Having touched a raw nerve, Gwok Un’s face hardened frighteningly. He twisted his beautiful face into something ugly. Gi-hyeon watched the murderous beast with cold eyes. Gwok Un’s nails dug into the armrest of the chair.
“I genuinely envy Eun-hyeong. I’ll accept the offer.”
At Gi-hyeon’s acceptance, Gwok Un smiled as though he had known it would come to this. The way he forced his rigidly set eyes to curve and pulled his lips up looked like an animal puffing itself up. Gwok Un smiled with malice and spat filth-like words at Gi-hyeon.
“No matter how much you put on airs of devotion and play the hypocrite, we’re the same kind. Don’t you think it’s about time you admitted that?”
“I have no intention of making you understand, so say whatever you like.”
“No matter how hard you try, that boy will stay by my side. He’s already been marked by my hand.”
The venom they aimed at each other clouded the air. Gi-hyeon breathed it in, hoping to be consumed by it.
The days flowed on ceaselessly, like water. Though the atmosphere was calm enough, if calm it was, there were moments when a noose seemed to tighten around his neck. Gi-hyeon glanced sideways at Gwok Un, who still had sleep clinging to the corners of his eyes. Whether he’d been dragged here straight out of a deep sleep, his face was full of irritation. The Butler gazed adoringly at the face that looked as though it might shove the easel aside at any moment.
“It looks cheap.”
Sleep still clung to his voice, but his eyes gleamed sharply. Rubbing his eyes as though his vision was blurry, Gwok Un stepped in close to the painting. He flicked the white flower painted against the dark blue background with his finger. Along with the sound of the canvas being flicked, wet paint came away on his fingernail.
“This background here. Why is it done like this instead of being pushed back like last time? It’s so kitsch it looks like something mass-produced in a factory.”
It was absurd coming from someone who had probably never looked at a factory painting in his life — but Gi-hyeon quietly wrote down the revisions.
“I’ll make the corrections.”
“And why is there so little progress on the first painting. Convince me what’s changed.”
“I focused on the figure and increased the density.”
“Density? I don’t see it.”
Gwok Un raised his hand and the Butler wiped off the paint with a handkerchief. Watching the overly careful manner, as though tending to a household shrine, Gi-hyeon let out a small laugh — and the Butler shot him a white-eyed glare. Gi-hyeon composed the loose line of his lips and continued.
“Understood. I’ll make the revisions.”
“It’s true that you paint better than I expected — but you have less sense than I expected.”
“I said I’ll revise it.”
“I’m giving you the same support as Eun-hyeong — why can’t you do better than this?”
It had seemed like something was subtly grating on his nerves all along — and sure enough. Gi-hyeon kneaded his stiff neck and muttered flatly.
“I wonder. Should I go ask the coffin?”
At Gi-hyeon’s sharp words, Gwok Un’s cheek flinched and trembled. He was free in laying bare other people’s wounds — but he had no immunity against words that attacked himself. Every time Gi-hyeon saw this reaction — so like a hothouse flower — his aggression cooled. He ultimately put away his poison-tipped tongue.
“Anyway, understood. I’ll nail it at the next confirmation.”
Even as Gi-hyeon stepped back, his face remained dark — it seemed the mention of Gam Eun-hyeong’s death still sat ill with him. Gwok Un, who had been standing there with a look of discomfort, gave the Butler a look, and the Butler gestured in turn. The waiting servants came in, set a suit, a watch, and shoes on the sofa, and left.
“What’s this.”
“There will be a banquet on the first floor in an hour. Artists, sponsors, collectors, dealers, and gallery directors will all be attending, so prepare yourself.”
Whether to call this irresponsible last-minute notice Gwok Un-like or not. Even when pressed for an explanation of the abrupt situation, Gwok Un’s mouth remained shut. Gwok Un kicked the easel with his slipper.
“Given what you’re being given, you should at least be better than Eun-hyeong at something like this.”
Gi-hyeon silently studied that face smiling as though it hadn’t dealt any wound. His flat reaction seemed to deflate Gwok Un, who kicked the easel hard and walked out of the studio. The Butler, who always trailed after Gwok Un like a nanny, was standing fixed to the spot in front of the sofa for some reason. The Butler stared at the suit for a long while with dry eyes.
“Do you know what suit this is?”
The hand smoothing the luxurious dark navy fabric looked somehow wistful. The Butler’s hand slid from shoulder to sleeve along the seam. Gi-hyeon ignored his reverie and flipped the lapel of the jacket inside out. The Butler ground his teeth at the rude treatment and gripped the sleeve needlessly.
“It’s Ferragamo.”
“It’s the suit the Young Master prepared for Gam Eun-hyeong, who was originally meant to attend.”
An arrogant smile, resembling his master’s, settled on the Butler’s lips.
“Eun-hyeong’s feet were large for his frame — I wonder if they’ll fit you.”
A suit for Eun-hyeong, shoes for Eun-hyeong, a watch for Eun-hyeong, for Eun-hyeong, for Eun-hyeong. The pettiness of it all — saying in every way that these things were for Eun-hyeong and that you are merely a substitute — made Gi-hyeon let out a quiet, hollow laugh.
