Chapter Text
The first thing Anton thought when he set foot on Korean soil was how the cold air felt different from the crispness of America. There was a certain austere aura he hadn’t felt in a long time.
(…)
Even with the mundane murmurs of people coming and going, what lingered was a faint sense of belonging.
That always happened whenever he spent years away from one of his home countries.
‘Too Korean by American standards and too American for the Koreans.’ His father had taught him early on to split his time between both places to avoid monotony, which in the end proved to be the most profitable mindset for business.
‘Monotony’ was a forbidden word in the world of entrepreneurs and investors, who had to reinvent themselves daily to stay on top of market trends.
Undoubtedly, it was an unstable and demanding profession, filled with far more adrenaline than the average person might imagine, one he had grown to enjoy over time.
"I'm sorry." A distracted woman, phone pressed to her ear, bumped into him and gave a slight bow in apology.
She waited for a response but, receiving only a nod, sighed in relief and walked on, glad he hadn’t taken offense or taken it out on her.
Maybe that was the biggest sign he was a foreigner, tolerant, as much as one could be, of Korea’s ‘pali-pali’ culture.
Anton ignored her, because it didn’t matter. Continuing calmly toward the arrival area, his coat perfectly tailored to his frame, mind already organizing the new routine.
The place wasn’t crowded, so it didn’t take long for him to find the small amount of luggage he brought – only the essentials – and come face-to-face with the typical chauffeur waiting for him.
"Mr. Lee." The middle-aged man bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle.
Although his grandfather had passed away nearly a year ago, his parents and grandmother, who eventually moved to live in America, had decided to maintain the property in Seoul with the same staff, since they often spent summers in Korea.
This would be the first time, however, that Anton would be staying there alone. But of course, that wasn’t a problem for someone who had always valued his independence and autonomy.
Living alone was something he already did in the United States, even though he had spent the last few years tucked away from prying eyes in a silent, opulent New York penthouse. A few extra square meters and three floors wouldn’t make much difference.
…
Once settled in the car, a classic, elegant Bentley his grandfather had used to get around Korea, he pulled his tablet from his carry-on, already open to a last-minute scheduled agenda, and retrieved a high-end phone from his pocket.
A new assistant was urgently needed. His former one, Melissa, a competent woman in her thirties, had gone on maternity leave. After learning Anton would be staying in Korea for an indefinite period, she asked to be transferred to his younger brother, Junyoung.
A real shame, since Melissa had perfectly in sync with him and was one of the few who knew how to handle his quirks.
A long sigh escaped as fingers moved over the screen, composing a brief message to Sungchan, the only close friend in the country.
I’m here.
In truth, Anton was still in Incheon, on the way to Seoul. The trip was short, but with heavy traffic, it might take a little over an hour.
He quickly typed another message and waited for the reply, which came almost instantly.
Hyung.
Do you know any reliable outsourced secretary agencies?
A few.
Aren’t you going to use one of the permanent secretary from your family’s company?
No.
I want someone with no ties, who can start from scratch with me.
Hm, as always, you have to be picky.
Alright.
Miyeon, my secretary, should send you a solid list by the end of the day.
The exchange was brief, Sungchan was likely at work, but enough to take care of one immediate concern.
Anton found himself craving a cup of coffee, something he'd grown used to on foggy New York mornings. He would’ve asked the chauffeur to stop at the first halfway-decent café if not for the urge to reach his new temporary home and wash off the exhaustion from the long transcontinental flight.
XxX
"Please, don’t take this personally, but it’s still a bit shocking to have you here under these circumstances. I mean, you really didn’t seem like the type to settle down in Asia." Shotaro smiled with warmth and a hint of embarrassment for what he had just brought to the table, worried Anton might take the comment the wrong way and be offended.
He didn’t. The other was right, settling in Korea had never crossed his mind. Besides, the japanese was endlessly gentle, radiating a comforting air that stirred a protective instinct in those around him.
Harmless and nurturing with everyone, it was impossible to feel even the slightest irritation.
"It’s alright, hyung." Though he hadn’t used honorifics in years, the word had slipped out naturally ever since reuniting with Sungchan and Osaki. Anton offered a faint smile, just enough to show he wasn’t offended, swirling the red wine in his glass.
