Yoon Seowoo.
The son of Han Sooyeon — a painter who had died suddenly long ago — and the illegitimate child of Yoon Hyuntae, president of SH Construction.
After losing the ownership dispute over the gallery Suryeon, he had vanished without a trace and gone abroad to study.
That was the extent of what was commonly known about him.
Looking back now, Hyeon realized he hadn’t known much more than that himself — despite having known him for a year while preparing an exhibition at Suryeon.
Even after spending one night tangled together……
Thank you for entrusting your work to Suryeon.
He remembered hearing Seowoo’s voice for the first time and looking up to study his face.
He had found the soft, youthful voice sensual — as though color itself had been woven into it.
Hearing that voice murmur with longing about his paintings, it was impossible not to be drawn in.
The fresh, unripe quality of his scent — at odds with that voice and those looks — had certainly contributed to his curiosity as well.
It was clear that Seowoo had held a deep attachment to Suryeon, something like his mother’s legacy……
You may not know this, but Suryeon will be sold soon. Regardless of what you want.
He had intended it as a gentle warning — a small act of consideration for someone clinging to a hopeless cause — but the frustration in him had made the words come out sharper than intended.
And yet, try as he might, Hyeon couldn’t clearly recall what expression Seowoo had worn when he said it.
Had he looked hurt? Or had he been quietly resigned?
After Seowoo left, Hyeon stood at the window and looked out.
The sight of him crossing the hospital courtyard with that large, fluffy bundle of a baby in his arms was easy to spot even from a distance.
The unsteadiness of his gait felt more precarious than it might have otherwise — probably because Hyeon had experienced firsthand the way he crumpled, as though someone had switched off his power.
Hyeon turned the small toy over in his hand.
His eyes were still fixed on the window.
There had indeed been someone waiting downstairs.
A small sedan pulled into the hospital courtyard and stopped in front of Seowoo and the baby.
The man who stepped out of the driver’s seat was quite tall.
He deftly took the bags, helped get the baby into the car, and the three of them slid smoothly out of the hospital — swiftly, as though gliding.
It felt almost fleeting, like today’s encounter had been nothing but a dream.
Hyeon turned from the window and looked down at the toy in his hand.
A moment later, footsteps announced Chief Han’s entry into the living area.
“I confirmed Seowoo’s departure and had the meal you prepared set aside for now.”
“Good.”
“It seems the two of you finished talking sooner than expected.”
“I tried to hire him as an assistant, but he said no.”
“……Does that mean this matter ends here, then?”
Even the sudden talk of an assistant didn’t seem to rattle Chief Han much.
If anything, the careful restraint in his voice as he asked was unlike him — enough that Hyeon turned from the window to look at him directly.
Neither the act of asking, nor the act of waiting for an answer, was like Chief Han at all.
“Did you notice it too, Chief Han?”
“Notice what……?”
Unable to answer right away, he echoed the question back.
Hyeon held up the toy in his hand.
“What color does this look like to you?”
“Blue.”
“Right. That’s what I saw too. It wasn’t a hallucination.”
The toy — slightly larger than an adult palm — was a blue giraffe plushie.
Well-worn by small hands, its fur was all pressed flat and glossy, and it smelled warm and nutty and sweet.
Chief Han stared at the blue giraffe for a long moment before his mouth dropped open in a sharp exclamation.
“You can see color?”
“Only for a brief moment earlier, when I was holding Seowoo. It’s gone dead again now.”
“You’re saying it was Seowoo’s pheromones that made it possible.”
It was a reasonable deduction — a secondary-trait individual suffering from pheromone neurosis that wouldn’t respond to medication had experienced a temporary improvement in symptoms.
He had just checked Seowoo’s medical chart a short while ago, and the timing of the onset of their conditions was strikingly similar.
Chief Han felt a shiver run through him — the sensation of finding a missing puzzle piece.
“Then is the baby all right?”
It was the question that followed naturally.
But Hyeon blinked his dark eyes at him with an expression that said he was getting ahead of himself.
“I think you’re jumping too far ahead, Chief Han.”
“Pardon?”
“It was one time, and it was an accident. If a child had come from that night, he would have told me and had it taken care of. And even if someone were to claim otherwise, there’s no grounds to believe it.”
“And yet the resemblance is remarkable. Sir.”
“He resembles Seowoo.”
Hyeon murmured it, picturing the two of them — identically alike — and let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“A baby……”
If there was one combination in the world that made the least sense, it would be the painter Lee Hyeon and a baby.
He turned the giraffe plushie over in his hand and spoke.
“Earlier, Professor Lee looked at Seowoo’s chart and said it — about three years, wasn’t it? And that his condition isn’t responding to medication, just like mine.”
“Yes. From what I heard, the symptoms differ from yours, but the onset timing was similar. And apparently it’s a case where the treatment window was missed — the condition worsened further through pregnancy and childbirth. Professor Lee also said it seems the patient has been prescribed medication quite heavily and for a long time, as the alpha pheromone deficiency has gone unaddressed as well.”
