There was no trace of the awkwardness from the first day in Juhan's pose or expression.

Jeff Beck's Blow by Blow, which Juhan had introduced me to, played at a low volume in the quiet space, as if submerged deep underwater, and we filled the time without boredom, exchanging only the minimum conversation our work required.

Today, our fourth session in this garden, Juhan sat naked on a rock in front of the sweet osmanthus—its branches sprawling crookedly like wild wood—and turned his head toward me, looking beyond comfortable, almost free.

That energy carried over to me, and after the past few days of work, the images for my composition and colors had almost completely settled in my mind.

I documented his poses with several photographs and filled an entire sketchbook with studies. The preliminary work seemed mostly complete.

I imprinted into my memory one last time the complex, straight lines falling from his shoulder to his arm—lines that were extremely lean, giving him a sharp, almost aggressive quality, yet fragile, sensitive, easily wounded—before moving my hands quickly across the portable table easel.

"You worked hard, hyung. You can relax now."

Even after I said that and set down my pencil, Juhan didn't move right away. It had been the same for the past three days. He was like an actor who couldn't immediately step out of a role after filming an emotionally intense scene.

Unlike when he was posing, he sat still for a moment with only his core relaxed. First he pressed his hands firmly over his eyes, then stretched his neck from side to side, and finally extended his arms and legs in a long stretch. After that, he rose slowly and picked up the bathrobe he had tossed onto a nearby rock.

By the time he walked over to me with a smile, he had managed to return to his usual self.

I stopped organizing the tools scattered across the outdoor table I had arranged for the work and handed him a cold beer freshly pulled from the ice chest.

"I might ask you to do this again later, but for now, I think today is enough."

"Oh? I actually found this pretty therapeutic. That's a bit of a shame."

He dropped onto the bench across from me, scratching his nose. His face felt far more familiar than before we started working together—not because I knew him better, but rather because I had erased the parts I thought I knew and left blank spaces in their place.

"It really felt nice, just sitting still among the trees like that. You don't often get a chance to do something like that."

As he drank his beer, Juhan stared blankly at the spot where he had been sitting moments ago, looking like someone who had just woken from a deep sleep.

"Because you felt comfortable, I was able to focus on painting. I think I'll enjoy the rest of the work too. Thank you."

"Other than 'Old Future,' I've modeled for fashion magazines two or three times before, but it wasn't much fun. The atmosphere with the crew never really suited me. But this time... yeah, this was nice."

As he tilted back his can, he didn't sound like he was saying empty words.

At first this project had simply been about the act of painting Juhan. But as we worked, it gradually took on a different meaning—gently reawakening that old sensation buried deep inside my body, the connection with the subject. Memories of observing, studying, and painting, of understanding and loving the subject.

"What, you're already done?"

At the sound of a familiar and welcome voice, Juhan and I both turned around at the same time. Yuni stood at the door leading to the parking lot, disappointment plain on her face. He was with her.

"Why are you disappointed you didn't get to see me naked?"

"What are you even saying? Have I not seen your body before? A body like a bundle of sticks—what's there to see? I just wanted to see you flustered after stripping down so I could tease you."

While Yuni and Juhan fell into their almost habitual bickering, I avoided their eyes and exchanged a brief greeting with him through eye contact alone.

He was dressed in a pale sky-blue striped linen suit matched with a clean t-shirt, looking relaxed, and he held the paper bag from the hamburger chain I had chosen for dinner.

"Hmph. I wonder if you'd say the same thing if you'd actually seen me naked. I may be skinny everywhere else, but that one spot is nothing to be ashamed of—"

"Seo Ihyeon, I missed you. Still a little honeybee, aren't you?"

Yuni, who had been listening to Juhan's boasting with one corner of her lip pulled up in displeasure, spun around toward me and smiled brightly before he could even finish his sentence. This was the first time I had seen her since the barbecue party.

"What do you mean, honeybee? Ah... the stripes!"

Juhan forgot about interrogating her over the earlier dismissal and instead became interested in the nickname she had given me. The two, who had been bickering moments ago, quickly fell back into sync and enthusiastically riffed on the new nickname. Even this kind of noise felt like it had been a while.

"Director, didn't I come up with a great nickname? It suits Ihyeon, right? Seo Honeybee. Honeybee."

Setting the paper bag on the table, he glanced at Yuni, who had draped her arm over my shoulder. His gaze then shifted immediately to me, sweeping over the striped t-shirt across my chest and stomach.

"Right? Picturing you diligently buzzing around gathering nectar everywhere... it actually fits quite well."

Having secured approval from both him and Juhan for my new nickname, Yuni looked genuinely pleased. She grinned at me, walked over to the cooler, took out a beer for herself, and offered one to him and me as well.

When I thought of a honeybee, the first image that came to mind was a cute, stylized character with a plump little body, which seemed ill-suited to someone as stiff as me. But since all three of them seemed to enjoy it, I quietly accepted the beer Yuni offered. As I wiped the condensation from the bottle, the paper label—soaked through from the ice water inside the cooler—wrinkled and peeled back. I stared down at the bottle in my hand for a moment, struck by a sense of déjà vu, as if this exact moment had happened in this place before.

"How's the work going? Smooth? Not too hard since the model's an amateur?"

I looked up at the sound of his voice, joking as he tilted the translucent green beer bottle.

"It's still in the conceptual sketching stage, but... thanks to the model doing such a good job, the image I want to paint has become quite clear, so it seems to be going smoothly..."

When I smiled at Juhan across from me, he tucked his hands in the front pockets of his robe, shrugged his shoulders, and made the face of a child receiving praise.

"Hmm..."

He let out a short, inscrutable sound and took a few sips of his beer.

"And the work with Juhan hyung—I think today wraps that up. Thank you for making time for me."

This week, he had arranged for Juhan's work schedule to end at 5 PM for my sake. Knowing how busy Phantom had been recently, I had initially suggested working on the weekend, but he had been very proactive about it, saying there was no task more important than accommodating the artist's needs.

"Think nothing of it. If the artist needs it, I'd gladly offer Kwon Juhan as a personal assistant."

He cracked a joke, the slight stiffness in his expression from moments before softening away.

"So you're getting into the real work now? Looking forward to it—Seo Ihyeon's piece."

"I'm starting to get hungry. Let's continue talking over dinner. The sun's starting to set; should we eat on the rooftop today?"

Sensing the conversation was about to drag on, he extended his arm in front of Yuni and snapped his fingers twice—snap, snap—to get her attention.

