazes lingered a little longer than necessary.

His eyes held a slightly different light — the same tense, charged look he had sent me yesterday on the living room sofa, just before we kissed. The instant I sensed that change, my body felt constricted, as if bound by a taut rope.

He glanced back once, then took off his gloves and laid them on the wing-like shelves hanging from either side of the grill.

Then, with one hand, he cupped the back of my neck, and with the other, he touched my lips. More precisely, he pinched my lower lip hard and rubbed it so the inner mucosal surfaces pressed and scraped together.

The contact was sudden, and since I couldn't read the intent behind this unfamiliar intimacy, I could only stare at him with wide eyes. His gaze, fixed on me just the same, reminded me of the blue flame he had just used to kindle the black charcoal. As I looked into those eyes — which seemed cold yet seethed with passion — I felt the throbbing pain bloom in my lip, and then his hand withdrew.

It was a brief moment, barely ten seconds, but the sharp tingling numbness made me unconsciously bring my hand to my lips.

As he slipped his gloves back on, he smiled without showing his teeth. A sly-looking smile.

"The sensation... isn't it similar?"

"......"

"You like it when people hurt you a little, Seo Ihyeon. Well, so do I."

He didn't say what it was similar to, but I had a vague idea.

"Because you were looking at me like you wanted to kiss me. But right now, we can't..."

"Ah..."

A foolish exclamation slipped out. I lowered the hand that had been fiddling with my lips, but the burning heat — as if I'd been scalded — remained.

He spoke as if that touch had been a substitute for a kiss, but ironically, the sensation had ignited a craving for a real one deep inside me. I felt a little resentful of him for stirring things up like that.

Then his voice dropped another notch, turning intimate.

"Or should I just do it? I don't mind."

As he said that with a mischievous smile, his phone on the table vibrated. He glanced over my shoulder at it, wrinkling the bridge of his nose in a frown as if disappointed.

"Ah... looks like someone oblivious is calling to have the parking gate opened."

Just as he predicted, the caller was Manager Han. While he opened the parking gate with the remote beside his phone and finished a brief call with her, I had to work to shake off thoughts of the recent contact.

I didn't know what it looked like — eyes that wanted a kiss — but I couldn't say his guess was entirely wrong. If desires like that were plainly visible in my eyes every time, that would be... more embarrassing than standing naked before him.

"Manager Han — you're here? Huh? What's this? You haven't even put the lamb on the grill yet?"

Juhan, who was coming out the front door using his shoulder to push it open while carrying a loaded tray, stopped abruptly with a fallen face when he saw the empty grill grate.

"What on earth do you have going on in your stomach? You must have been snacking on things while we prepped — how can you still be this hungry?"

"It's because there's nothing in my stomach. Do you think a few measly snacks are enough to fill me up?"

Their petty back-and-forth continued as I approached hyung, who was grumbling at the entrance, took the tray from him, and moved the food onto the table.

Yuni nuna appeared behind him carrying another tray and joined in directing complaints at him, who had just started grilling the meat. Feeling partly responsible myself, I set down the basket overflowing with greens on the table and watched his expression cautiously.

He poured a generous amount of olive oil into the wide rectangular pan, laid down the pre-marinated lamb, and — contrary to my worry — paid the two of them almost no attention.

After emptying the trays hyung had brought, I stepped forward to take the tray nuna was holding — but just as she was about to leave, nuna suddenly stopped walking, frowning.

"What's going on? Are you dating someone these days, Director?"

"Why are you spinning another story now?"

"You never used to wear cologne. But you suddenly started recently, and..."

Nuna paused, leaning her face closer to his shoulder and sniffing loudly.

"And today you've completely drenched yourself in it — it's almost overwhelming. Who are you trying to seduce, spraying on a scent this provocative...?"

What was provocative about a cologne — he frowned as he raised his arm and buried his nose and lips in the sleeve of his thin summer knit.

"Is it that strong?"

"It's a strong fragrance to begin with. Though it does seem like you've put on a bit too much. Are you catching a cold? You don't seem like the type to misjudge this kind of thing. Or does the other person like it this way? Something so intense it's suffocating?"