His gaze drifted over the room, the dining space in the couple’s home, settling for a few seconds on the large glass cabinets displaying traditional Japanese tableware and vases, which gave the dark wood-toned interior a deeply personal touch.
Shotaro must enjoy decorating, and adding his personality to the rooms, unlike Sungchan, who had neither the patience nor the inclination for that sort of task.
Their relationship was stable, and at times reminded Anton of his own parents. It was common for him to feel at home in their presence.
"It’s kind of touching how time changed our paths, don’t you think? Last year, at my engagement ceremony, you said you wouldn’t marry Sungchan-hyung even if he asked. Now look at me, single and about to attend your wedding." A short, good-humored laugh slipped from his throat as the irony of fate's surprises struck him.
Everyone thought the broken engagement had become a sore subject. It wasn’t. Life had simply taken a different route, and he was too busy restructuring his life and ambitions to mourn what was left behind.
Shotaro didn’t laugh. Instead, his expression curved into concern, tinged with uncertainty.
"You..." He hesitated for a moment, biting his lower lip. "You can rely on me and Chanie if you need to. I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I hope your time here can change that."
A quiet offer of support. Anton recognized it, though he gently declined.
"Thank you, but I’m good."
Disliking unnecessary drama, especially over a matter that had already caused more of a headache than expected, he still agreed in part, wanting to grow closer to Osaki.
Sungchan had been his first friend in childhood, the son of family acquaintances. Loyal, just, paternal, had always understood him well. And if Shotaro was the one to spend a lifetime beside his best friend, Anton figured it was worth getting closer.
Not just for Jung – he’d already approved of the japanese back at the engagement ceremony – but because Osaki seemed like a genuinely good person to have around.
Whatever reply had come to Shotaro’s mind faded when Sungchan entered the dining room carrying an elegant silver tray, carefully balancing three fragrant dishes.
"Sorry for the delay."
There were no staff around to assist, which made him think they’d been dismissed to offer privacy, and also stirred a small, unexpected sense of home .
It suited the couple’s dynamic. His lips curved into a soft smile, partly hidden behind the wine glass he lifted.
His attention then turned to the natural exchange between the two, already lost in a brief disagreement.
"Taro made me remake the sauce four times," Jung complained, carefully setting the tray down on the table.
The sarcastic tone, tinged with affection, earned an indignant grumble from the japanese, who even let out a small huff, though the way he stood to help his partner place the dishes didn’t quite match the feigned irritation.
"It was salty." A small pout rose as he retorted, flashing a fond smile while setting down Anton’s portion.
Steam spiraled toward his face, piquing curiosity enough for him to finally look at the dish before him.
"What’s tonight’s menu?" The Korean-American glanced at Sungchan, raising a brow expectantly.
"Galbi-jjim." Jung took his seat at the long dining table, letting out a tired sigh. "I used red wine in the sauce, like you taught me."
…
It was such a distant memory, he was almost surprised to hear it.
He had a habit of pushing away small things from memory—work always demanded too much from him in the day-to-day.
"Wine? That must’ve been... at least two years ago?" His brow furrowed, trying to summon the exact moment.
It was a traditional dish, usually prepared by his late grandfather, and one that Anton, his father Yoonsang, and his brother Junyoung had all learned to cook for rare and important family occasions.
"A year," Shotaro corrected gently, as though the memory had been stored with ease. "We had dinner at your place in New York the day we arrived in the U.S, and you made it for us."
"You have a good memory." The remark slipped out before he could stop it, while his chopsticks casually tested the tenderness of the braised short ribs.
Osaki, judging by his demeanor, seemed like someone too absentminded to recall such details. Discovering the opposite was interesting, and left a positive impression.
"I do." He nodded with a smile. "Chanie was obsessed with recreating the same taste. The first attempt was awful. He still doesn’t understand salt levels."
There was a playful jab in Shotaro’s tone, striking right at his friend’s pride.
"It’s salt, not poison. You survived." Sungchan exhaled, his shoulders dropping as though releasing the fatigue of a long day, then began slicing into the meat with care. "And every time, you came back for seconds."