Everyone moved in unison at his suggestion. Juhan went inside first to change, and I started putting away the drawing supplies. He and Yuni disappeared through the entrance, saying they would grab more beer and snacks. The sudden bustle after so long put me in a good mood, and I couldn't stop smiling as I carried the tools down to the studio and put them back in their proper places.

Taking the stairs two and three at a time, I bounded back up to the garden and found him stepping out of the entrance carrying a shopping basket full of beer bottles.

"Let me help carry some."

I quickly moved toward him to take a few bottles and split the load, but he wrapped his arm around my neck from behind, squeezing like a playful restraint, and pushed my back.

"This is light enough to manage alone. Let's just go up quickly."

We had hugged before—face to face, or with him holding me from behind while I stood at the induction stove making ramen—but this kind of contact was probably a first. It felt like the casual, unreserved physical intimacy he and Juhan shared, and the warmth of his body against my back felt good in a way that was different from when they expressed deep affection.

"......"

But the moment I thought that, he lowered his face deeply and pressed his lips firmly against my cheek.

Even knowing he wouldn't make a mistake, I instinctively glanced around, and he chuckled softly at my ear at the reaction.

"They're both already upstairs."

"Still..."

"Hmm. You really hate having people find out about us that much?"

As we rounded the corner of the building and moved away from the garden, the shadows around us deepened. Ahead, I could see the entrance to the concrete stairs leading to the rooftop. The rooftop was an uncharted territory I had yet to explore.

"It's not that..."

If we were discovered now, I wouldn't have the right words to explain. We were moving at our own pace in our own direction, but how others would perceive it was a separate matter entirely. I was confident I wouldn't be swayed by their opinions, but it wouldn't be pleasant to be misunderstood by people close to me.

And... if our relationship became known, he would almost certainly be the one blamed more than I would.

"I was just being petty. Don't make that face."

At the foot of the stairs, he kissed my cheek once more. I nodded and smiled at his gentle voice.

"But..."

He was two steps behind me on the stairs, subtly starting a new topic, and I turned back to look at him. He was gazing up at me with his eyes slightly narrowed, wearing a somewhat prim expression.

"Which is more worthy of jealousy: me giving you a piggyback ride, or giving you the nickname 'honeybee'? What do you think?"

"......"

His serious expression actually made me laugh. He lunged for my waist, as if to say I was trying to brush it off with laughter, and I hurried up the remaining stairs to escape him.

Breathless from the sudden burst of movement, I reached the rooftop, where a much cooler breeze than in the garden scattered my hair. I couldn't help but stop as a new sight unfolded before my eyes.

Although it was just the rooftop of a two-story house, its elevated position offered an unobstructed, wide-open view. Morae's and Yeehan's rooftop room had a wonderful view too, but it didn't give you the sense of literally overlooking all of Seoul—the Han River and everything beyond—in a single glance.

The view to the west, where the Han River flowed toward the sea, was particularly striking; today's sunset was just beginning to form in the western sky. In my grandfather's village near the East Sea, you could enjoy the full sunrise to your heart's content, but the vivid intensity of a sunset was always hidden by the mountain range, leaving only a hint of its lingering afterglow.

"Nice here, right? Better view than most rooftop bars, isn't it? Director, when you want to seduce someone, you should bring them up here. Right?"

The rooftop was set up just as Yuni had described—like a charming rooftop bar, with a bungalow whose ceiling was draped in a canopy-like awning, spacious tables and chairs beneath it, and stand-style lights scattered around.

"Do you think I need to put in this much effort for someone to fall for me?"

"Ha... annoying, but I can't argue with that. Alphas, Omegas, Betas, men, women, young and old—they all come running just because you're standing there, so naturally, Director, you lack manners."

Yuni, who had been lounging loosely against the back of a rattan chair reminiscent of a resort, clicked her tongue as she straightened up.

She waited for everyone to sit down before taking a huge bite of her hamburger and continuing to speak.

"Speaking of manners, please be nicer to the new hires. Did you know Ms. Choi Jiwon cried today?"

He answered somewhat half-heartedly, asking me to pick which of the several types of hamburgers I wanted.

"I don't recall being particularly mean to her. Why would she cry? She's a full-grown adult."

"You criticized the way she organized the research material. I saw her go to the restroom afterward and her eyes were red. I didn't ask if she cried out of embarrassment, but it's obvious. I know you weren't happy with her work... but she was a student until very recently. Can't you cut her some slack?"

"She's about your age, even if she's a graduating senior."

"......"

His remark left Yuni speechless for a moment and she just chewed her hamburger. But after swallowing it down with a sip of beer, she immediately continued.

"I started my professional life before she did. You can't just think in terms of age. And during a stretch this busy, if a new hire we just brought on quits, it's only us who lose out. If you're not confident you can treat them well, you can just keep commuting to the villa until you leave for Chicago."

"The villa...?"

I hadn't intended to interrupt the conversation, but the question slipped out before I could stop it—I had no idea what they were talking about.

All three pairs of eyes turned toward me, and Juhan in particular opened his eyes dramatically wide, as if my ignorance was the more surprising thing.

"Still, you're officially living together. How have you not heard about this?"

"Let's not overreact, Kwon Juhan."

There was a firmness in his voice that was stricter than usual, because Juhan's tone and expression carried a clear undercurrent of reproach directed at him.

He turned toward me in the seat beside me and set down the burger he had been eating on the tray. I had chosen the Cheese Whopper; he had chosen the Chicken Burger. Neither of us had managed more than a bite or two.

"With me there, the office is already cramped with extra people, the new hires are on edge, and I'm uncomfortable too... so lately I sometimes go to the other place to take care of some work. You know about it, Ihyeon. That duplex villa."

He had no obligation to share every detail of Phantom's internal situation with me, and I had no intention of interrogating him. I nodded as he turned his body toward me and earnestly explained the circumstances, in a manner that was a slight departure from his usual composure.

It wasn't desperation, but I could feel him trying hard to be believed. There was no reason not to believe him. I hadn't suspected anything from the start.

"At first it was occasional, but lately you've been going there more than three days a week. I thought maybe you were completely smitten with some beefy bagel guy and skipping work to go on dates."

Whatever he was worried about, my confidence in him wasn't so shaky that a single throwaway remark from Yuni would plant seeds of doubt.

If anything, I was having the very uncharacteristic—and frankly presumptuous—thought that if there was a "beefy bagel guy he was currently smitten with," it was probably me. "Smitten" was only borrowing Yuni's phrasing, of course, and I certainly wasn't beefy.