Grinning, nuna gave his shoulder a light tap — clearly delighted. It even felt like she was deliberately provoking him to tease him. But he only let out a small laugh, refusing to take the bait.

I walked over to the two of them as they continued joking around and took the tray from nuna. I felt his gaze but deliberately looked away.

As nuna said, I had no way of knowing whether there was someone else in his life. Nor did I have any right to question him about such matters or demand the truth. Until now I hadn't sensed any indication of it, so I had consciously tried not to think about any other affairs or romances he might have in places where I wasn't present. Even just thinking about my own relationship with him was already overwhelming enough.

And yet even this light conversation was enough for frightening imaginings to take hold of me.

"But Director, I thought you strictly insisted on custom-made fragrances — didn't know you used off-the-shelf ones too. Seems like you've mixed two or three together, but... hmm, I think I can identify one of them."

Nuna narrowed her eyes, concentrating, and named the brand and product name she suspected.

"Oh... you're sharp."

He raised his eyebrows and snapped the barbecue tongs together sharply.

I wondered whether the fragrance nuna had identified was perhaps that scent. Maybe what I recognized as that scent was actually the result of a blend of several different perfumes.

I shook my head, imagining myself walking into a perfume shop I'd never visited, paying a price that would clearly be a small fortune to me, buying the perfume, hiding it in my room, and secretly inhaling it while thinking of him — and how pathetic that version of me would look.

"Wow... the meat smells amazing!"

The door from the parking lot swung open and Manager Han appeared.

"It'll be about twenty minutes before it's ready to eat."

Juhan, explaining this with a puffy face while shooting the Director a pointed look, had his hair ruffled by Manager Han — who then came to me and patted my cheek, asking how I'd been. It had been five days since I'd last seen her; even on a Saturday, she'd been out for a cosmetics brand event she'd been invited to by a client.

"Look how happy Ihyeon is now that Manager Han is here."

"Even though this kid seems brusque, it all shows on his face."

Yuni nuna and Juhan pointed at me and teased me. I thought I'd only managed a small smile, but I swept my hand over my face, wondering if I'd really been that obvious. Of course, expressions can't actually be felt by touch.

Noticing a gaze on me, I looked up toward him standing by the grill — but our eyes met only for a fleeting moment. Or maybe he had just glanced my way as his gaze drifted elsewhere.

Only after the perfectly cooked lamb steaks were divided evenly onto each plate did he finally take a seat. Since the table was set for four, he brought an extra chair from the terrace and settled in at the side.

"How is it? Does it suit your taste?"

He asked, looking across at me where I sat with nuna between us.

"Yes. It's very... delicious."

"That's a relief. You don't seem very picky."

As I nodded, Juhan, seated diagonally across from me, spoke up on my behalf.

"Ihyeon never complains at work either. Kids like that usually eat without fussing too."

"But you complain constantly and still eat plenty. You're the exception, aren't you?"

Hyung, who had been gnawing on the lamb with his face practically buried in his plate — needing no fork or knife for the thick bone — glared at him with only his eyes. He raised both hands in surrender. Then, instead of cutting the meat he had portioned for himself, he drank his wine.

While the meat was being cooked, he seemed to have lost his appetite — barely touching his food and only drinking — and it worried me. But in a gathering like this I felt it would draw the wrong kind of attention if I were the one to step forward and say something, so I swallowed my words.

"Ihyeon, how is it? Is being a full-time artist manageable?"

"For now, it's just..."

I answered Manager Han's question — directed squarely at me from across the table — with a vague, awkward smile. Even the term "full-time artist" still felt deeply unfamiliar.

"Director Liu, have you seen Ihyeon's early drafts? He's too shy to show them to us."

"Wouldn't he be shy with me too? He said he was practicing and hasn't shown me anything either."

He answered nuna's question as he brought his wine glass to his lips, glancing at me with a hint of resentment in his eyes.