"Yes, because I like you."
In moments like these, they resembled the brief, playful quarrels he and Junyoung used to overhear from their parents, Hyejin and Yoonsang. The observation brought a quiet smile to his lips.
"It’s good. The sauce is balanced." Not quite like his own, or his grandfather’s, but still flavorful and original, with Jung’s own twist on the ingredients. He finished chewing slowly and raised his wine glass in a toast.
"Cheers."
The clink of their glasses rang pleasantly alongside the rhythm of a shamisen melody playing from the record player mounted on the wall.
“So. Are you still going to introduce yourself as Anton?” Sungchan teased, savoring his red wine, while Shotaro was the only one indulging in dessert, a glass of Bingsu.
“That depends on the time of day.” The response came with a lighthearted puff of air. It was his name, after all, even if he always knew how hard it was for Korean acquaintances to adopt it. “It’s my name.”
Beyond being a matter of identity, his professional image had been built around it. He wasn’t in Korea to start from scratch and erase everything he had worked so hard to achieve.
“Well, to me, you’re still Chanyoung.” The defensive tone his friend used earned another short chuckle.
Shotaro also always called him by his Korean name, a direct consequence of his partner’s habit, and that didn’t matter.
It was fine.
Some things were reserved only for those closest to him. He liked having that kind of boundary in his personal life.
“Chanyoung” carried the memories of childhood, of Hyejin’s home-cooked meals, of the many houses he’d lived in. “Anton” was the man the world knew.
“Anton sounds like the name of a CEO in a drama. It’s a bit… impersonal.” Or perhaps just too foreign to be fully understood. The japanese offered his opinion with a soft smile, tasting the shaved ice before continuing. “But, it’s interesting.”
“Feel free.” He’d never scold them over something so trivial.
“Do you really don’t want dessert?” Shotaro insisted, halfway through his Bingsu, and Anton calmly declined.
“I don’t usually eat sweets at night.” Ever since starting at the gym, certain habits had followed along with the balanced diet he maintained. Turning his attention to Sungchan, he added “Hyung, thank you for sending me the list of outsourced agencies.”
“Hm.” Jung shrugged, as if it were nothing, sipping his wine with ease. “I thought Junyoung was going to take over the Korean branch.”
“He will, after I start the expansion into the Asian market. Harabeoji asked me to do it on his deathbed. I’m going to keep my word.” Anton shifted into businessman mode, the one that always surfaced when professional matters were brought up, folding his arms over the table. “And I have another reason... Do you know an art consultant?”
“Art?” Shotaro asked, puzzled.
“Philanthropy.” He nodded. “It’s one of my duties here.”
…
A wave of comfortable silence followed, while Sungchan pondered the question with a hand on his chin.
“What exactly are you thinking?”
“For now, nothing specific. Just to get to know the art scene a bit and stay open to new investment opportunities.” There was a deeper, personal, sentimental reason behind the choice, one he had promised to preserve until the right moment to reveal it.
His grandfather’s last request.
“You want to learn about art? There’s a place…” For a second, Shotaro seemed unsure whether to share, as if about to expose something deeply personal. Anton and Sungchan looked at him with patience, while the japanese let out a shy laugh for suddenly getting involved in the conversation. “I mean, if you’re open to investment opportunities, I think it’s an excellent gateway. It’s not a large venue, but it gives visibility to a lot of brilliant minds.”
There was a quiet pain in his eyes that made Jung sigh audibly, the kind that implied he had a lot to say, but would hold back.
“What’s it like?” The Korean-American asked with genuine curiosity.
Never had considered himself a true art enthusiast growing up, unlike Yoonsang, his father, and Hyunsuk, his grandfather, who loved and breathed it. The former through music, a hobby Anton had inherited, and the latter through a vast and impressive collection of classical paintings and sculptures.
He did appreciate art, in his own way, whether playing instruments like the piano and cello or accompanying his mother and relatives to occasional exhibits. Still, this would be a completely different experience, an in-depth exploration of the field.
A nearly childlike wish to understand what his grandfather had seen in it while alive. To reconnect with the old man he’d lost touch with shortly before his passing.
