Swish, swish. The sound of the brush scraping across the rough canvas surface reached his ears in a gentle, steady rhythm. With each regular stroke of friction, the canvas swayed softly. The rhythm — pausing briefly, then continuing, then flowing evenly for a stretch before breaking again — carried a strange, quiet sense of calm.
Seowoo sat sunk deep into the armchair and listened to that sound.
His gaze drifted naturally toward Lee Hyeon. It was almost brazenly obvious — but since Lee Hyeon was absorbed in his work, there was no risk of being caught. The way Lee Hyeon tilted his head slightly and laid the brush flat to draw a line, the way he kept his long fingers looped around the brush handle and moved only his wrist in light, easy strokes, the light falling in turn across his shoulders and back — Seowoo took it all in one by one.
But as time passed, his focus began to blur, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. His body was far too comfortable. Lee Hyeon’s pheromones, drifting in a thin ribbon around his ankles, were stronger than what he’d been breathing in throughout the day — yet somehow softer. The gentle scent approached like a tickle, and Seowoo’s body relaxed as if by magic. Warm drowsiness flooded into every place where tension had drained away.
Swish, swish.
At some point, only the sound remained. The low, quiet breathing, the strokes of the brush, the occasional rustle as he set the brush down and picked up another tool — it all rolled in like an endless tide. Somewhere in the middle of it, Seowoo closed his eyes without realizing it.
In the last fading moment of consciousness, he felt something warm settle over his shoulders. But whether it was real or just the imagination of someone on the very edge of sleep — he couldn’t tell, and he slipped under before he could find out.
How much time had passed?
Seowoo’s eyes flew open.
The first thing that entered his vision was a shadow falling very close above him. And then — Lee Hyeon’s face, impossibly near. He was leaning over Seowoo with one hand braced on the armrest of the chair. Lee Hyeon was close enough that his breath could be felt, and Seowoo’s heart lurched.
At the end of his upward gaze was the open collar of Lee Hyeon’s shirt. The sight of the pale, firm expanse of his chest and the clean line of his collarbone made Seowoo swallow involuntarily. There was a small mole sitting on the ridge of that prominent bone.
“Oh!”
In that instant, his body moved on its own.
He bolted upright, and the armchair tipped toward the side Lee Hyeon was bracing against. Seowoo lost his balance and lurched — and Lee Hyeon shot his other hand out to steady the chair. Only after a dull thud vibrated through the seat did Seowoo manage to gather himself.
“Wh — what is it?”
His voice, still not fully awake, cracked in a way that was almost embarrassing. Lee Hyeon said nothing in reply, only swept a glance over him. Following that glance, Seowoo spotted the blanket that had slipped down past his knees.
“Oh.”
He’d covered me with it. And he was trying to pull it back up……
Heat rushed to his face in an instant. He couldn’t even tell whether his heart was pounding from the shock or from embarrassment. While Seowoo sat there with nothing but his lips moving uselessly, Lee Hyeon straightened up and stepped back as if nothing had happened at all.
“Go back to sleep. It’s fine.”
……I’m not fine.
Without the faintest awareness of Seowoo’s inner turmoil, Lee Hyeon returned to his work. His back, standing before the easel, looked utterly composed and undisturbed. It was as if he were saying — being shaken up is something only people like you do.
Seowoo fidgeted with the edge of the blanket between his fingertips and pressed a hand against his chest, which was still thumping loudly. Sleep had long since fled. The face that had drawn so close just a moment ago, the pale skin glimpsed through the open collar, that scent — it kept coming back to him in flashes.
The sight of himself flailing in surprise all on his own was almost laughable. Seowoo pulled the blanket up to cover the bridge of his nose. The reason he couldn’t pull it all the way up over his eyes was simple — even so, he couldn’t stop watching Lee Hyeon.
***
The director’s office of the Haein Social Welfare Foundation was as immaculate as its owner.
The document folders stacked on the desk were aligned with razor-sharp corners, and the potted plants lined along the window were all precisely the same height. The rooftop garden visible below the long horizontal window was warm and lush with spring flowers in every color — but the air inside the office was cool and still.
Go Eunyeong closed the document she had been reading and slowly removed her glasses.
“Chief Han.”
Her voice as she called him was soft, but the atmosphere was anything but. Chief Han, dressed in his neat suit, dipped his head briefly in reply. He had rushed over at her summons and had racked up an alarming number of speeding tickets getting here — yet his expression, too, was perfectly composed.
“Yes, Director.”
“Where’s Hyeon?”
Straight to the point, without preamble. Go Eunyeong set her glasses down neatly and rose from her seat. As she came to stand before him, Chief Han straightened his posture even further.
“He is attending to personal matters.”
“I know that.”
Go Eunyeong cut him off.