He had asked what kind of work I was doing, but he'd never asked to see it. I hadn't expected him to want to see practice-level sketches, and only then did it occur to me that perhaps he'd held back to avoid putting pressure on me.

As I was slowly cutting the ribs he had separately grilled with barbecue sauce for me — since it was my first time with lamb — I briefly set down my fork and knife and tried to wet my dry throat with wine. Suddenly, Juhan, with a triumphant expression, dropped the clean-stripped bone onto his plate with a thud.

"Ah... in that case, I'll be the very first person to see Ihyeon's work."

"He's like this because Ihyeon asked him to model."

Nuna, seemingly displeased with Juhan's smug air, curved one side of her lip slightly. In contrast to her furrowed brow, Manager Han's face brightened.

"Are you already starting real work? But why choose Juhan as the first model?"

"It's not the main work yet... I've mostly just drawn still lifes this week, so I'm trying to move to figures now... I asked him because his bone structure and face shape are so distinctive."

That was my answer, but it wasn't the whole truth.

I don't know how others approach their work, but unlike still-life sketches where I refined technique by copying exactly what I saw, I needed some kind of story when drawing a person. When drawing complete strangers, my imagination or emotions were projected onto them, but I wasn't ready to draw from myself yet.

The only people I could comfortably ask to model were Yuni nuna and Juhan — and among those two, the bigger reason I'd asked Juhan was that I knew more of his story.

He was the subject I felt compelled to paint — strongly, naturally — but I wasn't ready yet to capture that feeling in a painting.

"If you really want to try drawing figures properly, I could find you a professional model."

He said this while lightly swirling the wine glass in his hand, and Juhan jumped up, indignant.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean! Ihyeon wants to paint me! Why are you interfering... Are you perhaps jealous that he chose me as a model over the stunningly handsome Director Liu?"

He frowned at hyung's somewhat childish teasing.

"I'm glad you at least acknowledge I'm stunningly handsome."

"Hmph. You may be stunningly handsome, but Kwon Juhan is the one chosen as the model."

He looked at hyung — leaning back in his chair, gazing down with an arrogant air — and shook his head. Then he set his glass on the table, pushed his barely touched plate aside, rested his elbow in the empty space, and looked at me.

"Since the topic has come up — if there's anything you need, tools, materials, environment... or even a model, don't hesitate to ask. We spare no expense supporting our exclusive artists, not just you, Seo Ihyeon, so I hope you don't feel burdened by that. It's all for the sake of the work."

Yuni nuna nodded emphatically in agreement.

"Right. Some artists with high incomes, like Shushu, handle their own equipment and studios, but for those who have just started out like you, we provide support up to a certain point. If you're worrying about materials and all of that, the work won't come out the way you want. Not just any gallery treats people this well, you know?"

Nuna draped an arm over my shoulder and said this with a proud expression, but hearing Shushu's name made my body tighten slightly. My gaze involuntarily shifted toward him. Flustered by how obvious it must have looked, I quickly turned my head — but he showed no reaction whatsoever.

Though I understood the intent behind what he and nuna were saying, I already had more than I needed.

He had already scheduled construction for next week to build a partition wall between the sleeping area and the workspace — with a door — saying that once I started working seriously with oil paint, the smell would make it difficult to work and live in the same space.

What I actually wanted was simply the chance to work part-time, even if only for a few hours a day. In a situation where it was unclear when I might start earning income from my art, I at least wanted to help cover his food expenses — but when I brought it up, he flatly refused, citing that he couldn't guarantee my safety.

"Ah, Director Liu, would it be possible to display Ihyeon's work at the joint exhibition in the second half of the year? Maybe it's a bit rushed?"

Nuna asked him while keeping her arm around my shoulder, and he answered by looking at me rather than at nuna.

"Since it's a joint exhibition, even a single piece would be enough."

"Don't feel pressured. We wouldn't force you to exhibit something you aren't satisfied with. We'll aim to include it if you have a completed work by then."

I nodded at nuna's words, but just the thought of my painting being displayed at an exhibition made my throat go dry with anxiety.

