Following the staff member’s guidance to the inner area of the second floor, they found a table set for two in the spot with the finest view.
As Seowoo settled into his seat, an array of colorful dishes began arriving one by one onto the table mat embroidered with traditional patterns. The plates themselves were part of the presentation — their colors and forms so delicate that his eyes were kept busy before he’d even lifted a chopstick.
Thinly sliced raw fish gleamed with translucence, and the finely prepared seasoned vegetables wove together shades of pale green and red in a pleasing harmony. Abalone served in a small steamer, and braised fish nestled in a curved bowl added a deep, rich brown that balanced everything together.
Seowoo had been busily taking in all the food when it suddenly came back to him. This was the very restaurant Donghyeok had fussed about for an entire month, saying he was bringing his girlfriend’s parents. He remembered hearing that even after reserving a month in advance, Donghyeok had lined up two hours before opening just to get a good table.
“I’ve heard of this place before. But……”
Seowoo looked around the completely empty dining hall with a puzzled expression. Lee Hyeon watched him quietly, and simply lifted the corners of his mouth ever so slightly.
“Let’s eat. Before it gets cold.”
He said it with his usual nonchalance and picked up his chopsticks first. Looking at Seowoo’s startled eyes, he felt something quite amusing and rewarding — a strange, unfamiliar feeling he hadn’t experienced before.
One week earlier.
Even after sending Seowoo away, Lee Hyeon’s mood refused to lift. He kept turning over the expression on Seowoo’s face when he’d practically shoved him out, and the lingering sensation of a forearm beneath his grip. He couldn’t even bring himself to tidy the disheveled table or the folded rug — just kept cycling through the same thoughts on repeat.
Then, when a sound came from the door lock, Lee Hyeon reflexively sat up. He couldn’t quite hide his disappointment when it was Chief Han who walked through the door.
“What brings you here.”
“I had only meant to leave the car downstairs, but I saw Seowoo at Blue Giraffe, so I came up.”
Chief Han, who was staying at a nearby hotel to assist Lee Hyeon, had had a schedule in Seoul that day. But Seowoo being at Blue Giraffe in the morning hours was a signal that something had gone wrong. As a secretary, it was naturally his place to come check.
“Have you decided to give up the series work and the treatment as of today?”
“Of course not.”
The answer was short and clean — but the state of the studio told a different story. Chief Han’s gaze slowly swept over the damp rug and the empty beer cans. Without a word, he walked over, picked up the rug and put it in the laundry basket, then collected the beer cans into the recycling bin.
“It seems the answer you’re looking for isn’t coming.”
At those words, Lee Hyeon shot up from the sofa and raked a hand roughly through his hair. He reflexively reached for a pheromone cigarette — only to remember he’d thrown them all away before, and curled his empty hand into a fist. He grabbed a new beer from the fridge instead and cracked it open.
“Chief Han — do you remember when Seowoo disappeared?”
It was a question that dredged up something more than three years old, and Chief Han looked briefly surprised — but the memory seemed to come to him without difficulty, and he answered promptly.
“I remember. He showed up unannounced at the Gyeonggi studio, paid you a visit, and then vanished without a trace. By the time we looked into it later, he’d already cleared out of his officetel entirely.”
“Should I have been more careful then? Should I have looked closer, tried harder to hold on to him — should I have forced it if I had to……”
“You can’t change the past. And back then, you had no reason to.”
After spending a heat cycle together, Lee Hyeon had half-expected there might be demands to follow. He wasn’t unaware that Seowoo wasn’t that kind of person — but people aren’t always what they appear to be on the surface. And besides, he hadn’t been ignorant of the complicated circumstances surrounding that family.
He’d expected Seowoo to ask him to buy Suryeon, or if not that, to intervene somehow. Or at the very least, to demand he take some kind of responsibility. But instead, Seowoo had stared at him for a long moment, said nothing, and left with only a handshake.
He wasn’t the type to dwell on the past, so the words spoken that day weren’t all sharp and clear in his memory — but that face, the one clearly wanting to say something yet unable to get it out, fumbling wordlessly, had stayed with him with an inexplicable vividness.
Lee Hyeon had long endured his pheromone neurosis as the price of years of hysteria. But to find out that both the cause and the key to its resolution were Seowoo — that was simply disorienting.
What if he had held on back then and pressed for answers. What if he had chosen to get more deeply involved in his heart, given him more room, extended a hand first — even by force……
Would he have been spared this suffocating situation? Would he have avoided being tossed around like this?