"It would be a relief if it were actually dating. But is it still dating if you sleep together a few times and then cut things off once you get bored?"

Juhan tilted his head back, dropping a french fry heavily coated in ketchup into his mouth, and muttered as if to himself.

"Ah... why did I suggest we all eat dinner up here?"

He raised his chin toward the ceiling and shook his head.

His exaggerated performance—clearly meant to register with me—made me laugh. Seeing that I wasn't flustered, he glanced over at me and finally gave a slight smile.

Juhan had only figured out that I was attracted to him; he didn't know that he and I were already loosely tied together by a shared responsibility.

Still, the reason he seemed to be acting hostile toward him was probably not to attack him, but to caution me.

This man is cold—he doesn't share anything about himself, not even with the person he lives with. He's someone who discards partners without a second thought, a man with not a shred of interest in anything serious.

Sitting diagonally across from me, Juhan seemed to want to say exactly that with the look he was giving me.

The story that he had only ever had casual relationships before might be true, but it didn't matter. At least I was certain I wasn't someone he would tire of after a few nights together, and for now, that was enough. I had no intention of pressing him for the official status of a partner either.

As I peeled the paper wrapping back further on my hamburger to continue eating, Yuni spoke.

"Are you really holed up there lately plotting some kind of conspiracy?"

Yuni, who had come straight from work with him and had clearly been starving, had already finished her entire hamburger and was wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Yes, I'm plotting world domination. Why? You said the atmosphere goes cold whenever I'm in the office. As long as I'm still getting situation reports and giving feedback, and client management is running properly, isn't that fine?"

"Well, I suppose so."

At his now slightly irritated reply, Yuni shrugged and tossed the crumpled napkin into the corner of the table. Then she leaned her elbows on the table and angled her head toward the straw in the cup in front of her.

"Ihyeon, but where are your sister and hyung right now? Shouldn't they have arrived by now?"

"Yes, they arrived safely in Bali a few days ago."

"Seo Ihyeon, you should send news like that over messenger. This guy has a surprisingly cold side to him."

Yuni chided him, brushing her hair back behind her ear with an irritated expression in the cool breeze, and I just laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of my neck.

Morae and Yeehan had arrived in Bali via Denpasar Airport not long ago. They had found temporary lodging near Kuta Beach and were looking for work. The email had also included two or three photos of them looking healthy, which had helped me relax a bit more.

I showed Yuni the photos I had saved on my phone.

Already completely tanned before they had even arrived in Bali, the two of them were smiling brightly with backpacks over their shoulders against the backdrop of the Kuta Beach sunset, eyes and teeth gleaming white. It was a scene that would have been impossible without his help.

"But Ihyeon, how long do you have to go on living like this? Can't Director Liu do something about it?"

Yuni took a beer bottle from him and, gripping the cap with a napkin to twist it open, directed the question at him.

"I'm... fine, nuna. It's not like I can't do what I want to do, or go where I want to go. If anything... I'm actually doing really well these days..."

"Still, you can't go anywhere without a bodyguard and a driver. This isn't the life of a top idol. Don't you feel stifled?"

I glanced over at him, but he just drank his beer in silence, as if it weren't a question he needed to answer. Whether it was my imagination or not, his gaze—tilted slightly toward some point on the table—seemed heavy with guilt, and I felt myself sinking alongside him.

I was grateful to him for every aspect of my current situation; none of the discomfort came from him, and he was the one trying to protect me from potential danger. It upset me that he felt sorry about that.

"I don't really feel stifled... I'm not the type to be out and about much anyway..."

"Wouldn't it be better for Ihyeon to go abroad too?"

"......"

Everyone's gaze, including his, shifted to Juhan at his rather bold suggestion. The piercings that Juhan had removed entirely for the art sessions were back in place, making his face look both dazzling and defiant.

Juhan set his beer down on the table and continued, his expression quite serious.

"Ihyeon's nuna's father isn't an ordinary person—that's probably why you, Director, are being so cautious. But just because Ihyeon's sister and hyung arrived safely in Bali doesn't mean Ihyeon is safe. And we can't keep him living a life where he can't even step out to the convenience store near his house without worry. Wouldn't everything be solved if Ihyeon just went abroad too?"

"It's not something that can be settled so easily."

Even as he said it, his voice didn't suggest he found Juhan's proposal completely absurd.

"Your nuna's father—is he really that... formidable? Enough to suddenly kidnap you and use you as leverage?"

Yuni looked as if she couldn't quite believe that such a person—the kind you'd only see in dramas or movies—could exist close enough to affect her surroundings.

"If he put his mind to it... he certainly could."

"You have no idea what Mr. Lim might do to you, you fool! For his daughter's sake... he's the kind of man who could cripple someone like you—someone with nothing to their name—without batting an eye."

I wanted to deny it, knowing everyone would worry, but the terrified voice of my grandfather—who had cornered Yeehan in the yard the day we left the village—was still vivid in my memory.

"Whatever he can or can't do, we won't be sitting here waiting to take a hit. We could send a message in a more forceful way... It's just that we don't want to. For now."

He picked up the cigarette pack and lighter he had set on the table and spoke quickly, decisively. His tone implied that while he was responding defensively for the moment, he was perfectly capable of going on the offensive if he chose to.

Juhan accidentally knocked over a beer bottle standing on the table, and the conversation abruptly died. Even if that hadn't happened, Juhan and Yuni—who had plans to see a band at a live club for Friday night—were about due to leave.

He and I moved toward the stairs together to see them off.

"Ihyeon, why don't you come out with us? Sometimes it's good to spend time with people whose age starts with the same number as yours."

"Hmm, maybe you should say something like that after returning the card of someone whose age starts with a different number."

At his retort, Yuni threw her head back and laughed. Then, complimenting his quick wit, she looped her arm over his shoulder—a struggle, given that he was over thirty centimeters taller than her. He subtly shifted his body to avoid her hand, but Yuni only wore a briefly puzzled expression and didn't seem to think much of it.

It wasn't that I wanted him to avoid even that kind of casual contact... My face flushed as I remembered my own childishness—the deep, ugly jealousy I had exposed that night.

"Hey, I'm asking you to come out with us. Why are you checking the Director's expression? Is he pressuring you to paint faster so he can make a profit?"

Juhan must have thought my glance at him was me gauging his reaction.

"No, it's not that... When the image is clear, I just want to move forward with the painting quickly."