“You seem to be a slow learner. Don’t you remember me saying that kind of thing doesn’t hit?”
Gi-hyeon swatted away the Butler’s hand, which was dripping with longing. He held the jacket up and examined it like a critic appraising a piece. True to form for Gwok Un, who dealt only in the finest things — the fabric had the sheen of quality, and the delicate embellishments carried an air of refinement. Having finished his appraisal, Gi-hyeon gave the jacket a light shake.
“I don’t need any of this — but you look terribly wistful. Do you want it?”
“……”
“Did you want to become Eun-hyeong too? Did you want him to die? Like those male prostitutes over there.”
“At the very least, I hoped a bastard like you wouldn’t end up as his replacement.”
“Is that so? What a shame in so many ways. But what can you do — there’s nothing you can do about it.”
As Gi-hyeon held the jacket up against himself, the Butler’s face contorted viciously. The corners of Gi-hyeon’s mouth rose cleanly.
“Well? Does it suit me?”
“Who knows how long the Young Master’s whims will last — what are you so confident about. You think you’re the first one of your kind to pass through here?”
“Is that your story you’re telling?”
“You son of a——”
“Running your mouth without any foundation — you’re exactly like the servants in this house.”
“……I’ll pray that the Young Master finds another replacement as soon as possible.”
“I didn’t realize we were on the same side — what a relief. Go tell Gwok Un for me, please, to get him away from me.”
Gi-hyeon took in the Butler’s face, reddening by the second. Just before the Butler threw a punch, a knock was heard. Gi-hyeon stepped in close to the Butler and whispered.
“What are you doing — fix your expression.”
The Butler bit down hard and drew in a deep breath. His ribcage expanded and contracted slowly, and the petty emotions clouding his eyes retreated into hiding. Returning to a businesslike face, he lightly smoothed his pomaded hair. From the mouth of the man who had been irrationally hurling curses, a flat, measured voice emerged.
“The Young Master has given instructions to prepare without any hitches. Once you are dressed, I will assist with styling.”
“What a fuss.”
“As the face of the occasion, you’ll have to put up with at least this much. Then I’ll see you at the banquet.”
The Butler smiled crookedly. He straightened the lapel of his suit and walked out of the studio with precise, measured steps. When the door closed, Gi-hyeon let out a long sigh. The sharp-edged battle of nerves had piled fatigue all the way down to his toes. He wanted nothing more than to lie around and rest, banquet or no banquet — but Gi-hyeon put on the suit and stood before the mirror. Fortunately, the suit said to have been prepared for Gam Eun-hyeong fit him well. Gi-hyeon adjusted his cufflinks and spoke to someone beyond the door.
“Come in.”
Gi-hyeon watched the opening door through the mirror. Seeing Do-gyeom after a long while, the gladness he felt made him forget their recent estrangement, and he smiled broadly.
“Do-gyeom-ssi.”
His eyes landed on the makeup box Do-gyeom was holding. Having expected only a blow-dry at most, Gi-hyeon tapped his chin with a look of uncertainty.
“Are we doing makeup as well?”
“I don’t think makeup will be necessary. Even now you’re more than sufficiently…… ah.”
“Pardon?”
“No, I think just a blow-dry will do.”
Do-gyeom laid out the curling iron, brush, and wax in front of the mirror. Once he had everything ready, Do-gyeom began styling Gi-hyeon’s hair. Gi-hyeon smiled faintly at the hand gently running through his hair. At that, the brush that had been combing through his hair stopped. Sensing something off, Gi-hyeon glanced up — and Do-gyeom dropped the curling iron. With a dull thud, the curling iron knocked against Gi-hyeon’s shoulder and clattered to the floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”
“Are you alright?”
Gi-hyeon jumped up and took Do-gyeom’s hand to check it. Having carefully examined it to make sure he hadn’t burned himself on the heated curling iron, Gi-hyeon set his hand down.
“You really are a bit of a scatterbrain……”
Gi-hyeon picked up the curling iron and handed it to Do-gyeom. Do-gyeom took it and resumed the styling. He noticed that Do-gyeom’s hands were stiffer than before, but Gi-hyeon said nothing. Once the styling was done, Do-gyeom took out the wax and set the hair in place. Wax-slicked fingers grazed Gi-hyeon’s forehead.
“Oh, I’m truly sorry.”
“No, no. It’s really fine.”
Watching him apologize so excessively, Gi-hyeon’s shoulders drooped. When the styling was finished, Gi-hyeon murmured quietly.
“Thank you.”
“Not at all……”
The moment the task was done, Do-gyeom hurriedly gathered the blow-dryer and brush and headed out. Gi-hyeon watched his retreating back in a daze and sighed. The urge to go upstairs and rest grew even stronger — but he stood before the mirror. His hair, swept back and set in place, suited the suit well. Perhaps because Do-gyeom’s hands had touched it, the reflection looking back at him seemed to shine a little brighter than usual. He smiled with satisfaction and stepped out of the studio.