“A gallery... For emerging artists.” Osaki seemed to be choosing his words with great care, and that caught his attention. “As I mentioned, it’s not very big. The staff, administrators, and curators are people we know. Chanie could take you there on a suitable day.”
“Taro.” Sungchan sighed again, closing his eyes and bringing a hand to his forehead, a quiet weariness spreading across his expression.
There was some unspoken tension between the couple, as if this touched on a recurring issue Anton felt wasn’t his place to pry into.
“Well, if Hyung doesn’t mind, I can make time for it next week after I settle into the company.” After all, he wasn’t in a position to turn down such opportunities.
Understanding the meaning of art, and what it represented to people, would be the first step in fulfilling his grandfather’s request.
Sungchan struggled in silence for a few seconds, weighing his response, a behavior that made Anton suspect there was a reason why someone so composed would feel even mild discomfort. Still, he agreed with a monosyllable.
“Ok.” Even so, there wasn’t a hint of regret, because Anton knew the older man only accepted what he had no problem fulfilling. “Make room in your schedule and send it to my secretary in advance.”
XxX
“Chanyoung, son, you don’t have to force yourself into anything, you know that.” Hyejin’s muffled, concerned voice reached his ears as he descended the staircase of the mansion calmly, almost ready for the day, save for the tie he still held in one hand.
“Omma.” Nothing but a sigh escaped his lips. His eyes silently dismissed the housemaid who asked if he wanted anything besides the steaming cup of coffee and toast. She bowed and quietly left.
…
His breakfast was, as usual, typically American. Quite the opposite of what most Koreans were accustomed to. It still felt strange to the staff.
Anton didn’t blame them.
It was almost surprising that someone like him, tall and athletic, could start the day on such a strategically light meal instead of rice, soup, and banchan.
His routine, too, was far from elaborate. It boiled down to waking up, consuming the ideal amount of protein, working out, eating, and then heading out for the day’s work.
Nothing particularly remarkable.
“I know your Harabeoji’s passing and the broken engagement shook you, but… you don’t have to go through this alone.” His mother continued to ramble on the other end of the line, and the tone of the conversation started to irritate him, enough to make his brows furrow. “Let your Appa handle it.”
“Appa has worked enough, for many years. And I’m not doing anything against my will or outside of my responsibility.” The fact that everyone assumed the broken engagement affected him more than it actually had was a source of silent frustration. “Please, let’s forget about that damned engagement.”
It had, admittedly, been an unwelcome surprise to hear from his ex-fiancée that she no longer found him all that interesting. But it also brought with it an unexpected sense of relief.
They had never been deeply in love anyway, so there was no reason for others to mourn the outcome.
Hyejin let out a heavy sigh, as though sensing the conversation was drawing to a close.
“Call again later. It’s been days since you left, and this is the first time I’ve heard from you.”
“I’ve been busy.” Anton shrugged into the empty dining room, even if his mother couldn’t see him from halfway across the world, finally taking a sip from his coffee.
Silence fell for a moment until her resigned voice broke through once again.
“I understand. But remember to speak with your family. I’ll say goodbye now. I love you.”
“Hm. Me too.” A strange hollowness washed over him as his eyes wandered through the uninhabited space, framed by walls lined with artwork and sculpture.
It was both comfortable and unfamiliar to rediscover each detail of the mansion that had belonged to his family for generations.
The staff, the décor, the house rules, everything echoed his grandfather. And, to his surprise, it all mirrored his own way of doing things far more than he had expected.
Anton had never paid much mind to what Yoonsang, his father, or other relatives said about how similar he was to the old man in manner and habit. But after settling into the house, that perception had become routine.
It was an unexpected way of grieving, simply inhabiting the space that had meant everything to one of the most important people in his life. Still, he felt that when the time came to finally leave it behind, any lingering pain would already be gone.
That sort of closure matched him perfectly: pragmatic and allergic to dramatics. An almost imperceptible, ironic smile tugged at his lips.
And so, he remained there, taking his time with breakfast, to the steady ticking of the massive cuckoo clock mounted in the far left corner of the wall.
About ten minutes passed before Sungchan appeared at the front door.
The frame creaked. 8:30 sharp.