What if Seowoo hadn’t been his first. Why Seowoo, of all people.
“Lee Hyeon.”
Chief Han looked directly at him and called his name.
“You cannot take the lead in every matter in life the way you do with your art.”
“Why not.”
“Because a person’s heart is not a painting.”
“……”
“Besides — it’s not even a painting you’re creating, is it. If you think about it, it’s Seowoo’s painting.”
Listening to him, it sounded exactly as though what he wanted was Seowoo’s heart. That he wanted to hold the reins of that heart. Me.
“Then?”
He couldn’t agree — but he was curious about what came next, so Lee Hyeon asked.
“If it were me, I would start by simply being good to him. It’s said that it’s not the wind that takes the coat off a traveler, but the sun.”
It was uncharacteristically metaphorical of him, and Lee Hyeon let out a hollow laugh.
“The way I’m hearing it, it sounds exactly like you’re telling me to play at romance.”
“Well — nothing stopping you, is there?”
Chief Han finished speaking and raised his wrist to check his watch. The expression at the corner of his mouth looked like it could be a smile, or it could be a reproach.
“Though the order of things has gone quite wrong.”
Judging by that last muttered addition, it was probably a reproach. Lee Hyeon waved a hand to signal that he could go. Chief Han didn’t add anything more — just left a brief word of advice to approach Seowoo a little more gently, and then he left the studio.
“Play at romance.”
In the now-quiet studio, Lee Hyeon’s eyes glinted as he stared down the blank canvas. Right — it might not be a bad idea to try building a new routine. Do that, and a path might reveal itself — a way to turn back around the mess his life had become.
And now.
Lee Hyeon was paying far more attention to the face of the person across from him than to the lavish spread laid out before him. Seowoo — who, though not yet fully lowering his guard, was giving him another chance.
“Eat. You said you hadn’t eaten.”
Lee Hyeon gave a small nod and lifted his empty chopsticks.
“……Are you not hungry? The food is good.”
“Is it.”
“Yes. This place must be known for its fish dishes. Everything with fish in it is delicious. Oh — not that the other things aren’t, they’re all good.”
It was his first proper meal in a week, the first where there was color in front of him. His appetite should have been the priority — and yet strangely, his eyes kept gravitating toward Seowoo.
“Good. Eat a lot.”
“Instead of saying that — here, try this.”
A piece of braised fish landed on top of his rice without warning. Lee Hyeon blinked for a moment, then looked at Seowoo. He was nodding as if it was nothing, eyes nudging Lee Hyeon to just go ahead and put it in his mouth.
Lee Hyeon put the offered side dish and rice into his mouth with a mildly reluctant expression, and Seowoo moved his chopsticks as if he’d been waiting. He picked up a generous helping of lotus root and seasoned vegetables and piled those onto Lee Hyeon’s rice too.
“You need to eat plenty of vegetables too. That way your digestion stays good and you won’t catch colds.”
“……”
“Dano always tries to eat only meat too. The natural sweetness of vegetables is so nice — I wonder why he doesn’t get it.”
Seowoo scrunched up the bridge of his nose as he said it. And yet, his chopsticks were already picking up another heap of side dishes and placing it on Lee Hyeon’s rice. He was acting exactly like someone who knew Lee Hyeon had barely eaten for the past week.
When he chattered on about Dano’s fussiness over food, Seowoo’s eyes were nothing short of warm. His round eyes curved softly as he smiled, the corners of his mouth lifted the whole time and showing no intention of coming back down. Watching him, Lee Hyeon accepted everything that was placed in his bowl and ate.
“This is good too. The seasoning is really well done.”
“……”
“This one — scoop it up with plenty of broth and take a big bite all at once. There you go.”
“……”
Lee Hyeon, unusually, ate far more than he normally would. He’d chew and chew with a full mouth, swallow, and then Seowoo would point to the water kimchi or the soup bowl as if he’d been waiting, urging him to have a spoonful.
After quite a while of this, Lee Hyeon — having been fed to the point of near-bursting — picked up a napkin and wiped his lips. He took a sip of water to rinse his mouth, chewed the inside of his lip, and then looked at Seowoo.
“Were you always like this?”
“Hm? Like what?”
“I’m asking whether you’ve always been this warm.”
“Oh……”
Seowoo opened and closed his mouth, unable to answer right away — and then his face went red. Only then did he realize he’d been feeding Lee Hyeon exactly the way he fed Dano.