“He told me earlier that a partner was waiting in the parking lot……”
“I saw as well.”
“So that person isn’t an alpha, it would seem.”
Hyeon smiled, showing his teeth.
“I didn’t know — Seowoo turns out to have quite an interesting side to him.”
***
“You should’ve just asked while you had the chance.”
What a way to run into someone again out of nowhere.
Ji Donghyeok muttered from the driver’s seat.
Seowoo, who had been staring blankly out the window, lost in complicated thoughts, turned to look at him with wide eyes.
“Ask what?”
“What do you mean, ask what. The pheromone shower thing, whatever it’s called.”
The beta’s blissfully clueless question made Seowoo laugh.
He seemed to think a pheromone shower was something like an alpha and omega sitting across from each other over coffee, cheerfully going: Would you mind sharing some pheromones? Oh, why certainly — how much would you like?
“At this point? What reason would I even give for asking something like that? He’d definitely start digging into things about Dano. And it’s not the kind of favor you can ask so easily.”
“Fair enough. That germaphobe would never just hand it over without a fuss.”
“……Hyeon doesn’t have a germaphobia.”
Donghyeok shot Seowoo an irritated look at the defense.
He muttered a small curse under his breath — and immediately Seowoo whipped his head around to check the back seat.
Donghyeok flinched too, darting a glance at the rearview mirror.
Dano in the back seat car seat was perfectly quiet.
His downy lashes rested gently against his cheeks, not a movement to be seen.
Breathing softly and peacefully in sleep — both of them let out a breath of relief at the sight.
“Dano’s sleeping fine, see? Stop glaring at me like that. You’ll poke a hole right through your brother’s pretty cheek. Why don’t you take care of yourself as much as you worry about him? Watching your every move and playing it safe doesn’t put food on the table. You said you were never going to see him again anyway. It’s okay to be a little shameless, you know.”
“I’m not playing it safe — I’m being careful.”
“He already figured it out. You idiot.”
At Donghyeok’s low, cutting remark, Seowoo dropped his gaze.
“……No he didn’t. Even I almost fainted seeing Hyeon and Dano together — and he still didn’t know.”
“He couldn’t tell?”
Nod, nod.
“Even though they look that alike?”
“Lucky, isn’t it.”
“Sighing is becoming a habit, Yoon Seowoo.”
The sigh must have been contagious — a moment later, the air on the driver’s side seemed to deflate just as heavily.
Donghyeok scratched his head in frustration.
“How about just coming clean, even now? Is that completely off the table?”
Nod, nod.
“Then just go ahead and ask for a good hard s— I mean, a pheromone shower session. He doesn’t even know it’s his own kid. What’s the problem? You’re both grown adults, and there’s history between you. Come on.”
“Did you…… actually know what a pheromone shower was?”
“This guy…… what exactly do you take me for?”
“I don’t know — an idiot?”
Light banter, no progress — and at the end of it, silence settled between them.
They drove on the highway in quiet for a while, before Donghyeok glanced sideways at Seowoo.
His eyes moved between the two hands gripping the seatbelt and those large, round eyes, before his tongue clicked in a soft tsk.
“Then at least stop making that sad face.”
“What are you……”
Nothing. The word barely made it out as a whisper.
Seowoo felt a pang — like the conflicted feelings quietly stirring in one corner of his chest had been caught.
He knew exactly what Donghyeok was trying to say to him, and he knew which choice was right — so why his head and his heart refused to work together was beyond him.
It had been over two years since he had raised Dano on his own.
The illness he’d acquired through the pregnancy and birth he had endured alone had festered just as long.
Seowoo’s pheromone neurosis, which didn’t respond to medication, resembled a heat cycle — arriving without warning and without regard, making it nearly impossible to get through daily life.
It had gotten bad enough that he couldn’t even drive.
Just as Donghyeok said, a pheromone shower could have been the answer.
He had been hiding Dano’s existence and hadn’t even considered going to find Hyeon — and yet somehow, inexplicably, he had just confirmed again that Hyeon still didn’t recognize it.
I’m still far from ready. Even in a situation like this, some part of him wanted to hold onto his pride — not that there was much left to lose. And yet he had Dano to take care of.
He just wasn’t desperate enough yet. He was still being foolish.
Seowoo pressed his lips together and stared hard at the window.
No matter how fiercely he narrowed those round eyes, he only managed to look gentle.
The most naïve, most hopeless fool in the world was himself.
The erratic weather flung down a scattering of sleet.
On a large green highway sign, a white arrow pointing toward home blurred and swept past.
Donghyeok turned up the heat and murmured quietly.
“How do you manage to run into him like that again.”
“……I know.”
Three years of steady effort trying to blur the memory of him — undone in an instant.
His body had reacted with a lurch just from seeing a photo of Hyeon.
It seemed things were going to be considerably worse for a while longer.