"The joint exhibition might feel a bit empty without Shushu's work this time. Everything will probably sell out at the Chicago show, won't it?"

That was Juhan's concern.

The joint exhibition was scheduled after Shushu's Chicago show, so if all the works sold out in Chicago, it would be difficult to bring them back to Korea.

"Shushu's work will certainly sell out, but this is also a good opportunity to promote the other artists. Plan the concept well. The execution of an exhibition matters more than the artwork itself — more than half of it."

Just as he had in front of Suki Kim, he maintained a confident stance regarding Shushu's sales. He also didn't seem overly worried about the joint exhibition. The problem was Yuni nuna.

"Sigh... but can I really handle the Chicago business trip properly? Shushu is still having panic attacks, isn't he?"

She pulled her arm from my shoulder, sighed, and leaned her elbows on the table, clasping her hands over her head.

I knew nuna was deeply troubled because Shushu was anxious about the Director not accompanying her on the trip to Chicago. Watching nuna's hunched back, I couldn't offer a single word of comfort and just kept drinking my wine to no effect.

"She needs to start becoming more independent from Manager Han sooner or later. If Manager Han follows her for every work trip, when will you two ever get a chance?"

"Hey, but if Shushu calls you in tears, won't you just cave immediately?"

When Juhan scoffed with an air of disbelief, he brought the wine glass to his lips and answered.

"That's why I've blocked his number altogether."

Though he said it as if that were the fundamental solution, it sounded to me like he was saying he didn't trust himself to hold firm if he actually answered the call.

"Oh... looks like you've really steeled your heart this time. You have to stay firm. Otherwise I'm the one who ends up in trouble. If the Director, Baek Yuni, and Manager Han all go to Chicago... what am I supposed to do alone in Seoul?"

Juhan shivered dramatically, looking as though the very thought was horrifying.

"If Manager Han goes, I'll have to stay behind. Even if you hire someone new, they'll all be rookies. How are you supposed to prepare the exhibition with only rookies?"

At nuna's deflated voice, he shook his head firmly.

"That won't happen, so just focus on preparing for the Chicago exhibition. That will absolutely not happen."

"I appreciate you saying that, but... I'm just not confident. I rarely doubt what you say, Director, but this involves Shushu. The artist is a bit... to put it kindly, sensitive, and to put it less kindly, temperamental... so I'm not fully sure of myself."

For a moment, the conversation shifted to anecdotes about Shushu's extreme shyness and reserved nature, which often came across as sensitivity and a difficult temperament.

Around the time nuna first joined Phantom, Shushu hadn't been active as an artist for long, and his shyness went deeper than just being reserved. He had a dark, defensive disposition that bordered on social anxiety — back then, things like putting him in front of a camera or having him give opening remarks to a crowd, as he does now, were unthinkable.

He had conducted all his interviews in writing only, and when Juhan joined around the time he had just begun to open up, he'd unfortunately had to go through the same process all over again.

"Even before the accident, he wasn't exactly sociable, but it definitely got worse afterward. Still, he's improved so much now — didn't you see when he first met Ihyeon? Think about Kwon Juhan, whom I couldn't let into the waiting room for the first six months after he joined. He's improving."

He tried to reassure nuna, mixing in jokes with exaggerated expressions and gestures. Hyung complained that what had made his early days difficult wasn't Shushu but Director Liu's torment — but that story was dismissed.

"Shushu doesn't distrust you either. He says it's because he's mentally fragile himself. If he's given time to prepare mentally, he'll be fine. Kun is going with you too."

With Manager Han's encouragement added, nuna nodded. Though her expression still held some anxiety, her profile — as she toyed with the handle of a knife — looked noticeably lighter than before.

"You're the one coordinating everything with the contact on their end — where would we be without you? You're in charge of this event. That's not changing. Absolutely not."

As if to make clear there was no room for further debate, he pulled a beer from the icebox — announcing he'd start grilling the Korean beef once the lamb was mostly done — and returned to the grill.

My gaze naturally followed him. To hide it, I reached for my wine, as was my habit.

