Whether he had actually confessed his feelings to Yeehyeon and proposed developing their relationship in some form, and how Yeehyeon felt about it. No, whether he even wanted to be bound to Yeehyeon in a relationship with a name, like ‘lovers,’ for example.
She had no information at all, and as of now, she had no pretext to pry for details.
Just that he had shown an unusual interest in Yeehyeon for a long time (even while maintaining his usual hostility toward strangers), and that his attitude and expression just now when dealing with Yeehyeon, no matter how you looked at it, were close to those one would have for a lover (because a simple plaything could never make Liu Weikun wear such an expression).
Based on that alone, she could only make a vague and somehow unsettling guess that something must have started between the two of them.
She set down the coffee she had sipped and glanced at him as he, feeling the urge to smoke again, picked up his cigarette pack and fiddled with it.
“Anyway, have a proper talk with Shushu. No matter how much Shushu relies on me, you’re the CEO, Kun… and Shushu is our flagship artist. I’d like you to prioritize it… over other things. If you’ve really steeled yourself this time, all the more reason not to run away and see it through properly.”
She had intended to indirectly warn him about the situation where he, the CEO, was personally paying excessive attention to a newly signed artist who wasn’t yet turning a profit, but as he lit a new cigarette and irritably swept his hair back, he didn’t seem to notice her intent.
It was already his third cigarette since she had entered this study. He was smoking more than usual. All the changes he was showing were making her uneasy. Because he didn’t look like someone who was welcoming change and adapting to it with stability.
“Right. Director Han must have a lot of other things to worry about, I’ve put it off for too long. I’ll talk to her properly and wrap it up, so just give me about a week for Shushu’s matter.”
His voice sounded exhausted. Like someone who had poured all his energy into the phone call just now. To put it another way, it was amazing how, in such an unstable state, he had managed to talk on the phone just now as if nothing was wrong, as if everything was good and going smoothly.
After that, neither of them touched the sandwiches as they discussed the lineup of artists who had expressed their intent to participate in the joint exhibition for the second half of the year, and the number of their works. Even during that time, he smoked two more cigarettes.
As she went down to the underground parking garage to return to the gallery, she thought about the two of them, flowing in a direction she had never anticipated.
She had never thought that he, who had always wanted relationships that could be ended simply and ‘politely’ at any time, would choose the naive, twenty-two-year-old Yeehyeon as a romantic partner. Yeehyeon was not a kid who would want a superficial relationship, and as far as she knew, Liu Weikun was not the type of person to specifically choose such a kid to try and force his ‘mature view on romance’ upon.
「What about you, Director? If Inwoo-Doctor is serious about Yeehyeon, and Yeehyeon likes Inwoo-Doctor too, you won’t object?」
To Yuni, who had asked that, she had replied as if it wasn’t anyone else’s place to meddle, and she still believed that was the correct stance… but she couldn’t help the feeling of concern.
Liu Weikun and Seo Yeehyeon.
When she tried to define them by the relationship of romance, what came to mind was not the sweetness of cotton candy.
What if his words—that he didn’t know how to control his own strength and caused storms around him without considering the repercussions—were not just about Yeehyeon as an artist, but a metaphor for his own situation of being drawn to Seo Yeehyeon the person?
“Hmm…”
As she drove out of the villa’s parking garage, which looked as solid as an impregnable fortress, she let out a sigh that was like a groan. The ending of a story starring Liu Weikun and Seo Yeehyeon was something she, for now, could not even begin to guess.
○
The front door opened, and cool air seeped out from inside as if a refrigerator door had been opened.
The interior was plenty cool, but Juhan-hyung, who opened the door, was not wearing a t-shirt.
“Just come in with your shoes on. It’s Western style.”
Wearing ripped black skinny jeans and chunky work boots, Hyung turned around first and entered the room, stretching widely. Droplets of water clung to the ends of his hair, as if he had just finished showering.
“To be honest, it’s just because I’m too lazy to sweep and mop often, so I just live like this.”
Adding that, hyung turned back and chuckled.
For the place to draw, I had wanted the place where hyung felt most comfortable, and the place he chose was, perhaps naturally, his home.
The officetel, which overlooked the Seosomun Overpass connecting Chungjeong-ro and City Hall, had a rare, unobstructed view for Seoul, and was located where he could commute to Phantom in about 30 minutes even during rush hour.
“The CEO gave it to me to use as lodging when I became a full-time employee at Phantom. Baek Yuni lives upstairs, on the 23rd floor.”
Hyung said, pointing his index finger at the ceiling. His home was on the 21st floor.
“She said she wanted to come look, but I told her not to, in case she disturbed your work. Let’s see, for drinks… I only have beer, want some?”
Hyung, who was peering into a refrigerator that looked empty even at a glance, turned to me and asked. I, who had been standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, replied that it was okay and slid the bag off my shoulder.