"So, fine, whether you treat him like an old man or a terrible boss, that's your business—just return the card first, and then say all that."

With his palm held out and his head tilted sideways, the two of them abruptly cut off their conversation and hurried down the stairs.

I watched them descend—singing some strange song I didn't recognize at the top of their lungs—until they rounded the corner of the building and disappeared entirely from view. Even after they passed through the gate, their singing didn't fade for some time.

Only he and I remained on the rooftop as the last embers of the sunset died out. He was leaning against the railing on the far side of the bungalow, drinking his beer and looking down at the alley. I imagined he was smiling faintly, listening to the fading sound of Juhan and Yuni singing.

Suddenly, he turned toward me. He loosely opened both arms at roughly a 120-degree angle.

"......"

I knew what it meant.

Hesitantly, I approached, rested my chin on his broad shoulder, and carefully wrapped my arms around his waist. His outstretched arms closed around me, and his right cheek pressed against mine.

"The sketch."

"......"

"I don't know what kind of pathetic state I would have been in if this had dragged on for a few more days."

"......"

"Thank you for finishing sooner than I expected. I pretended to understand everything, but... honestly, it was close."

I rested my chin firmly on his shoulder and smiled silently.

"Now you're getting into the real work, right?"

"Yes."

"If you need anything, or if there's anything I can help with, just tell me."

"I will. Thank you."

I couldn't say this embrace was entirely comfortable. Every cell where we touched felt alive, sharpening my awareness, and I worried whether my awkward posture might be making him uncomfortable. But it was different from the kind of unpleasant discomfort you just want to pass quickly.

"Don't just say that. It's my job, and beyond that... I want to help you personally too. Don't think about imposing—just tell me right away."

I nodded with a faint smile at his concern, which anticipated exactly where I would hesitate.

Seoul, stretched out below us as we held each other, was fully transitioning from afternoon to evening. Nothing obstructed the view, and a pleasantly cool breeze flowing down from Namsan rustled through my clothes and hair.

Looking at the winding course of the Han River, I thought I could almost understand how Jack Dawson from Titanic must have felt, shouting "I'm the king of the world!" from the bow of that enormous ship—and then I let out a small scoff at my own ridiculous sentimentality. It also reminded me of an article I had once seen about a British survey to determine the "cheesiest movie line," where the Titanic line had taken first place. They were truly unrelated, meaningless associations with nothing to connect them.

And then it struck me—the fact that I was drifting like this at all, surrendering to random thoughts that surfaced and vanished without meaning, was something that hadn't happened in a very, very long time.

Watching the swaying, flickering, slow and fast movements of the countless lights that circulated like blood through the city, I turned my head, leaned my cheek against his shoulder, and pressed my lips into the nape of his neck. A small act of indulgence, my own quiet way of being affectionate.

He lowered his head and kissed my cheek and the area around my ear. The arm holding me slowly stroked my back, as if to soothe me.

Suddenly, an impulse to say I loved him surged up.

Though I called it an impulse, it wasn't an explosive urge born of feeling or mood. If it had been, I would have told him I loved him several times already during our ecstatic nights together.

There was no logical self-understanding that led me to recognize it as love, no particular incident that served as a catalyst—it simply felt like nothing in the world could be more natural than telling him I loved him in that moment. That was all.

"......"

"...... What is it?"

In an instant, I pushed his body away. It would be more accurate to say I quickly pulled myself away from him. He spread his now-empty arms and asked the reason for my sudden movement.

"Oh... the sunset. I want to take some pictures before it fades completely."

He narrowed his eyes, his expression carrying a hint of suspicion mixed with playfulness, but he didn't press the matter further.

I fled the word "love" that had naturally surfaced in my mind and quickly moved away from the spot. With the digital camera he had given me for work, I began taking several pictures of the western sky. I turned the lens to capture him as he tidied up the table. I took a full-body shot with the bungalow—its awning fluttering in the wind—as the background, then zoomed in to photograph the clean, distinct lines of his profile.

"You barely ate again."

He clicked his tongue at my half-eaten hamburger. I quickly set down the camera and moved to the table to help clean up.

"You said you wanted a hamburger. If you can't even finish something you asked for, that's a real problem."

"It must be because of my work... I think I'm in a state of constant excitement lately. I feel full even without eating..."

"I understand you don't have an appetite, but it's summer too, and if you keep leaving food like this every time, I get too worried."

He was taking the situation seriously, saying he needed to consult with the specialist from the training agency to put together a diet that wouldn't burden my stomach while still providing balanced nutrition.

"Regular meals won't do. I'll have them prepare fresh dishes with minimal seasoning that won't upset your stomach, and I absolutely won't push you to eat large portions. But in return, I need you to promise me you'll finish everything without making excuses about your appetite. Okay?"

Except for unusual circumstances, we usually ate dinner together after he got off work, but my breakfast and lunch were already prepared by the housekeeper at set times every day. The arrangements he had already made for me were more than I deserved.

Perhaps my stomach had become a bit overly sensitive from adapting to such a drastically changed environment in such a short time, or maybe it was simply a seasonal loss of appetite. Either way, it was a common thing that could happen to anyone.

"You don't have to go that far; I'm fine as it is..."

"Promise me. It's not a difficult thing."

"......"

All playfulness had vanished from his expression.

"It's been almost two weeks since you've been eating like this. We need to come up with a plan. Wouldn't it be better for your work too, if you ate properly?"

He shook my right shoulder a couple of times as if urging a firm answer, and when I nodded, he finally smiled, stroked my cheek once, and crumpled the bag of french fries into the paper bag.

The fact that he mentioned a specific length of time—nearly two weeks—confirmed he had been paying close attention all along. He must have been trying not to show it, probably so I wouldn't feel guilty.

If agreeing to this would put his mind at ease, I would comply for now... but honestly, I was still confused about where the line was between accepting kindness and crossing into territory that betrayed who I fundamentally was.

A world where meals with different menus were prepared at set times every day, where the room was neatly tidied while I was out watering the garden, and where drawers and closets were always full of perfectly laundered clothes—that was his world, not mine.

We decided to leave the cooler on the rooftop for now and carried the rest of the things downstairs together. By then the sun had completely set. After sorting the trash and sharing a cup of tea, I went down to the studio with him, as he was curious about the direction of my work.

I talked through the image I was currently envisioning, looking at sketches and photos—though I acknowledged things might change during the actual painting process. He listened with a very serious expression, without offering advice or asking questions. His detachment toward someone else's work was very similar to that of my parents or my former teacher, which made it easier to talk openly.