They both had something admirable in common: punctuality. And though his friend didn’t seem thrilled to be visiting, given the reason he’d come to pick him up, he had still kept his word.
“You ready?” His serious expression was hardened by the cold as he waited outside the property.
"Why did you agree with Shotaro-hyung’s suggestion?" Anton didn’t usually like bringing up matters that didn’t directly involve him, but the older man's expression had hardened ever since they got into the sports car.
As if an inevitable stress was about to strike the moment they stepped inside the venue.
"To avoid arguments." It was an ambiguous answer, but clear enough for Anton to understand that something was indeed wrong. A prolonged sigh escaped him after a moment of reflection. "As always, he wants me to be his eyes in that place."
…
They found an uncomplicated way to get to the gallery. Sungchan would drive him, and then Anton would take a taxi to get to the office, since it made no sense to wait for the driver. Still, even though he was in the middle of adapting to the city and wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate public transport, that was the least of his concerns in that moment.
"You never liked giving in." He said, in a tone more observational than accusatory, like someone stating the obvious.
A hint of amusement appeared along with the realization that a small part of his friend had changed. Softened, in this case.
Jung scoffed, clearly displeased, but kept his focus on the wheel.
"For you." He didn’t need to elaborate further for Anton to understand, smiling in quiet amusement.
Shotaro had truly changed Sungchan more than what was visible on the surface.
The rest of the ride was quick and silent, as they weren’t far from their final destination. Anton, analytical as always, observed the path through the upscale metropolitan area of Seoul with focused curiosity. The luxurious urban scenery blurred past the window of his friend’s Audi.
Cheongdam-dong, the GPS, which was currently off, since Jung knew the way by heart, had indicated.
The region seemed to host several high-end shops and sophisticated cafés, so it came as a surprise to find an art space of such importance nestled there. At the same time, the area’s youthful and modern appeal helped justify the choice.
Beyond the multiple buildings of contemporary architecture, there was a notable number of people on the streets despite it being a Wednesday morning. Sungchan turned onto a side street, Seolleung-ro 152-gil, and searched for parking across from a three-story building made of exposed concrete, smaller than the two larger buildings beside it.
“Studio Orion”.
The small sign made him raise an eyebrow.
"Constellation?" he asked as he unfastened his seatbelt.
Jung shrugged.
"The founder liked astronomy."
Anton didn’t reply to that. He simply adjusted his winter coat and let the cold wind brush his hair away from his face. His expression remained calm as he waited for Sungchan to lock the car and lead him across the street.
Contrary to his expectation, they were welcomed into a small, cozy entrance hall once they stepped inside.
"Good morning, Mr. Jung." A young receptionist recognized him instantly, offering a warm smile and casting a curious glance at the silent man beside him, who inevitably assessed the space.
"Good morning.”
His friend returned the greeting, and Anton gave a slight nod before the two moved further into the gallery.
The main section, one of the smaller exhibition rooms, was more crowded than he had anticipated. Around ten individuals were dispersed in their own worlds.
Soft jazz played in the background, filling the silence between hushed whispers and footsteps, and the diffused lighting focused on the paintings added an amber tone to the white walls. There was also a faint scent of varnish that reflected off the polished floor.
"My family is part of the group of sponsors." Sungchan explained a moment later, his gaze calmly fixed on the horizon. "There are more people than usual. They're curating for a new exhibition."
Anton, for a second, tried to shake off the feeling of displacement brought on by a space that was somewhat out of his comfort zone. On top of that, unsubtle glances were drawn to their striking presence like magnets. After all, two tall, athletic men, dressed far too elegantly for the gallery’s casual standard, attracted more attention than desired.
The kind of fine tailoring that didn’t need visible designer logos to broadcast social hierarchy.
It wasn’t a surprise, and he had grown used to that sort of treatment. After childhood, ignoring it had become a habit.
Sungchan mentioned he would find someone to introduce him to and walked off, entering one of the doors at the end of the exhibition hall.
…
His shoulders relaxed with a quiet sigh, and his gaze drifted toward the paintings mounted on the panels along the wall. Contemporary pieces that didn’t exactly align with his grandfather’s fondness for classical art.
