The driver who had brought me here a few hours ago was sitting in the driver’s seat. I had never owned a car, but riding in one driven by someone else was even more awkward. It would probably always be an awkward affair. After all, even taking a taxi had been a luxury for me until now.
He, on the other hand, always accepted the presence of someone in the front seat as a matter of course. While he never tried to engage in deep kisses or caresses like he had in Hong Kong, where a sedan with a sliding blind between the driver’s and rear seats had been prepared, he didn’t seem particularly conscious of the fact that the driver was watching and listening.
The cars he owned, with the exception of the SUV, were mostly chauffeur-driven vehicles designed around the comfort of the back seat. Cars for people who entrusted the driving to someone else, so they could get some proper rest in the car or even use that sliver of time to review something and make decisions.
In that, the difference between us was stark.
Me, for whom walking the distance of about ten bus stops was nothing more than a daily routine, and him, who accepted the back seat of a luxury sedan as comfortably as if it were his own private room.
The car carrying us merged into the procession of taillights that packed the road on a weekend evening. Inside, a violin concerto was playing at a moderate volume. It was a famous piece by Tchaikovsky.
“Did the drawing go well?”
he asked, turning his body slightly toward me.
“…Yes.”
In truth, the drawing session had yielded little, but it wasn’t something worth reporting to him in detail, so I just nodded.
He looked into my face with a smile that couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hide his delight at our time alone.
It was different from just looking. Lately, he would ‘look into’ my face like this. With his head tilted slightly, his eyes observing the interesting and admirable thing happening before him with fond amusement.
When I faced this expression of his, I didn’t feel anxious. If he wanted to draw a line, as Juhan-hyung had said, there would be no need to act out such an expression.
It wasn’t just that inference that had calmed my anxiety.
It must have started on the day of the barbecue party that doubled as a housewarming.
In his study that day, we had been, for some strange reason, more intensely aroused than usual, and in the confusion caused by that overheating, we had revealed our desires for possession and restraint over the other. It was clearly different from the simple sexual remarks we had made in bed until then. Even the fear that he might reject me couldn’t dominate me that night.
He, too, had surprised me with the bold remark that he wished I would become an idiot who knew nothing but sex with him. He was talking about sex, but it wasn’t about sex. It was an impromptu greed born from an excessive, too-strong possessiveness that momentarily surged for the person before him, even while knowing it was a foolish idea. I didn’t hate it.
“Are you tired? You’re quiet.”
“……”
Leaning his arm on his crossed legs and bending his upper body slightly, he reached out his left arm and fiddled with my hair.
“Not that you were ever a chatterbox.”
As if realizing he had said something silly, he added that and laughed, then tucked my hair, which had grown quite long since we first met, behind my ear before withdrawing his hand.
He had never complained about my quietness, but I wanted to entertain the man I liked. I wanted the conversation to never end, and I wanted him to laugh at my stories. But contrary to my wishes, even when I was with Morae or Hyung, I was usually the one listening to their stories and laughing, and I had never been the one to lead the mood.
Perhaps I was wearing an even more rigid expression because my earlier conversation with Juhan-hyung was weighing on my mind. I was just as afraid to put a clear name to this relationship, yet I felt sorry for making him the ‘bad guy’ by being unable to refute anything Hyung had said about him.
“I’m not tired. I’m… looking forward to the exhibition.”
I pulled up the corners of my lips to make an expression that could prove my words weren’t a lie. I said I was looking forward to the exhibition, but in truth, it was anticipation for the time I would spend with him this evening.
Perhaps conscious of his words, ‘I’ll do better,’ he had been more attentive than before lately. He still seemed very worried, wanting me to contact him before and after going out, and I had to use his car no matter how short the distance, but he didn’t stop me from going out itself. Especially in the evenings, he took me out almost every night and bought me a delicious dinner.
A few days ago, I had gone to the art supply store and met him around the time he got off work. Although the driver was waiting outside, while I waited for him at a café after finishing my business, I felt a cringey feeling, wondering if this was what a date for an ordinary couple was like.
“What did you do… this afternoon, sir?”
As if noticing my clumsy attempt to somehow continue the conversation, the smile around his eyes and mouth deepened.
“My trainer came to the house, and I worked out.”
He trained his muscles intensively with a trainer who visited his home two or three times a week for an hour or two, and although I didn’t know the details, from what I heard, he seemed to be well-versed in various sports like tennis, horseback riding, and swimming. I, on the other hand, did nothing more than simple bodyweight exercises in my room every day to give my muscles a moderate amount of tension.
He suggested we try working out together, saying that life tends to become irregular when you draw, which can lead to a significant drop in stamina and strength.