"Hmm? When did you take these?"

I stopped what I was doing—selecting an easel for the draft sketch—and turned to look at him. He was perched on the back of the sofa, looking down at the small digital camera, and he turned the screen toward me with a grin. They were pictures of him I had taken on the rooftop a little while ago.

"Earlier... while tidying up..."

My ears burned, but I adjusted the height of the pencil tray on the easel I had selected and answered as if it were nothing, feigning nonchalance. Looking at his expression, though, it was clear he had no intention of letting it go lightly.

He rose from the sofa and approached, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. The rich mixture of several colognes seeped deep into my lungs with every breath.

"What's this? Why are you secretly taking pictures? I could be a perfectly good model if you asked."

"......"

Later. I was thinking of asking him when everything inside me had fully settled. Because I didn't want to rush and ruin even one thing about him.

"You took good pictures, you know? The way the photographer looks at the subject... that shy gaze full of affection—it comes through clearly."

He spoke with apparent amusement, bending slightly to press his chin firmly onto my shoulder. My reddened ears and the back of my neck were plainly visible, but I didn't bother denying his interpretation.

"Now you understand, right?"

"......"

Instead of answering, I turned my head to look down at his face. I wanted to run my fingers through the full lashes that were slowly lifting upward as he met my gaze.

His lips curved into a gentle arc.

"Why I didn't want to show you the photos in Hong Kong."

"......"

"You still look like you don't understand?"

He released the arms around my waist and held the camera up in front of my eyes.

"The way the photographer looks at the subject is all right here. And Seo Ihyeon, you're practically a fortune teller when it comes to reading things like that. You would have figured it out immediately."

I couldn't deny that in Hong Kong, there had been a subtle exchange of glances and tension between us, different from before. But I had only thought of it as something like an atmosphere floating in the air—not sufficient to be named precisely as attraction or interest. Something that would vanish the moment someone else appeared to pique his curiosity more.

"Back then, Director... you really weren't very interested in me..."

"Hmm. Would someone leave in the middle of a party just to be with someone they're not interested in? Especially from the afterparty for our own gallery's exhibition?"

With his free hand—the one not holding the camera—he traced a path down my arm from my shoulder, then overlapped his hand with mine and interlaced our fingers. He spoke as if the very premise were absurd.

"When was...?"

He looked up at me with a resentful expression, then lifted our clasped hands and bit down on my knuckles.

"Look at this. I knew you were this indifferent. Ah... I thought you might be like this, which is why I tried not to give you my heart."

How much of the story he was telling, in that long-suffering tone, was sincere? To me, he had been the indifferent one—but he had thought the same of me? So he had tried not to give his heart?

The thought of it—of him having been conscious of me in ways I hadn't known—made my chest itch for no reason, and I gripped our interlaced hands a little tighter.

After a brief, hesitant pause, he tightened his hold around my waist and pressed his cheek against mine.

"The day the five of us—Inwu, Yuni, Juhan, and us—were drinking at that Spanish pub. Do you remember Inwu and me going to the gallery?"

"Yes, but back then..."

It had been several months already. I didn't remember every scene and moment precisely, but his talk of being dragged along faintly conjured the image of Inwu complaining with an aggrieved expression.

Back then, regardless of who had followed whom or who had been dragged along, I hadn't paid much attention to such things.

"Then what did you really think was the reason I went there?"

"Well... because the afterparty was boring, so..."

I was saying that, but my voice trailed off. Looking back, it was out of character for him. He wasn't the type to slip away from the afterparty of a Phantom joint exhibition just to attend a small, private drinking session.

At the time, I had lacked enough information about Phantom's operating methods or his personality to think much of it. But it would have been far more puzzling if Inwu hadn't been the one to pressure him into leaving together.

What if that indifferent gaze of his—resting his chin on his hand in the back of the safari vehicle, watching a harmless herbivore graze in the distance, a creature that had no influence on him whatsoever—had actually been a skillful shell concealing his interest and exploration? What if he had created the opportunity himself, unable to ignore it or keep his distance, and stepped in front of me?

If that were the case, perhaps the fact that he had already known my age—which I had never told him—and that he had asked various things about me despite seeming uninterested, were not meaningless coincidences after all.

"Ah..."

A vacant exclamation slipped out of me at the belated realization.

He craned his neck over my shoulder to look at my face. His expression seemed to ask if I finally understood. I felt strangely shy meeting his eyes again. I drew my gaze down to our clasped hands, which he was fiddling with.

He tossed the camera onto the nearby sofa, then turned my body around to face him and guided my hands to wrap behind his waist. Our chests touched, and his lips were level with my eyes. I inhaled deeply, greedy for the heavy, rich scent that was overtaking my senses. Even setting aside that particular scent, every fragrance emanating from him carried a certain weighty eroticism.

After making me hold him, he wrapped his own arms around me. He tilted his head slightly, and his lips grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver through me.

"I can't say it was as deep as it is now. But it wasn't an emotion I could ignore either. At the very least... enough for me to do something embarrassing because other men hanging around you bothered me."

Had he ever done anything embarrassing? And before that—had there even been any men around me genuinely trying to appeal to me as a romantic prospect?

The first thing that came to mind was... the evening after meeting Teacher Suki Kim, when we all went to a bar in Soho, and that man with freckles who said he was from Amsterdam. He had turned back, come to find me, and asked if we could exchange email addresses—and he, who seemed sharp enough to pick up on those things, had stayed by my side the entire time even in that private setting.

Was he saying all of that was because he was conscious of me?

I slowly shook my head without realizing it, gripping the fabric near the waist of his t-shirt.

"From the moment I first saw you in my gallery exhibition hall—a man with a face like he'd just stepped out of the shower, with water droplets ready to fall from his fingertips—you bothered me like a grain of sand in my shoe. Someone continuously tugging at my attention, whether in a positive or negative way, is quite rare for me... I tried pretending not to notice out of pointless pride, but..."

He released the arms that had been around me and cupped my face with both hands, meeting my eyes. Under the pale lighting—which had the lowest color distortion—his blue irises traced over mine. It was a meticulous, earnest gaze, as if searching for even the faintest trace of the past that might remain within them.

"Putting everything else aside... I simply could not pretend to be fine with other men hovering around you. Whether it was that kid from Amsterdam, or the sleazy gallery representative from New York... or even my friend, someone I've spent a long time with, someone who's seen my worst."

"......"