The fact that he would be accompanying nuna on the upcoming business trip to Chicago was a reason she could feel less anxious — but it was not the same for me.

I had been feeling a persistent, unjustified anxiety about him going on a long business trip with Shushu. I had been ignoring it because I found those feelings in myself both awkward and unpleasant. But the rational effort to deny and turn away from it crumbled with surprising ease.

Once I'd finished the last of my wine, hyung stood up and poured me more.

"In any case, Ihyeon has been through a lot this time! Let's forget everything today and enjoy ourselves! Shall we all toast to Ihyeon's smooth artistic career? Yes?"

The sudden shift of attention toward me was disorienting, but I couldn't say hyung's suggestion was unwelcome. He picked up the tongs again and came back to the table to join the toast.

As the meal wound down, the atmosphere naturally shifted into a drinking session.

By then, the sun had completely set, and as darkness fell, the temperature in the garden — covered in earth rather than asphalt — dropped quickly. The cool air, passing through the garden trees, became a pleasant breeze. A faint warmth still lingered — enough to dampen my back with sweat — but perhaps because of the alcohol, even that felt less like discomfort and more like a hazy, floating sensation.

"So that's when I really started to like Ihyeon."

Juhan, now tipsy, was speaking and gesturing at double his usual volume. He was enthusiastically recounting the story of how he had recommended his own work to Inwu at the first exhibition I'd worked with him.

"Ah, I truly cannot forget Inwu hyung's expression back then."

He slapped the table, his face showing how satisfying the memory still was.

"What did he say? Director, you were there. What did Ihyeon say?"

He took a sip of beer to wet his throat and let out a short laugh.

"He said that the way you seem to show everything honestly yet somehow don't at all is a perfect match for your paintings and for you."

"T-that's not what I meant!"

I swear I hadn't been speaking with any arrogance. As I had explained to Juhan himself later at the Spanish-style pub, I had simply felt that the way he revealed his own lack of candor through his characteristically cheerful, joking manner — so simply and clearly — was very him-like as a work.

Facing the canvas again now, I felt more keenly than ever that this too was a process requiring the resolve to confront one's own objectively viewed self and accept feeling diminished by it.

"Then — what did you mean?"

Everyone burst into laughter at Juhan mimicking my tone. I gave an awkward smile, embarrassed at how serious I'd been... but then something struck me. He had remembered that moment with such precision.

That morning in front of his Ghost car, he had defined me as nothing more than a "temporary part-timer" and shown no interest in me whatsoever — just as he had told Inwu to his face. I hadn't expected him to remember the exchange in such specific detail.

"I know, I know. Inwu wasn't offended because he knew you weren't being sarcastic — in fact, that's exactly why he became interested in you."

Nuna, who had swapped seats with hyung at some point and was now sitting diagonally across from me, said this while stirring the whelk salad. Her words were slightly slurred from the alcohol.

"Right. I know because I'm an S, but Inwu hyung is a true M. He probably got even more interested because you were so direct with him."

Hyung, who had been agreeing with nuna while pulling the last beer from the cooler, suddenly turned back to me as if he'd just remembered something.

"Oh, Inwu hyung also knows you signed the artist contract and is really looking forward to it. Have you talked to him?"

"Yes. He calls about every other day..."

"Ooh... really? Is Inwu hyung unexpectedly serious about Ihyeon? For the great Inwu hyung to call every other day and put in that much effort — this isn't ordinary."

Nuna bit the tip of her chopsticks, eyes sparkling. Hyung, however, frowned.

"Serious? Inwu hyung being serious about Ihyeon? Even if he is — ah, that's just too much."

"What? Are you saying an experienced playboy isn't qualified to date someone with less experience? Why are you suddenly acting so conservative? Director, what about you? If Inwu hyung is serious about Ihyeon, and Ihyeon likes him back — would you object?"

He looked as if he hadn't expected the question to be aimed at him, resting his elbow on the table and shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, that's... is that really something for someone else to step in and oppose?"