For over a minute, Anton lost himself in a meticulous and skeptical analysis of the works, trying to decode what their lines, colors, and composition were meant to communicate. Even though basic art theory came to mind, dispersion, addition, subtraction, deciphering their message proved difficult. Besides, they didn’t particularly suit his taste.
He kept staring at them with focus until one piece, in particular, caught his attention.
It featured elegant, continuous lines made with a wet black brush, starting thin and ending thick, all coming together to form a solid image.
Interesting.
Anton walked calmly toward the painting, aware that the people around him were itching to approach and figure out who he was and why he was there, but lacked the courage to do so. He scanned every detail that made the composition delicate.
What had first looked like a series of abstract lines formed into a cityscape of skyscrapers, vehicles, lights, and signage. Imposing and cold, like the vast city of Seoul. His eyes narrowed as he looked down to the depicted sidewalk, and he was pleasantly surprised by what he saw.
As if the painting had been captured from a high angle, like a drone photograph. The difference lay in the intentional distortion of scale. The buildings, the cars, they were enormous, while in the very center of the canvas, on a narrow sidewalk, stood a tiny human figure, contemplating the city.
Like someone planted in an unfamiliar place.
Anton stared at the spotlight that cast a yellowish hue over the top of the painting, then at the small placard affixed to a stand on the left side, just in front of a metal post and red ribbon that marked the proper viewing distance for the artworks.
┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
“The City.” — P.W
(Oil on canvas. 45cm X 60cm)
The feeling of being far too small, and at the same time, far too seen.
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
"Far too seen." That was something he understood all too well, especially as some individuals in the exhibition hall had begun to whisper about his presence. Perhaps that was why he continued staring at the artwork, not quite ready to let it go.
Anton liked pieces like that, raw, beautiful in their realism.
The contemplation made his mind wander to recent events, something he rarely allowed himself to do, and only stopped when an unnoticed presence, several meters away, distracted and solitary, caught his eye, as if summoned by fate.
…
His face tensed at what he saw.
Dark, shoulder-length hair, a small and slender frame, black leather jacket, dark jeans, and combat boots. The seconds he spent staring at the profile of the young man, who remained unaware he was being watched, absorbed by a piece on the far side of the room, were brief, but curious.
Didn’t understand why he was wasting time on someone so insignificant and unknown, only that this person seemed to have a quiet magnetic field around him, one that pulled Anton in without effort.
Something in the young man’s hunched shoulders, in the way he kept a deliberate distance from the surrounding bodies, as if he wished he could shrink into himself, reminded Anton of the motionless figure captured on the canvas.
Regardless, the stranger’s analysis didn’t last long, because a voice called out.
"Anton." Sungchan entered the room through the same door he had left minutes earlier, prompting Anton to turn his head.
The next thing he noticed was the woman with the eccentric outfit beside his friend. A striking burgundy red suit, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and black heels.
She was the opposite of the artwork he had just been observing: Someone who liked to be seen.
"This is Kwon Mina. Gallery administrator and head of the curatorial team," Jung introduced them, and she raised her arm in greeting.
"Anton Lee." The Korean-American introduced himself calmly to the woman, who seemed to be the type who never stopped smiling, given how excitedly she shook his hand several times, while he maintained nothing more than a trained politeness. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."
Afterward, Sungchan excused himself to speak with a middle-aged man standing on the other side of the exhibition room, offering them more privacy.
"It’s an immense pleasure to know you were curious enough to come visit ‘Studio Orion’ in person, Anton-nim." She looked at him with sparkling, dreamy eyes. Not in an annoying way, but… much more enthusiastic than the people he was used to. At the very least, it didn’t leave a negative impression on him, despite the brief discomfort. "Sungchan-nim gave me a brief explanation about your new interest in art, and I thought that perhaps we have something you’re looking for. Would you mind sharing a bit of what you have in mind?"
He liked people who left good impressions. The fact that she hadn’t tried flattery or gone in circles left a positive mark on him.
"For now, nothing in particular. Just a personal interest in expanding my investments and venturing into the art scene." It was the initial plan for any business: explore new places, make connections, and check out possibilities. Anton reflected before continuing. "But I must agree this place piqued my curiosity."