Each person he named was a marker on the journey of jealousy he was admitting to. And I couldn't absorb everything he was saying as reality so quickly.

"Hmm. You really do have a face that says you had no idea. Not being sensitive in these matters is one of Seo Ihyeon's charms, but... it scares me a little that you might not even notice if someone made a move on you. Some guys mistake you not cutting them off as an invitation."

I grabbed his wrist as he stroked the skin above my cheekbone with his thumb, pulled it downward, and shook my head.

"Even if that was true in Hong Kong... by the time we went to that Spanish bar, it was really early on. No—back then, Director, you really weren't interested in me... you were actually wary of me..."

Despite my pulling at his wrist, he didn't budge. He bent closer, bringing his face nearer to examine mine. His strikingly handsome face—the kind rarely seen in everyday life—carried its own force. I instinctively shrank back, my voice growing quieter.

"Why...?"

"Every so often, I catch myself wondering why I don't find your stubbornness annoying. I was thinking about that."

His expression, as he studied every corner of my face with something like fascination, was so serious that I couldn't laugh.

He released my face and placed one hand atop my head, ruffling my hair.

"Why do you think I kept probing about what was happening between you and Inwu every time we met? Because I was genuinely worried? Why would I worry about someone I had no interest in and was wary of?"

"Ah..."

Just moments ago I had firmly argued that he clearly hadn't been interested in me back then, and now I had to concede that his explanation was far more logical.

It was true. If he had been genuinely indifferent to me back then—let alone hostile—he would have had no reason to worry about or be curious about my relationship with Inwu. He probably would have just watched from a distance if I had fallen for an even worse temptation and gotten tangled up in something that ruined me.

A sigh of understanding slipped out from between my lips, and he responded to it by pulling both my cheeks apart.

"You always make me say everything, don't you? You won't let me keep up any pretense—you make me lay everything bare."

In a corner of his face, as he fiddled with my cheeks with an expression that said I was insufferably annoying, I caught an unexpected glimpse of him being flustered by his own honest confession. It was fresh to see this boyish side of him—a man I had thought was flexible and adept at everything, romance included, who had shown no hesitation even when revealing his jealousy.

The raw, naive awkwardness of an unripe boy flickered beneath his face—one who was upset because things weren't going as planned, and who didn't want to look pathetic in front of someone he liked.

But whatever kind of composure he had been trying to maintain in front of me, it didn't matter, because in my eyes he had never once failed to be wonderful.

After fiddling with my cheeks for a while, he gathered the flesh into a fish-like pout and kissed it, then glanced up at the wall clock behind me.

"My period of confusion—trying to resist the pull of Seo Ihyeon—isn't something to be casually dismissed in passing remarks while standing in front of a sofa, so for today, let's just leave it at this... I won't disturb you further. Get back to work."

No matter what we did, time always passed quickly when the two of us were together. Turning back to check the clock, I realized nearly an hour had passed since we came down to the studio.

"Will you send me just one message before you go to sleep?"

"I will. But it might be very late..."

I followed him as he climbed the stairs leading to the first floor, gripping the edge of the railing and looking up at him. He smiled and reached out, tousling my hair.

"Don't worry about it, just focus. I'll go to sleep if I'm tired—I won't wait up."

Leaning far over the railing, he cupped my cheeks in his hands and kissed my forehead, the space between my brows, and the bridge of my nose in turn. Finally, he pressed his lips to mine. It was a kiss without tongues—just the touching of lips—but even that sent a slight tremor through me.

After he left, I don't know how late I stayed sketching. The last time I checked the clock it was eleven, and after that my sense of time blurred. As I actually moved my pencil, my plans shifted a few times, narrowing the initial concepts down to three drafts. After I managed to transfer the rough outline of the confirmed draft onto the canvas, I was completely drained.

After barely managing to wash up and change, I crawled into bed and buried my face in the pillow. Only then did the sound of rain tapping lightly against the window reach my ears. It wasn't heavy.

Even though I felt as though I had emptied both body and mind, I was instead filled—a languid state where exhaustion and satisfaction coexisted. I fought with my eyelids just long enough to send him a message.

Late on a Friday night. What was he doing with his time?

Whatever he was doing, the mere awareness that he existed somewhere in this house made the muscles at the corners of my mouth pull softly upward. My entire body felt loose and relaxed, as if I had soaked in hot water. I could sink into a deep sleep filled with relief. Feeling stable about my own condition and my surroundings was a sensation I had long forgotten.

I had felt something similar when we were holding each other on the rooftop. If I felt like the king of the world up there, it wasn't because of the view that seemed to look down upon everything.

I didn't know when I fell asleep. Consciousness went dark at some point, and later—some time later—the sensation of someone adjusting my pillow and pulling me close, an arm around my shoulder, lightly stirred the surface of my quiet awareness.

The humidity and temperature in the studio were maintained at a preset level, so even in midsummer I tended to get cold if I didn't cover myself properly with the blankets. The warmth of his bare chest against my cooling skin felt so pleasant that I curled up and burrowed into the solid chest right in front of me.

It wasn't the unfamiliar touch of a stranger. The familiar scent and warmth made me feel safe. I didn't even need to open my eyes to confirm who it was.

It might be a dream. I thought this even as I shifted, rubbing my forehead against the nape of his neck to find the most comfortable position.

But now, I didn't care if it was a dream. Because even if this was a dream, someone who could give me this much affection and security was waiting for me in the real world. The arm wrapped around my back held me gently. A pair of lips touched the crown of my head. Sleep well. As if I had been waiting for precisely those words, my consciousness sank deeply beneath the surface of sleep after the low whisper.

· · · · ·

Waking up after a deep, motionless sleep always felt abrupt. As if I had been suddenly pushed from one world into another in an instant, I always needed a moment after waking to gather my thoughts about where I was.

"Did you sleep well?"

"......"

Lying on my side, I slowly blinked, eyes cast downward toward my chest, and raised my head from the pillow at the voice coming from above me.

"Mm..."

My throat was still tight, preventing me from producing a smooth sound. My eyes, darting around in confusion, asked the question on my behalf: how was he here?

I had clearly woken up in my own bed downstairs, and yet I was also nestled in his bare arms.

He had stacked two pillows and added his own arm folded beneath his head, lying on his side facing me, with his other arm resting lightly over my shoulder, his hand gently stroking my cheek.

"You burrowed in like a little mole. I was even debating whether I should let you suckle on my nipple."