“If muscle training is boring, how about we try another, more active sport together? I’m worried you might feel cooped up staying at home all the time…”
Ah… so that’s why he had been taking me out almost every evening lately.
As I looked at his face, which was turned toward me with a worried expression, his chin propped on his elbow that rested on his crossed legs, my gaze fell on his left hand, which was placed naturally on the seat. After a little hesitation, I stealthily took hold of his fingers.
His face, as he straightened his upper body from its propped position, looked a little surprised.
“Hmm… what kind of service is this now? I’m getting scared for no reason.”
Though his words said he was scared, he seemed to be enjoying my sudden skinship. My hand, which had been lightly holding his middle and ring fingers, was now firmly clasped by his large hand, our fingers intertwined. Perhaps because of the cool air from the air conditioner, his hand was pleasantly cool.
With an expression that seemed to be forcibly containing a spreading smile, he raised our joined hands and kissed my fingers. Without immediately pulling his lips away, he held my gaze for a moment.
“……”
Then he reached out with his other hand and pinched my lower lip. It was our own… form of skinship, a substitute for a kiss.
That alone was enough to make my mind go blank. Lately, I desired him with a strange intensity. Even now, with just this much skinship, heat instantly pooled between my legs, flustering me.
As if noticing my arousal, he glanced toward the driver’s seat. Then, with a face tinged with regret, he lowered his voice and whispered.
“If I knew you’d show me a face like this… I should have driven myself. I gave up on driving because I was planning on getting you a little drunk.”
Releasing my desire was, of course, thrilling, but this kind of suppression wasn’t bad either. It was just… a little hard to endure, which led to some bothersome things.
“Ah, maybe we should just go home.”
A small laugh escaped me at his playful mumble, mixed with a sigh, as he squeezed my hand tighter.
Maybe words like ‘let’s start dating now’ or ‘let’s be a couple’ weren’t absolutely necessary. Even without such a clear starting point, it was as if we had both tacitly agreed that an obligation to the other (that we shouldn’t date or have skinship with other people) had arisen.
Now, just facing his face as he looked at me like this, a conviction naturally welled up in my heart. Along with the cautious prediction that this might be the right direction and speed for him and me.
I, too, squeezed his hand tightly. The violin solo in Tchaikovsky’s concerto was racing toward its climax.
○
The theme of the exhibition, held in a small, experimental gallery converted from an old detached house far from the bustling downtown, was ‘Silence and Lies.’
According to the pamphlet, the artist was born in Helsinki and had never received a formal art education. Although she had the opportunity to receive a world-class education at the suggestion of an authority in the art world who recognized her talent, she had firmly refused.
She was famous for never signing exhibition contracts with large galleries and was donating a high rate of 30% of her income from art sales to various women’s and children’s foundations.
The pamphlet also included that the art world’s evaluation of her paintings was polarized due to her free style, which completely disregarded traditional art techniques, and her unconventional actions, and that she, too, was uninhibited in expressing her critical stance on the contemporary art world.
While her attitude outside of her paintings was social, the works that filled the exhibition space, composed of several small rooms, were strongly personal. The works, which delved frighteningly deep into the inner self, made one feel as if they had met the gaze of an eye staring straight up from within the human abyss.
By the time I exited the last room, I felt completely drained of energy. It was similar to the fatigue after watching a tense movie that doesn’t let you look away for a second, from the title sequence to the end credits.
I felt I could understand, albeit vaguely, her thematic intention in choosing silence and lies, not the familiar pairing of truth and lies—poetically, not novelistically, to borrow Juhan-hyung’s expression.
I came out into the main hall, which had probably been the living room when it was someone’s residence, but I couldn’t see him right away. We had agreed to view the exhibition comfortably on our own and meet up later, and our paths hadn’t crossed once since we parted at the entrance.
He was someone who stood out anywhere, not just because of his looks but also because of his height, so it was impossible not to see him if he was in the same space. I looked around through the bustling crowd, pamphlet in hand.
“Seo Yeehyeon.”
“……”
I reflexively turned toward the voice, and there he was at the entrance, calling me with a coffee in each hand. It seemed he had finished viewing first and had gone to the café downstairs to buy coffee.
Since that night, he would sometimes call me without the ‘-ssi,’ and each time, the back of my neck would shrink as if someone were tickling me, but it felt different from when he called me that in the privacy of our home.
As I stood frozen, a lurching feeling in my stomach, he walked over to me with a smile. It wasn’t my imagination; everyone in the hall was looking at him. It was just a matter of whether they were staring openly or glancing furtively, but everyone was looking at him. Even though I thought it was natural and understood it… I disliked it a little. Why am I being so childish?
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