More precisely, the artwork in front of him, which had pulled him into a cascade of deep thoughts.
Mina widened her smile at his words.
"It’s an honor to inspire that kind of feeling in someone as remarkable as you. If you’re interested, we can schedule a meeting to calmly and privately discuss your goals. Even if you decide afterward that the investment isn’t worthwhile, I’ll try to be as informative as possible." She didn’t seem to be saying this to deceive him. Her sincerity made him think she was used to this type of situation: businessmen unfamiliar with the field and uncertain whether to invest. In the next moment, she pulled a business card from the blazer she wore. "Here’s my contact information. Feel free to reach out whenever, or if, you feel comfortable."
Straightforward and to the point.
Anton, once again, appreciated the way she carried herself.
"My secretary will be in touch," he agreed, just as the phone in the pocket of his heavy coat rang, interrupting the pleasant rhythm of jazz in the background and the occasional murmur of side conversations. "One moment."
It was work. The vice president of the Korean branch, which he had barely settled into, already proposing internal reform and ideas for future expansion, was calling to report potential complications.
A soft sigh escaped as the insistent ringing stopped, and his face tensed with displeasure.
As he calmly walked toward the exit of the exhibition room, with the phone back to his ear, a belated realization made him pause for a few seconds.
His eyes instinctively searched for the young man from earlier, and to his surprising disappointment, the spot where he had seen him was empty, as if the stranger had never existed.
Even when speaking with Mina, Anton could’ve sworn the young man had remained there, after all, he was always attentive. More than that, no one could leave an open space like that without being seen.
…
As if the painting he had admired moments ago had swallowed that figure whole.
Had the city stifled him, just like the man in the painting?… A funny thought crossed his mind, one that even brought a slight smirk to his lips, as he walked outside the gallery.
He glanced at the canvas one last time, deeply intrigued, before surrendering to the phone call.
XxX
The first thing Wonbin did when he left the gallery was look both ways in a hurry, because a familiar sensation of being watched wherever he went made him restless, as if a nonexistent voice came to warn him of his final judgment.
This shouldn't consume him like that — after all, anyone who needed to know where he was always found a way — but the anxiety clung to him every time he stepped outside.
People weren't supposed to stare at him. They... made it seem like staying inside his apartment was the safest, most correct choice.
It felt like a cruel contradiction. Inside the highly controlled environment where even breathing came at a cost, and in the rare moments he faced the outside world, everything around him worked to crush him. As if he only survived through punishment, with neither option offering him a break.
His home was cold and suffocating, yes, but at least he knew the price he had to pay.
Without even realizing it, he bit his lip, nervous, and was startled by the drastic change in scenery.
He was inside a supermarket near the gallery, shopping for at least fifteen minutes, even though his mind was still walking the street from moments ago.
…
After a few months, these kinds of sporadic blackouts became common. Not due to memory loss, but because his brain went on autopilot, taking longer to store the next events.
It only happened when he was outside, as if even his subconscious knew going out was wrong.
"Wonbin, you’ve already grabbed three coffees." Eunseok’s direct voice echoed, pulling him from his daze.
His friend picked up a large bag of rice, a carton of almond milk, and a similar pack of coffee, placing them calmly in his own cart after giving him an analytical look.
It made him glance at his own groceries and smile sheepishly for being caught spacing out, knowing full well it hadn’t been on purpose.
"Force of habit." Even he didn’t believe his own words, but lying had become a form of self-preservation that also helped deflect others' concern.
Wonbin picked up the three boxes and examined them, unsure. Thanks to the large number of staff at the apartment he lived in, who kept the pantry stocked whenever needed, he didn’t really need any supplies. Even so, Eunseok had shown up at the gallery to invite him to the store, and he hadn’t been able to refuse.
It seemed like his friend’s quiet way of making sure he was okay. Alive, still breathing.
His mind calculated the amount of coffee he typically consumed, and in the end, all three boxes stayed in his half-empty cart.
No one would appear to yell at him for buying the wrong kind of coffee or for buying too much… Even if it felt like it.