As if to say "see?", nuna tilted her chin toward hyung. But hyung — who usually advocated considerable liberalism about romance — wasn't backing down easily this time, for some reason.

"I know that too. It's not for others to interfere, so he should pass his own conscience check and restrain himself."

"Seo Ihyeon, are you interested in Choi Inwu?"

"......"

At his question — delivered while he had seemed quietly indifferent to the debate between the other two — everyone's attention immediately shifted toward him.

Neither his tone nor the way he looked at me conveyed any edge of interrogation. That only confused me further.

Unable to grasp the intent behind the question, I looked back and forth between all four faces before slowly opening my mouth, turning the stem of my wine glass between my fingers.

"Well... Inwu hyung has never seriously brought that up..."

"Set aside Inwu's circumstances. Just answer whether you, Seo Ihyeon, are interested in him in that way."

His face, which held a light smile fitting the mood of the gathering, revealed the playful curiosity characteristic of someone who finds other people's love affairs genuinely interesting to observe.

In the reverse situation, I could never have manufactured such composure, not even with acting. I tightened my grip on the wine glass I had been fiddling with and answered.

"......No."

He shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the others.

"That's what he says. Why are you spending so much energy on an issue he has no feelings about?"

"Ah... what should we do about Inwu hyung? He always insists he's 'an Alpha endlessly close to golden,' convinced he can charm anyone if he sets his mind to it. But I guess that doesn't work on a Beta."

Even though she spoke with pity, nuna's face was full of amused laughter.

"Exactly. Ihyeon may look naive, but he's not the type to fall head over heels just because someone comes at him with worn-out techniques."

Juhan wrapped an arm firmly around my shoulder, satisfied.

My attention was focused on someone else entirely, yet here I was answering questions about a scandal with the wrong person — it felt like a clumsy comedy. I let out a bitter smile with my head bowed.

"Huh? Where are you going, Director?"

But as if I were wired to react the moment anything connected to him was said, my gaze automatically turned toward the sound of nuna calling him.

"Where else? I'm just going to bring more drinks."

"Oh, then we're done with wine! Could we have some beer, please?"

As he turned away, waving a hand in vague acknowledgment of Juhan's request, he had to stop at nuna's outstretched arms.

"What is it?"

"Carry me to the bathroom on your way."

As nuna climbed onto the bench, he grabbed her arm so she wouldn't fall. He shook his head as if he couldn't do anything about her, but offered his back without a word of complaint. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung there, laughing like a child, her cheeks flushed from alcohol.

I had noticed it before. Even if he could be mercilessly exacting as a boss during work, in private settings — especially over drinks — he was like a kind older brother.

Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung were also people who, at work, never took advantage of their private familiarity or acted spoiled or hurt by his direct manner of speaking — they were people driven by efficiency above all. But once drunk, they clung to him like the youngest sibling who had been thoroughly indulged.

All of this was possible because he kept himself open — allowing the two of them to show affection without fear of rejection.

Watching nuna's back disappear through the front door as she clung to him, I was reminded of the experience from a few months ago, right here in this garden, when I had felt like Alice in Wonderland. So much had changed in my relationship with him since then — we had even shared passionate nights together — and yet I still felt like Alice, visiting from that other world.

"So I'm a nude model? Is this finally the chance to show off this physique?"

I gave an awkward laugh at hyung's joke as he poured his beer into my empty wine glass.

· · · · ·

Through the open front door, the laughter of nuna and Juhan drifted into the kitchen. I was tidying up the food with him — everything except for what could serve as side dishes — when I paused for a moment at the lively noise created by just the two of them.

"Ah... those two are a long way from done. They'll probably keep going until dawn."

He turned toward the counter and said this while wiping grease from the plates with paper towels at the sink, so the housekeeper could wash them easily in the morning.

Manager Han, who had come straight here after work, had already called a designated driver and gone home — saying she needed to change and rest properly — but nuna and Juhan were heating up their conversation as if the real fun was just starting.

