A faint note of admiration seeped through the murmured words. The contemptuous gaze had long since vanished. The Director’s eyes sparkled as though she had just discovered an ancient relic.
“The interpretation of the classics is interesting. There’s an avant-garde yet conceptual irony woven into it. The technique goes without saying, but I can also see traces of deep reflection on aesthetics. So it was true that you’ve been learning across many disciplines.”
Watching the Director speak with such passionate enthusiasm, Gwok Un’s eyes curved. He pressed a hand to his chest with theatrical relief.
“I can finally breathe easy.”
“Mm?”
“You have no idea how much I’ve been fretting that you might say my eye for talent had grown rusty.”
At the charming words, the Director’s prim gaze softened with warmth. Her upper body tilted forward as if she might pull Gwok Un into her arms. The Director took his hand.
“People say I play favorites with President Gwok, but how could I not? Such a lovely, beautiful young man!”
The Director, who had been gently stroking the back of Gwok Un’s hand, produced a business card. On the black card, only her name and number were engraved in mother-of-pearl. The business card — the one said to be unattainable no matter how much entertainment or bribery one offered — glimmered with a lustrous glow. The Director smiled graciously and continued.
“Don’t be a stranger — if you ever need help, reach out.”
“Thank you.”
Gi-hyeon, who had bowed deeply at the waist, received the card. The hand holding it trembled faintly with emotion, but Gwok Un’s face was expressionless — as though this was nothing more than a beginning.
Gwok Un was flawless right up until the moment he rose from his seat. He escorted the Director out in a manner that was warm but not excessive. When the Director, reluctant to part, couldn’t bring herself to let go of his hand, Gwok Un soothed her.
“Next time I’ll treat you to an even better setting. I know you’re busy, but please make time.”
“Of course I will!”
The Director laughed and pulled Gwok Un into a brief hug. Once the embrace was done, she gave Gi-hyeon a parting nod as well and got into the car. As the car disappeared from view, all the tension finally drained out of Gi-hyeon, and he let out a long breath. Watching him press his fingers into his temples to ease his exhaustion, Gwok Un let out a short laugh.
“Are you going to be like this already?”
A sleek silver car came to a stop in front of them. Gwok Un walked over to it and rapped on the driver’s side window. He gestured at Gi-hyeon with a flick of his hand.
“Give me the key.”
When the window rolled down, Gwok Un took the car key Gi-hyeon handed over and tossed it into the Butler’s arms. The Butler, unable to read his employer’s intent, blinked his wide eyes in confusion. At that blank look, Gwok Un’s eyebrow arched.
“What are you doing — get out.”
Reading the displeasure in Gwok Un’s expression, the Butler hurriedly got out of the car. Gwok Un slid into the now-empty driver’s seat and said,
“Get in.”
Gi-hyeon sat in the passenger seat with a bewildered look, and the scissor door swung closed in a smooth, fluid arc. True to the McLaren’s reputation for supreme elegance, the interior was luxury itself. Gi-hyeon, who had been mesmerized by his first time in a supercar, quickly pulled himself together.
“Where are we going?”
“…….”
No answer came to Gi-hyeon’s question. When he looked over, Gwok Un had his cheek resting against the steering wheel, watching him. The hysterical edge in his eyes had given way to a gleam of amusement. Those full lips were trembling faintly. At the sight of him barely suppressing his laughter, Gi-hyeon’s eyes narrowed — and then Gwok Un burst out laughing. He laughed loudly for a good while before dabbing at the corners of his eyes.
“Ah, you’re genuinely adorable. Want one?”
“Forget it — where are we going, I said.”
Gwok Un snickered and typed an address into the navigation. The growling engine served as his answer.
The car glided smoothly through the city center before pulling over to the curb. Gwok Un got out from the driver’s side and came around to knock on the passenger window. Gi-hyeon stepped out after him — and a grand building rose up to greet him. His eyes went wide as he recognized the museum, its entire facade wrapped in exterior glass.
Le Mans……!
Who wouldn’t know Le Mans, hailed as the second MOWA? One critic had praised Le Mans as the heart of Eastern culture and art — a movement unto itself. Gwok Un strode past Gi-hyeon and held his security card up to the front entrance. As the firmly shut doors swung open, he tilted his head as if to say: come in.
He had visited often for special exhibitions and the permanent collection alike, but a Le Mans with all its lights off was something Gi-hyeon had never seen. He followed behind Gwok Un as he led the way. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the vast gallery.
Gwok Un didn’t look back once as they walked through the lobby. Soft moonlight shimmered at the crown of his head. In the darkness, he alone seemed radiant — as if he were the only source of light. Gi-hyeon followed him as if in a trance. Gwok Un, who had been walking in silence, stopped before the main exhibition hall. He flipped the switch, and white light poured down.
“Ugh——!”
Gi-hyeon let out a pained sound and shielded his eyes. Through the gaps between his fingers, countless masterworks by the greats came into view. Once his eyes adjusted, Gwok Un took hold of Gi-hyeon’s sleeve and led him into the exhibition hall. They passed wall after wall until Gwok Un brought him to a place where only a single painting hung. On an enormous canvas — dynamic, explosive paint — Pollock’s Number 5, America’s pride.
“The most precious work in Le Mans hangs on this wall.”
He already knew that Gwok Un had conferred a special authority upon this wall. Since Le Mans was founded, only two works had ever been hung here — this wall was every artist’s holy grail. Countless artists had been counting the days, hoping that even once in their lifetime, they might have their work hung on it.
“In five years, I’ll hang your painting on this wall.”