"You can't live on coffee, laundry detergent, and fabric softener alone, you know." The older man joked, grabbing a bag of frozen chicken when they passed the meat section and placing it in Wonbin’s cart himself. "When was the last time you had fried chicken?"
"I…" He didn’t know. He liked fried chicken, but it hadn’t been part of his diet for a long time. Still, if he refused, Eunseok would notice, and the next day Shotaro would call, worried, asking why he hadn’t bought the meat. "Last month?"
A lie. Wonbin remembered every meal from the previous month. He remembered because it had been one of the hardest periods he had faced in a long time, doing nothing but staring at blank canvases in his studio, hiding from his failures, trying not to exist, fully aware of how everyone around him judged him.
To avoid worrying his friend, he gave a weak smile and nodded, agreeing to take the frozen package while ignoring the familiar shiver that ran through him once, purely from fear.
Still, it was enough to summon a few unpleasant memories.
…
It’s fine. You’re alone now.
Wonbin closed his eyes to shake off the fear, but it only made the overwhelming feeling worse, like he had disobeyed an authority that wasn’t even present.
Nothing could explain why, even without seeing it in physical form, a terrifying ghost projected itself on the canned goods shelf.
"Hyung." His voice came out as a whisper, as he felt the icy sensation of a hand gripping his neck tightly. It wasn’t real, there was no one there besides the two of them, and that realization only made it worse. His lips trembled, and he tried to hide it. "I think, maybe… I’m actually going a little crazy."
He was very careful in how he said it, not because of his friend, but because that thought had been keeping him up at night.
Eunseok froze and slowly turned, his gaze too unreadable to guess. The few seconds he spent in silence, thinking about what to say, were worse than the courage Wonbin had needed to speak up.
"You’re not crazy, Wonbin." His voice held a conviction that left no room for doubt, but not enough to completely change the younger man’s mind.
"How can you be so sure?" Song walked ahead through the supermarket’s empty aisles, leaving him with no choice but to follow.
"If you were actually crazy, you wouldn’t be questioning it all the time."
…
Eunseok was the most level-headed friend he had, and the least likely to lie just to make someone feel better. Even so, believing him was hard. It just didn’t seem possible, not with all the strange habits he had developed without noticing.
Things were far from normal, and Wonbin knew that better than anyone.
"We lived together for two years. Do you really think, if you were actually crazy, I wouldn’t have figured it out?" True. Even if he wasn’t the best with words, Song always found a way to get him thinking from a different angle—maybe because Wonbin was just too predictable.
A small wave of relief lifted some of the weight off his shoulders.
"You’re right. I…" Still, the hesitation lingered, making him freeze again in the middle of the aisle. "I’ve just been thinking a lot about it… I mean, about what was written in those medical forms they had me fill out that time."
He regretted mentioning it the second Eunseok looked at him with disbelief and a spark of indignation.
"They made you fill out a mental health form like it was a multiple-choice quiz? ‘I don’t have this, I do have this’ ?… What the hell?"
…
Wonbin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape.
"Hyung, I’m ok now." After all, both the psychiatrist and psychologist had said it with absolute certainty, though he had the distinct feeling things had gotten worse since the diagnosis.
As if the disorders they named had only truly possessed him after he became aware of them.
An uncomfortable silence followed until the older man finally let out a long, tired sigh.
"Are you going back to university?" Yes, though leaving the house had become a terrifying ordeal lately.
As much as he wanted to share that new fear, he said what he thought would worry Eunseok less.
"Of course. I promised, didn’t I?" His voice sounded exhausted, but his smile didn’t waver. Besides, it wasn’t as if the ghost haunting his nightmares would let him stay locked up at home, not painting. "Don’t tell Taro-hyung that we talked about this."
His friend let out an ironic laugh.
"Let’s go to the checkout." That was the only reply he got after a few seconds of heavy silence between them.
Wonbin nodded and looked away toward a promotional sign near some cookies.
It was awful, not wanting to see or having to lie to his friends, because they always saw right through him. But sometimes, there was nowhere to run.
At least Eunseok was on the calmer side, and even if he didn’t agree with hiding the conversation from Shotaro, he’d still go along with it, just to make sure Wonbin wouldn’t pull away for good.