From ideas for Old Future's autumn season, to nuna's impressions of the diversity of the American art market she'd encountered while preparing for the Chicago exhibition and the management philosophy of that gallery, and finally to the future the two of them dreamed of and were working toward — the topics were endless, and in this they were alike: the more they drank, the deeper the conversation grew.

"It's only midnight, and they'll go until morning?"

After placing the last plate in the sink, he began washing the grease from his hands with liquid soap.

"They're at an age when there's so much to say. They want to explain themselves, be understood, talk hopefully about uncertain plans. Even if they pretend not to like each other, they get along well."

He added that if left alone, they would find their way to the guest room and go to sleep on their own, so there was no need to worry about them. Then he shook the water from his hands and turned toward me. He leaned against the edge of the sink.

"But."

"......"

Just his slightly tilted gaze and the subtle shift in his tone as he changed the subject were enough to create a light tension in the air between us.

"I didn't realize you talked to Choi Inwu every other day."

His voice was gentle, and he smiled slightly as he touched his damp bangs.

"There's nothing special... just everyday talk..."

"Everyday talk like what? About food again?"

Seeing him ask teasingly, I nodded.

"Are you really sure you don't have feelings for Choi Inwu?"

"......"

I stared intently at his face — even knowing it might reveal my own anxiety — hoping to get some hint about his intention in bringing back a topic I'd thought was settled at the table.

Was he perhaps bothered by it?

But to interpret things that favorably... He had been warning me about my relationship with Inwu hyung from quite early on — even back when he treated me as an outsider, as nothing more than an object of suspicion and observation, with no apparent interest in me at all.

As frustrated as I was by my inability to read his mind, I at least hoped I could remain unknown territory to him. But then I remembered how transparently the thoughts of a twelve-year-old — ten years my junior — were laid bare to my eyes. That made me feel a little bleak.

"Not yet..."

"......"

Perhaps it was a reckless gamble I took out of frustration. The alcohol warming my cheeks played a part too.

He pushed himself off the sink and walked toward me. I was the one who had thrown out the bait, yet I was the one whose lips were drying out, unable to predict his reaction.

He walked to the counter — now clean and empty after the leftover food had been put away — and slowly traced the edge of the gleaming marble surface with his finger, looking down at his own fingertips.

"You'll stick to using the car I prepared when you go out, right?"

"......"

He looked up, having abruptly shifted the conversation somewhere entirely removed from Inwu hyung. His eyes seemed to plead for an affirmative answer, so I met his gaze and slowly nodded. I knew everyone around me was worried, and I didn't want to cause trouble through unnecessary actions.

As if that were enough, he smiled, slipped both hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and spoke in a voice that seemed deliberately cheerful.

"Can you come up to the study for a bit before bed? Unlike those two, who came to the housewarming empty-handed, I actually have a gift for you."

"Ah..."

"That's not the face of someone who just heard there's a gift waiting. That's not the expression I was hoping for."

I had always believed that feeling obligated to repay a material gift with something of equal material value could actually be disrespectful to the giver's feelings. But now that I was in a position of receiving so much while having absolutely nothing to give in return, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in debt — as if I'd borrowed something I had to repay.

"Hm..."

He sighed and leaned down, resting his elbows on the counter, looking at my face — which must have looked like someone meeting a debt collector. His profile was now lower than mine.

"I know I keep saying this, but I'm not sacrificing anything for you, Seo Ihyeon. I'm not stretching myself financially to support you or buy you gifts, and I give gifts to those two and Manager Han quite often. So if you just accept it with a happy face, that would feel like enough of a return to me."

If it were Juhan or Yuni nuna, they would have reacted with clear delight to his gift... In that case, did I think of nuna and hyung — who accepted his gifts without feeling burdened — as shameless? That wasn't it... When it came to my own affairs, judgment was hard. The gifts exchanged among Morae nuna, Yeehan hyung, and me had always been things like books, pens, or keychains.

"Ah, then you do me one favor as well, Seo Ihyeon. Fair and square. That should work."

"......"

He straightened up from leaning on the counter with an expression as if a good idea had just struck him.

"I'd like to see the paintings you've started since moving here."