A startled Gi-hyeon turned to look at Gwok Un. The Gwok Un who met his gaze was no longer seeing Eun-hyeong in him.
Gi-hyeon couldn’t find his voice the entire way back to the estate. The wind tousling his hair, the scenery rushing past — all of it felt unreal. Gi-hyeon shifted his gaze from the car window to Gwok Un. The light that had crept into the dark interior of the car flickered over the sharp line of his nose. Gi-hyeon felt something close to reverence for Gwok Un — a man who had established a gallery at such a young age and cemented himself as a true force in the art world. Sensing the gaze on him, Gwok Un smiled languidly.
“What — am I handsome?”
It was an outrageously arrogant thing to say, and yet there was no room to argue. Gi-hyeon’s gaze slid from those flawless features to the eyes where light gathered and pooled. Those pale irises, reflecting every glimmer of light that fell into them, were like a finely cut gem. After silently admiring Gwok Un’s eyes for a moment, Gi-hyeon tapped the back of his hand.
“One-handed driving is dangerous.”
“Then answer what I’m asking.”
Despite the sharp remark, Gwok Un obediently placed both hands back on the steering wheel. At the compliant response, Gi-hyeon smiled to himself. He propped his arm on the window frame and murmured,
“I’ve never seen you dressed like this before — it suits you well.”
“I put some thought into it.”
Surely he didn’t dress this way on purpose. When Gi-hyeon looked at him with an expression that said he was thoroughly fed up with that unbothered tone, Gwok Un smiled meaningfully.
“I tend to make use of everything I can — unlike you, with your obsessive fastidiousness.”
The estate came into view in the distance. Something Gi-hyeon had been forgetting suddenly came back to him. He patted his pockets with a conflicted look.
“Don’t tell me I left it behind……”
“What?”
Gi-hyeon dug through his pockets, then fumbled at his jacket and seat, until Gwok Un pulled the car to a stop right in the middle of the garden. The fingers rummaging busily for something caught on the inner pocket of his jacket. He handed Gwok Un a piece of parchment.
“I meant to give it to you before the luncheon, but someone showed up late.”
Gwok Un stared at the parchment with an unfamiliar look in his eyes. When Gi-hyeon shook the hand holding it toward him, Gwok Un received it with an awkward motion. He paused as he recognized the two men drawn on the paper.
“I hope you like it.”
The Eun-hyeong in the painting was not a cold corpse — he was exactly as Gwok Un had loved him. The gentle features, the tender way he had snatched away a glass out of concern for someone’s health — all of it was captured there in full. Gwok Un gazed at the portrait of himself, smiling as he looked upon an Eun-hyeong he would never meet again.
After Eun-hyeong died, Gwok Un had come to regret every single moment they had shared. Among those who spouted nonsense about early death being the exclusive domain of genius, he felt a helplessness he had never once known before. He had no strength left even to be angry. Everything felt hollow. As his emotions blurred in that way, the memories began to fade too. And then Gi-hyeon’s painting had brought those fading memories back to life. Within those reviving memories, the very breath of Eun-hyeong was woven in.
The spring at seventeen, when they had been caught touching a sculpture together by the curator. The summer at eighteen, when they had promised each other a future beneath the wisteria in the schoolyard. The autumn at twenty, when he had kissed Eun-hyeong, who had been embarrassed about his paint-stained hands. The winter at twenty-three, when they had held each other in their arms in front of the Nike statue. The memories crashed over Gwok Un like a tidal wave, and he gasped for breath.
“Huh——!”
Gwok Un opened his mouth wide like a mermaid dragged up onto dry land. His striking face cracked apart with each short, severed breath. When red fractures split through his rigid eyes, Gi-hyeon urgently cupped his pale cheeks in his hands.
“What’s wrong — are you okay?!”
Those dry eyes turned slowly toward Gi-hyeon. The moment their gazes locked, the flood of memories surging in vanished without a trace. Gwok Un stared at Gi-hyeon, having forgotten even to breathe. Those pitch-black eyes, like the night sky, erased everything else and left only Gi-hyeon. The moment that he seeped into Gwok Un’s frozen heart was instantaneous.
Having finished all preparations before getting to work, Gi-hyeon turned up the volume on the speaker. He hummed the melody softly under his breath and picked up his brush. Perhaps because things were going smoothly both with Do-gyeom and with the work, he had a particularly good feeling today. Gwok Un watched Gi-hyeon from behind the open door, staring at him without a word.
“…….”
The composure that had always graced that arrogantly unhurried face was nowhere to be found. Gwok Un, who had always held the upper hand in every relationship and bent things to his will, appeared unable to find words for what he was feeling toward Gi-hyeon. The crease between his brows looked like it could be anger, or perhaps confusion. After silently glaring at the back of Gi-hyeon, absorbed in his work, Gwok Un turned away. The steps that had always been so unfaltering slowed the closer he got to the staircase. He stopped at the top of the stairs and dragged a hand roughly over his dry face. A strangled voice leaked out from between clenched teeth.
“……Fuck.”
Why on earth does he feel this way toward Gi-hyeon, who he had thought of as nothing more than a replacement for Eun-hyeong. Why are the feelings he had buried alongside Eun-hyeong stirring again, why does Gi-hyeon — whom he had kissed and slept with — feel so strangely unfamiliar…… Something had clearly gone wrong since that night. Gwok Un turned his steps back around toward the studio, having been chewing over the unfamiliar feeling. He knocked on the door, and Gi-hyeon looked back.
“The approval is still a long way off, isn’t it?”