He smiled, curled slightly above me and looking down from his higher position. Seeing how tightly my upper body was pressed against his, I realized his words weren't entirely an exaggeration this time.

"When... here... how..."

Still not fully grasping the situation, my questions came out in broken fragments.

"Why didn't you text me?"

"I definitely sent it before I went to sleep..."

I rolled onto my stomach and propped myself up on my elbows, roughly raking my fingers through my tangled hair, fumbling around the pillow for my phone. I picked up my phone—precariously balanced on the edge of the bed—and unlocked it. The messaging app appeared immediately on the screen.

[today work here stop now done eeeeew fu]

I must have fallen asleep with the phone in my hand, because the typo-riddled message was still sitting unsent in the input field.

"Ah..."

I let out a groan mixed with defeat, swept my fallen hair back, and tucked it behind my ear. He took the phone from my hand, read the message on the screen, and burst out laughing.

I was slowly starting to come to my senses. His form, lying in bed laughing in the morning's natural light, was gradually coming into focus. A moment ago, waking up to find him there had flustered me so completely that I hadn't had the presence of mind to actually register him. This was the first time I had seen him in bed when we weren't in the middle of foreplay, sex, or the quiet after.

"Oh? Why—don't send that."

I reached out to stop his hand as he tapped the screen, worried he was about to send the abandoned, typo-filled message, but he leisurely shifted his body to evade me.

"It would be a waste to just delete something this cute. This one's going in my collection."

Lying on his back toward the ceiling, he handed the phone back to me with a satisfied look, then began toying with my earlobe as I lay face-down beside him.

"Still, it's a shame. I wish I could have seen Seo Ihyeon struggling to text me even though he was half-asleep."

These expressions of affection—impossible to call anything other than love—made my spine tingle from the first moments of morning. Starting the day immediately enveloped in such affection the moment I opened my eyes was... not good for my heart.

"Did we sleep together? Or did you just arrive a little while ago?"

I carefully placed my hand over the fingers touching my earlobe and asked.

"It seemed like the lights went out around three, and when no message came for a long time after that, I came down to check."

Then the sensation I had during the night—of someone fixing my bedding and pulling me close—wasn't a dream. It was the feeling of him getting into bed. I let my hand slide off his and traced the clearly defined muscles of his arm, my voice coming out soft with regret.

"You should have woken me up..."

"How could I wake someone who worked until they collapsed?"

"Still... it's a shame."

"......"

His hand, which had been at my ear, shifted to cup my cheek broadly, his gaze asking what, exactly, was such a shame. His large palm—big enough to cover my entire face—always felt good, and I instinctively rubbed my cheek against it like a calm cat or dog.

"It was the first time we slept together, and I didn't even know..."

His lips curved softly. The affection in his gaze as he looked at me was more than enough to feel, even through his eyes alone. For someone like me, those expressions were perhaps easier to understand and more trustworthy than words.

He gently rubbed the surface of my lips with his thumb and spoke.

"I'm glad you feel that way, but if Seo Ihyeon had woken up, the chances of us actually succeeding in sleeping together again would have been pretty low."

Last weekend, on the way home after drinking sake together, he had suggested we just sleep next to each other without having sex—but in the end we hadn't kept that promise.

It was an unreasonable plan from the start. We had spent that day sharing deeper, more meaningful conversations than usual and having a wonderful time, and the thrilling, suggestive tension that had been building between us since the izakaya had reached its peak by the time we lay down side by side, making it impossible to ignore each other's skin and warmth and try to sleep.

As if no such promise had ever existed, the moment we stepped through the front door we rushed toward each other and started kissing, deep and urgent—as if the playful kisses we'd shared hiding behind a car in the alley had done nothing to satisfy us.

He had already stripped me halfway out of my clothes at the entrance. I too wanted his bare body and slid my hands under his shirt, digging into his shoulders and chest.

Anyone who had witnessed us that night would have laughed, wondering why we had bothered resolving anything when we gave in before even reaching the bedroom.

As the certainty of our feelings for each other deepened, my actions in bed had grown bolder. The shyness rooted in my fundamental nature still lingered, but I found myself kissing him first without hesitation, wrapping my arms around him, no longer flinching at letting him see me spread open or trembling with pleasure.

Another change was that the sex with him—once filled with raw, intense, purely physical stimulation—had become sweet as well.

The exchange of emotions carried such force that it seemed to grant legitimacy to every act we shared. When lovemaking became not just a release of desire but an expression of affection, even a simple kiss felt different from before.

It wasn't that my desire arose in a time and place where he happened to be present. The desire materialized because he was the one in front of me. That day too, we stayed tangled together until the early summer sun began casting a bluish light.

The next day, I had woken up in his bed as usual, but the space beside me was empty. A note on his pillow said he had gone to a brunch meeting at a VIP client's invitation. This, then, was truly the first time we had woken up together.

"Maybe it was in your sleep, but you were mumbling and burrowing into my arms... for a moment I thought about waking you up right then."

He tapped the tip of my nose with the thumb that had been rubbing my lips and laughed. If he had, I probably wouldn't have been able to sleep properly from the tension—but I still kept regretting not having been conscious for the time we had lain there together, trying to sleep.

"If we... have sex... does that really mean we can't stay together until morning?"

"......"

Seeing the slight flutter in his eyelids, I suddenly realized how foolish my question was and had the strong urge to bury my face in the pillow. As expected, he let out a low chuckle a moment later. And this time, he cupped my face with both hands.

"That's not the case at all. As you know, I've been a bit busy lately... so there are many times I have to leave early in the morning. I do have a fair amount of stamina, but considering our recent frequency, I do have to pay some attention to sleep."

His gentle explanation only made my face burn hotter.

"I guess... I'm not fully awake yet. I'm sorry for asking something so strange."

After giving my apologetic face a thorough, slightly exasperated kneading, he sat up and lightly kissed my forehead. Then he leaned his upper body over my prone back and rubbed the tip of his nose against my ear.

"I'll get breakfast ready, so would you mind taking care of the garden in the meantime?"

Truly, this was a start to a day that placed an immense strain on my heart.

· · · · ·

I want to remember the heat of August—a month that flowed more slowly and lazily than any other, yet left behind clearer imprints than any other—like an ice pop melting into sticky sweetness.

I want to remember the August sun blazing down on the garden. The parabolic arc of a rainbow cast over the water spraying from the aqua gun connected to the hose. The cry of the cicadas clinging to the oak tree, seeming to symbolize summer itself. The awareness of being alive that came from the tiny beads of sweat beginning to seep out onto my skin after I took off my t-shirt.