“Personal matters, artistic work — it’s always one of those two things with Hyeon, I understand that. But not answering calls is a different matter entirely. He let the last appointment with the Chairman slide, he didn’t show up to the weekend gathering. It’s not as if I’ve only tried to reach him once or twice.”
She held up the phone sitting on her desk. The number of unanswered call attempts in the outgoing log was considerable even at a glance. The screen went dark, and Go Eunyeong let out a long sigh before fixing Chief Han with a hard look.
“You know why Hyeon has been acting like this lately, don’t you?”
But Chief Han wasn’t the type to give anything away easily.
“There is nothing that warrants significant concern.”
“His meals? Is he eating properly?”
“Yes.”
“His medication? His hospital visits?”
“He is keeping up with those.”
“Is he sleeping?”
“That as well — I understand there are no major issues.”
Go Eunyeong gave a short laugh. The sound of it came out, but her face hadn’t relaxed in the slightest. Her fingertips had been tracing the edge of the desk — now she turned and returned to her seat.
“I didn’t summon you all the way here just to hear answers like that. Tell me. Where were you coming from today that it took you this long?”
A heavy silence settled over the office. Only the faint whisper of the humidifier could be heard.
With Chief Han standing before her, unanswering, Go Eunyeong lifted her teacup and took a sip. She set it back down after barely wetting her lips on the tea that had gone completely cold, and spoke again.
“I am Hyeon’s mother, Chief Han.”
There was weight behind those quiet words.
“What he’s thinking, where he is, what he’s doing — why he’s suddenly breaking commitments, why he’s behaving in ways he never used to — do you think I want to know all this because I mean to do him harm? I haven’t been sleeping properly from worry. Don’t you feel even the slightest obligation to give me something — even just a hint?”
Even with that earnest appeal, Chief Han did not open his mouth.
The truth was, it was less that he was refusing to answer and more that he had nothing to give her. He himself hadn’t fully grasped what Lee Hyeon wanted — so he couldn’t very well go around speculating carelessly. Even as he could see Go Eunyeong’s patience wearing steadily thinner in the face of his silence, there was nothing he could do.
“You really are consistent.”
……
“Tight-lipped, never showing your feelings, never letting slip even a crumb of what you can’t say. I know exactly why Hyeon keeps you by his side — and that only makes this more frustrating.”
Chief Han’s expression didn’t change at those words either. Whether he knew or didn’t know that this very attitude was what grated on her most.
Go Eunyeong’s brow furrowed deeply.
“At the very least, tell me where my son is staying.”
“I’m sorry, Director.”
“Don’t say sorry.”
Her voice rose, just slightly — which was rare for her. But in the very next moment, Go Eunyeong drew a breath and composed herself again. She clenched her fist and released it, steadying her emotions, then continued.
“Does he remember that the Chairman’s birthday is coming up? He’s not actually thinking of not showing up to that too, just because Minister Ryu’s family is attending — is he? Or is meeting someone once really so difficult? There are the elders at the main house to consider, and the Chairman’s standing, and above all——”
Go Eunyeong squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, then opened them again.
“I’m genuinely worried this is going to cause a real problem. Chief Han, you know how he is. Hyeon has always done exactly what he wants and nothing else.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t just say yes. Even so, this has gone too far.”
……
“That’s exactly why I called you in here to ask. What on earth is he doing out there that he won’t pick up calls and won’t come home?”
Another silence fell.
Chief Han said nothing to the end. He simply stood there with his hands folded neatly below the cuffs of his shirt, in a posture that was almost painfully rigid. Go Eunyeong could not hold out against that silence for long, and finally threw up her hands.
“Ugh, this is infuriating.”
She muttered under her breath and sank back against the chair. Sunlight rippled across the window, but the air inside the office didn’t ease in the slightest.
“Fine. I understand — I’ll never hear it from your lips. Understood.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. Just pass along a message instead. Don’t skip his medication, don’t forget the Chairman’s birthday. Tell him I’ll reschedule for this weekend and he had better show up.”
“Yes. I’ll pass it on.”
“……And tell him to stop making his mother worry.”
Chief Han bowed his head lower.
“Understood.”
“You can go.”
With that brief dismissal, Chief Han quietly turned to leave.
“Chief Han.”
He had taken a few steps toward the door when her voice came from behind him, stopping him in his tracks.
“Yes, Director.”
“Hyeon is…… he really is alright, isn’t he?”
This time it was different. It was the voice of a woman who had set aside every social position and title she held — and was asking after her son simply as his mother. She knew, with a mother’s instinct, that Lee Hyeon had not been able to touch his work for the past three years.
Chief Han was silent for a moment. Then he answered — briefly, but without any wavering.
“Yes. More so than before.”
Go Eunyeong’s brow shifted, just barely. But before she could ask anything more, Chief Han bowed one final time and stepped out of the director’s office.