The sound of Hyung pulling the tab on a beer can was crisp.
“So, what should I do? If I have to hold one pose while you draw, let me stretch a bit beforehand.”
“Just… act as you normally would, comfortably. I’m planning to sketch you in various poses until the image I want to draw becomes clear.”
The officetel was in a good location and was a luxury mixed-use building by its appearance, but it was still a studio-style one-room, so the range of movement wasn’t very wide. Hyung, fiddling with the piercing on his lip, looked around the small room and grabbed one of the two guitars that were enshrined on stands along the wall next to the bed. Seeing that there was no dust on it at all, I could tell he took precious care of it.
“Then I’ll just mess with my guitar for a bit.”
Though it was a not-so-spacious studio-style one-room, it didn’t feel cramped because there was no bulky furniture. A curtain-style double-decker clothes rack that filled one entire wall, a single bed opposite it, and a round table placed in front of the full-length window with a good view were all that could be called furniture. Even if he didn’t sweep or mop often, his belongings were simple, so it didn’t look messy.
“You want to sit there and draw?”
Placing a small amp, about a handspan in length and width, on the table in front of the window and connecting it to the guitar, hyung gestured toward the bed with his chin.
“Or I can play on the bed and you can draw from here? The conditions for drawing are a bit poor.”
Hyung looked around the small room with a troubled expression, fiddling with his piercing.
“It’s okay, I’m just going to do some simple croquis-style sketches today. If I need to, I’ll bring an easel next time. It’s best if you just do whatever is comfortable for you.”
“Working according to the model’s comfort, what a peculiar artist.”
With a smirk, hyung opened a clear file with sheet music tucked inside and began to tune his guitar, and I, too, took my sketching tools out of my bag and perched on the edge of his bed.
As I calmly looked around Hyung’s room again, I saw that there wasn’t a single picture torn from a magazine or a poster on the walls. Considering his history of being in a punk band and his love for clothes, the room was different from the image I had arbitrarily imagined his home would be like; it felt almost devoid of personal taste or a sense of life. It was a little different from being neat. It had a strong feeling of being a space just for sleeping and leaving.
“Come to think of it, is this the first time we’ve been alone like this?”
Hyung said, his gaze fixed on the guitar, pressing down on the chords with long, thin fingers that wore five or more rings on ten fingers.
“Besides work, I think so.”
“Now that you mention it, I remember when we first met.”
Recalling our first meeting, Hyung’s bare shoulders shook with laughter, and thinking of how he had been so startled by my appearance that he had cursed without realizing it, I laughed along with him.
Back then, I didn’t even know I would be officially working at Phantom, and I certainly couldn’t have guessed that I would become a Phantom-affiliated artist and start drawing again like this.
I had met Suki Kim-seonsaengnim, and Morae and hyung had left Korea. I had come to like someone, and had pushed myself into a complicated relationship.
It was only the change from early spring to midsummer, but it felt anew how many things had changed.
Following the movement of hyung’s fingers, an electronic sound spread through the room. It was my first time hearing the sound of an electric guitar up close, and the unique sorrowful tone of the string instrument, combined with a delicate tremor, was quite… mesmerizing.
I didn’t know what song it was, but it wasn’t punk. The emotion expressed by the slow, languid sound resonating through the space was not a simple one like joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure. My expectation that the music hyung played would be more aggressive, cool, and intuitive was also wrong. A ringing sound mixed into the tension created by the complex notes. It was Hyung’s cell phone.
“Is it okay if I answer this?”
“Yes, you can move around comfortably.”
“What a generous artist.”
With a smirk, Hyung stood up and picked up the cell phone he had left by the sink. The corners of his mouth twisted up as he checked the caller ID. It was the villainous smile I had seen on him once before.
“Yes. I’m modeling right now. No, not for a photo, for a painting.”
Slumping back down into the chair, hyung chugged the beer on the table.
“Today? That’s a bit sudden… What time? …I think I should be free around then… What will you do for me if I come over?”
Hyung’s expression became more suggestive. His shoulders shook, depending on what answer he heard from the other person. I didn’t even think of moving my hand, just observing him.
He was quite different from the hyung I had seen when working at Phantom, or when the three of us were with Yuni-Noona, or when he was with the other people of Phantom members. It literally felt like his private life. It was an expression he didn’t make when he was with us, and a voice he didn’t let us hear.
I had asked him to be my model thinking I knew a bit more about him than Noona, but I began to suspect that even that might have been an extremely fragmented thought.
As proof, my sketch was barely progressing. What to draw, who to draw—I had been lost ever since entering this house.
“Ah… I’ve been super stressed from work lately, you’re lucky, mister? You just wait right there.”
Ending the call with a light laugh, hyung tossed his phone onto the mattress. Then, picking up the guitar again, he glanced at me.
“You look shocked.”
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