As he had mentioned, the rain from the night before must have been very slight, because when I stepped out into the garden, the ground was already parched under the fierce sunlight. August was now past its midpoint, but the intense heat remained.

With ample sunlight and water, the plants were full of vitality even as people wilted under the prolonged heat wave. The weeds, too, surged with the same vigor, so after first pulling up the ones that had sprouted again in just a few days, I connected the hose to the spigot in the corner of the garden.

Shwaaaaaa.

The sound of the water alone made it feel as if the surrounding temperature had dropped a degree or two. I directed the stream toward the sweet osmanthus whose branches I had pruned with clumsy hands, and brought my left hand close to the nozzle. The water was cold. The sun pouring down on my bare shoulders and back was hot enough to scorch.

Amid the cicada noise and water sounds that numbed my mind, I brought my chilled left hand up to my lips.

Using my thumb and forefinger, I gathered and toyed with the flesh of my lower lip. In an instant, a strange sensation washed across my skin. Even through my sunglasses, in the blinding sunlight that seemed to bleach the world white, I found myself thinking of his lips.

The suction—intense enough to be painful—was a direct measure of the depth of his desire for me. Remembering the way he would bite and pull as if trying to swallow me whole, I twisted the flesh between my thumb and forefinger. The cicadas' song seemed to drag my consciousness into a dizzy swirl, like being sucked into a lollipop. I twisted hard enough that I thought the skin might split and bleed. I was getting hard.

Ahem. Hmm.

At the deliberately staged sound of a cough announcing a presence, I slowly turned around.

He was leaning against the open doorframe with his arms crossed, tilting his head slightly as he looked my way.

Surprisingly, I felt no shame. For some reason I wasn't embarrassed. I kept the aqua gun running and held his gaze as he stood there on the steps.

With a faint smile, he unfolded his arms and came down the stairs. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his lips to my ear as his hands stroked my chest and stomach—slick and gleaming with sweat.

My summer got a little hotter.

"Since when have you been pinching your lip like that when you're alone?"

"You really do surprise people sometimes," he added. A sweet, syrupy scent drifted from him as he spoke. I remembered him saying he would make pancakes with fruit for breakfast.

"If you wanted a kiss, you should have just come in and pinned me down."

I tilted my head back as his lips burrowed into the nape of my neck. Two small, nameless birds flew quickly past the top of the tall oak tree. His hands caressing my chest and his lips kissing my neck felt like the sun itself.

"Have you always been out here like this without a shirt on?"

I nodded, placing my hand over his as he stroked the space between my shoulder and upper arm.

"Next time, let me know in advance. It's such a shame I've been missing out on something this good all this time."

He kissed the outer edge of my shoulder where it met my arm, then moved to stand at my side, gently massaging the back of my neck.

"Those sunglasses suit you. Then again, what wouldn't?"

I smiled back at him as he lightly tapped his own cheekbone, then redirected the hose from the sweet osmanthus toward the mock orange. The arc of the rainbow grew larger as the stream stretched farther. The sound of water hitting the mock orange was slightly different from the osmanthus.

"I... I think I should go see a doctor."

"......"

His hands, which had been lightly massaging my neck and shoulders, gradually stilled.

"I thought it was just mild gastritis, or maybe just the heat getting to me, and that it would pass... but you seem really worried, Director, and honestly, the symptoms haven't shown any sign of improving, so I'm going to get checked out. It's probably nothing serious, but it also seems foolish to just keep enduring it when there's no change."

No one had ever worried about me this much over something as simple as a poor appetite or mild nausea at certain smells. I don't particularly enjoy eating to begin with, so I had never taken loss of appetite seriously. This time too, I had mostly intended to leave it alone as usual, expecting it to pass on its own.

But he had been so attentive that he had noticed the symptoms even before I mentioned them. The fact that I—the one actually living in this body—was being so careless with something someone else cherished so deeply felt like an act of disrespect toward the person who cared for it.

And, though it still didn't quite feel real, I also had the thought that if I was going to continue working steadily as a full-time artist, maintaining a certain level of physical health had to be accepted as part of managing myself.

"Next week, I'll make some time, just briefly during the day... I'll go, and come right back."

After a long silence I looked over to find him still resting his hand on my shoulder, lost in thought. His profile—frozen as if he had forgotten even to blink—looked even more like a sculpture. Elegant and delicate, almost ivory in tone, yet the rough, wild nature visible just beneath that thin surface drew from him an irresistible tension and a kind of sexiness that made it impossible to look away.

Expressing the wildness behind the elegance, or the elegance concealing the wildness, was impossible with ordinary skill. He seemed like a masterpiece born from the hands of a great master. At least, that was how he appeared to me.

Whether he sensed my admiring gaze or had simply finished his thought, he flinched slightly, became aware of himself, and turned his head toward me.

"Yes... that's a good idea. If your body isn't well, you should see a doctor. I'll make an appointment so Inwu can take a look."

I hadn't expected him to suggest seeing Inwu, so my eyes widened slightly without me realizing it.

"He may not look it, but he's very thorough with his examinations."

He gave a brief, closed-mouth smile. Then, suddenly, his expression turned serious. He turned his body fully toward me and stepped closer. The shadow of his large frame fell across half my face.

Even though he had emerged from his thoughts, his expression remained as if time had paused—the same distant look from moments before. But he wasn't looking past me. His face, if anything, was filled with a longing that seemed to want to pull me into his world and keep me there.

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to my shoulder. As his hands slid down from my shoulder to trace along both my sides, the head of the aqua gun swayed. My other thoughts swayed and scattered with it. Hah... A faint, sigh-like moan slipped out from me.

His hands moved from my sides to my back, then gripped my waist tightly. The lips that had traveled from my shoulder up to my neck slid along my jawline, and I closed my eyes in anticipation, parting my mouth.

"Mm, ugh. Mmm."

In the sudden, deep kiss, I lost my grip on the aqua gun. The hose thrashed wildly like a long eel pulled onto dry land, then went still, its head dropping quietly onto the grass, water trickling out.

I wanted to remember every detail—the heat of August, the sensation of his kiss painting new feelings onto my lips and tongue that I hadn't known before, and the sweet, sour, hot—and sometimes startlingly unfamiliar—taste of those summer days as my first feelings for another person carefully ripened.

About the first infatuation they say becomes the benchmark for all subsequent relationships in a person's history, and the object of that infatuation, whom I could never forget—Liu Weikun.