The campus of a high school near the office building was quiet. With the students gone and it being the last day of the year, a profoundly still atmosphere prevailed. In the small auditorium—the only space filled with people—Yoon Shin was surrounded by children. After looking over the students sitting in a circle, their eyes shining as they faced him, he expressed his intention to wrap up the special lecture around here.
“Then, shall we do a quick Q&A and end the lecture? Anyone with questions?”
When Yoon Shin asked kindly, a girl raised her hand and asked.
“The trial scenes in dramas and movies are super intense. Do prosecutors and lawyers really fight like that in real life?”
He considered his answer for a moment in his head, then opened his mouth.
“Well, it varies by case. It rarely happens like in the media, where people assert themselves so strongly and fight. Everyone is a senior or junior in the same industry, so they generally choose their words carefully. Let me give you a criminal case example. The fact that a defendant is standing in court means the police investigation is over, it’s been transferred to the prosecution, and they’ve been indicted. That means the prosecutor has evidence that this person is the criminal. Generally speaking.”
Making eye contact with the students, who were listening intently, Yoon Shin added.
“Prosecutors are incredibly busy. Because they only send cases to court when they think, ‘This is definitely a crime,’ rather than securing an acquittal, the lawyer ends up setting their course toward reducing the sentence if there is guilt. So overturning verdicts doesn’t happen often. Have any of you seen an actual trial before?”
Most of the children shook their heads immediately.
“Trials are open to the public. Unless it’s a closed trial, anyone can attend. If you get the chance later, I hope you’ll observe one. If you apply through our law firm’s program, they’ll probably let you come along.”
A boy who had been digesting Yoon Shin’s sincere answer asked playfully.
“Honorable Judge! What is that even for? It looks pointless.”
Without bothering to deny it, Yoon Shin laughed and answered.
“They don’t actually say that in court as often as they do in dramas? Maybe if it were in writing. The reason for doing it at all is because that person is the one who will hand down the verdict. Of course, delivering verdicts based on the law is the bare minimum, but judges are human too. Making the judge feel respected is the biggest role it plays. You’re right, it does look pointless. Any other questions?”
The hall was quiet. He recalled how, when he was young, he too had been unable to ask questions when given the floor, fidgeting awkwardly instead. As he watched the children with an amused affection, a girl suddenly pushed her glasses up and asked seriously.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
The image of Seheon’s face suddenly rose in Yoon Shin’s mind, and a gentle smile settled on his lips. Not long ago, when he had heard a similar question from his sister, he had clearly denied it. Because it had been true. But now he considered giving a different answer. His hesitation had vanished, too.
“Yes, well. I have something like that.”
“So, do you have a lover or not?”
“There’s someone I like. That means I do.”
As he answered more clearly, he checked his wristwatch. The girls who had been eyeing him brightly now gathered in groups of three or five, whispering with visibly disappointed expressions, but he pretended not to notice.
“Now then, shall we slowly go get lunch? I have work, so I probably can’t come with you. I’ll buy you whatever you want to eat. You can eat as much as you like.”
The children were truly children. As if they had never been downcast, the girls were now excited, and the boys simply seemed happy that the boring lecture was over; everyone gathered their belongings. Staring blankly at their uniformly thick padded jackets, Yoon Shin laughed. He then called the club representative aside and subtly hinted to contact him after placing the order at the restaurant.
After patting the nodding child’s head, Yoon Shin waved goodbye to every student heading outside. Tap-tap. The cheerful footsteps gradually faded into the distance. Yoon Shin, who had belatedly grabbed his coat and briefcase, also stepped outside.
“It’s chilly.”
Hunching his shoulders, he looked out the hallway window. The sun was still high in the sky.
What is Kang Seheon doing right now?
Even on Christmas Eve, even on Christmas Day itself, Seheon had not made time for him, but he hadn’t been particularly upset. Because he had known exactly where Seheon was and what he was doing at the time.
On Christmas Eve, Seheon had been stuck at the company from breakfast meetings to night meetings without moving an inch, and on Christmas, despite its being a public holiday, he had met a client with a foreign-affiliated lawyer at Mihui’s request. He remembered vividly how Seheon had left a message upon returning at dawn, which he had read the next morning after dozing off waiting for word from him.
He had endured all of that, too, but somehow it grated on his nerves that Seheon would leave him alone even on a day like this.
‘Does he not have the concept of anniversaries in his head?’
Taking out his phone, Yoon Shin fell into thought for a moment. What kind of day was today for Seheon, exactly? Seheon generally never used even a single day of his paid leave, burying himself entirely in work. Outside of designated holidays including weekends, he had never seen him rest. It seemed he didn’t use his vacation aside from the one week given to all the lawyers at the firm each year.
Suppressed curiosity welled up to his throat, and he had no choice but to call him.
Fortunately, he picked up immediately. However, because Yoon Shin hadn’t been expecting much, his thoughts were not organized. Thanks to that, he ended up blurting out the question that had been weighing on his mind.
“—Yes, this is Kang Seheon at Doguk…”
“What kind of day is December 31st, exactly?”
When he cut in abruptly, aggressively asking without preamble, Seheon seemed quite dumbfounded. After a moment of silence, the sound of a hollow laugh soon reached his ears.
“Where did you learn your phone manners? Tell me if you got scammed. There’s a relief channel within the firm.”
“It was on the desk calendar.”
There was no response for a moment again. A rather meaningful silence flowed.
“When did you even see that? You shouldn’t have had time to do that in my room.”
“Well, it just happened.”
“It’s my day off. I remember explaining that I have somewhere to go separately. Didn’t we finish this conversation yesterday?”