His smiling face tilted slightly, as if urging an answer.

"...Now?"

He nodded.

"Now."

He said it with an expression that suggested there was no reason why not.

"If you have a strict rule about never showing your work until it's hanging in a gallery, then there's nothing to be done... but since you'll inevitably end up showing Kwon Juhan anyway, once you use him as a model... I don't think you're in the 'absolutely no exceptions' camp. What do you say?"

I didn't really have any ironclad rules I strictly adhered to. And since he was the owner of the gallery that would be managing my work going forward, wanting to check an artist's progress wasn't an unreasonable request.

No — honestly, there was no need to even invoke our positions as gallery owner and a fledgling artist with no income yet.

If there was something he wanted from me, even without the sense of obligation to repay his kindness... I would have wanted to agree to anything.

I looked at his face — hands shoved in his front pockets, shoulders slightly raised, waiting for my answer — and nodded. With that single nod, he broke into a satisfied smile, revealing his even teeth.

The fact that he — someone who felt larger than me in every way, a person so complete and multifaceted he embodied everything adulthood meant to me — was smiling with the pure, unguarded joy of a child receiving a desired toy, and that I was the one who had caused that smile in that moment: it sent a small jolt through me.

It wasn't that I had never experienced another person's joy and happiness directly becoming my own — but this felt different in nature from the warm contentment I felt through Morae nuna or Yeehan hyung.

Every reaction that came through him carried an intensity that muddled my thinking — drawing out impulses and courage I hadn't known I possessed.

Feeling a desire — whose origin and foundation I couldn't even trace — to see that expression more often, and to be the reason for it, along with a deeply sentimental foolishness so characteristic of a twenty-two-year-old, the certainty that if only that wish could come true I could shed everything else and move forward... In this unexpected moment, without any dramatic exchange or special revelation, I truly realized that I liked him very much.

If I feared change, the thing I should have been most wary of was falling for someone. Because it changes you without needing your choice or agreement.

It occurred to me that the version of myself who had sometimes felt an uncharacteristic burst of defiance against rejection and indifference — back when I first met him — might have been a preview of the present. A self-deprecating smile escaped. I deliberately avoided his gaze, smiled faintly, and rubbed my arm for no particular reason.

When I looked up again, he was smiling faintly back at me. Probably just mirroring me — not knowing why I was smiling.

"Shall we go, then?"

I followed him as he led the way down to the basement.

There, and out in the garden, I took several drawing notebooks containing the sketches I'd worked on over five days from the built-in bookshelf and handed them to him. My palms were damp with sweat, my throat dry.

He held the notebooks for a moment, lightly shaking them as if gauging their weight, and raised an eyebrow at me.

"Are all of these things you drew after coming here?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Looks like you only drew real paintings after I left for work."

He said it with a smile, clearly in good spirits.

Declining my offer to sit, he leaned against the back of the three-seater sofa set away from the wall and silently flipped through the three drawing notebooks. He remained silent even as he checked all the canvases leaning face-down against the wall.

I explained, almost defensively, that the color work was only a test to see if I could mix the shades I wanted with oil paint — but he simply raised a hand, dismissing the concern.

Even criticism or harsh comments would have been better than nothing. His expression, calm and unchanged as ever — neither frowning nor expressing admiration — revealed nothing. If this was how he responded to practice sketches and studies, I would need considerable preparation before I could show him paintings with myself truly inside them.

He reopened the notebooks and looked through a few pages once more, and the faintest smile touched the corners of his lips.

"This... makes the gift I prepared seem awfully meager."

His gaze remained on the pages of the notebook.

He murmured it almost to himself, that barely visible smile, then closed the notebook and rubbed his lower jaw with his large hand, as if covering his mouth.

After holding that pose for a moment — looking down somewhere on the floor, lost in thought — he handed the notebook back to me. Our fingers overlapped slightly as I took it, and he lightly hooked his pinky finger around mine on my ring finger.

"Then I'll wait for you in the study."

To be continued in Diamond Dust, Volume 4.