“It only ends when I’m convinced. Where are you going? You left me alone on Christmas Eve, and on Christmas Day, too. I didn’t complain and endured it all. But doing this even today is a bit too much, don’t you think? You can’t neglect me just because I’m a man. We’re dating right now. You don’t seem to know how dating works, so let me tell you especially: couples are supposed to meet on days like this.”
“Are you saying we should date squeezed between suffocating crowds?”
This time, Yoon Shin, who had become extremely flustered, let out a hollow laugh.
“No, isn’t that obviously what we should do? I happen to have taken a half-day today. I just finished my schedule. I’ll buy you an expensive meal. Come out.”
“Not today. I recall explaining that I have somewhere to go separately.”
“So where is it? You never go out for fun, so where are you going today?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“What qualifications does anyone else besides me have to know that?”
“Your words are too—forget it. I’m hanging up.”
Yoon Shin thought it was just something said in passing and was about to reply. Seheon really hung up the phone mercilessly. Dumbfounded, Yoon Shin tried calling back, but this time Seheon didn’t answer again. As he stared blankly at the darkened screen, his face was a picture of utter disbelief.
“This consistent bad attitude. Talking about a relief channel. Your temper can’t be relieved either.”
Feeling heat rise to his head, he roughly pushed his bangs up with his hand. Even though more of his skin was exposed to the friction of the cold air, his face still burned.
He had even given a hint that he had taken a half-day, so shouldn’t a response like, “Shall we have dinner together?” have come back? If Seheon was truly busy, something like, “Shall we meet briefly later for tea? I’ll see you at dawn.” He had even offered to buy the meal, yet Seheon refused him coldly.
He had no idea what kind of work Seheon was doing to be so overwhelmingly busy even at the end of the year. It might simply have been his mood, but he was more curious because Seheon seemed to be hiding his destination.
“How much more money are you going to make? Fine, work hard and get rich, get rich.”
Putting his phone into his coat pocket with irritation, Yoon Shin trudged along. Then, as if firmly declaring that he wouldn’t pick up even if Seheon called him back, he took the device out again and turned it off.
* * *
Arriving at the parking lot, Yoon Shin surveyed the spacious basement second floor at a glance. Just as he was about to head toward the central lobby, he spotted Seheon’s cars parked intact in their spots in Building A’s dedicated parking area and stopped in his tracks. Based on information he had received from Secretary Tak and the chief secretary of his sister’s office, all of Seheon’s vehicles were suspiciously black.
“One Benz, one Ford, one Ferrari, one McLaren…”
Counting the cars in order, Yoon Shin tilted his head when he reached seven.
All the cars were in their places.
Public transportation? Or was there another car he didn’t know about?
The latter seemed more likely than the former. And one more possibility was added: he might still be at home. Reflexively, Yoon Shin reached his hand into his coat pocket to fiddle with his phone, full of regret.
Just as he was about to take it out to try contacting him again, a car directly ahead flashed its headlights. The sound of an engine starting followed soon after. Startled, Yoon Shin turned around. The owner, dressed in a pitch-black suit, was walking this way.
So he had been at home after all. Yoon Shin observed his approaching figure as if sketching it. But something kept bothering him.
A pitch-black coat was draped over the arm of the man in the black suit. And the tie neatly hanging over his dress shirt was black as well. His attire looked extremely solemn. There were scenes that this brought to mind. Every single one of them was a moment he would rather not be true.
‘He hasn’t worn a black tie even once in the more than half a year I’ve known him.’
His memory was good. He was certain: he had no memory of it. As he swallowed his bewilderment with difficulty, Seheon loomed before him. However, it was Yoon Shin who opened his lips first.
“Are you going now?”
“Are you stalking me? This isn’t even your firm’s district. What are you doing here?”
“I was doing something impulsively similar.”
“But you were.”
“There is a guessed causal relationship in this encounter situation.”
“What is it? Let me know too.”
“I thought about it. It seems we’re fated after all.”
He suddenly fell silent and threw a blatant gaze at Yoon Shin. Then, with a perfunctory reply, he passed by him indifferently.
“Goosebumps. Get out of the way.”
The thought that he couldn’t let him go like this suddenly arose. It wasn’t simply because of Seheon’s ominous-looking attire. His expression, too, was one he had never seen before—looking quite burdened.
He didn’t know whether Seheon had been caught or whether he was showing him intentionally. Either way, it was clearly a scene unfamiliar to him. The Seheon he had observed until now had always possessed abundant psychological composure despite being busy. But now, a strong feeling that Seheon didn’t know what to do was conveyed. If it was a place he could leave for at this ambiguous hour after lunch, it didn’t make sense for a workaholic like him to use an entire day of leave. An imaginative assumption bloomed in his mind: perhaps he had taken a full day off because he didn’t want to show this mood and expression in front of people. Instinctively grabbing Seheon’s sleeve, Yoon Shin slowly slid his hand down and clasped Seheon’s hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Are you going to pay your respects? I’d rather not, but since I’ve seen you, I can accompany you just this once. I’ll wait at home.”
Seheon seemed utterly dumbfounded.
“Why would I pay my respects? I have no intention of getting married.”
“Not even with me?”
“It’s not that I won’t with you. I can’t.”
“If it’s not that…”
Unable to finish the rest, Yoon Shin’s expression darkened.
In his life, whenever he had to wear such a pitch-black suit with a dark black tie, there had always been a sad occasion. When his father died. When a friend or colleague’s parents passed away. When a client in a case he was defending crossed the Samdocheon due to an unexpected accident or an extreme choice. At every such moment, his heart had ached terribly.
Since Seheon had marked it on his calendar long ago, it was unlikely that some incident had occurred just today. Furthermore, Secretary Tak had said that Seheon took this day off every year, so it was probably something that had been repeated since long ago. Having reached that line of thought, Yoon Shin hesitated for a moment, then added in a very careful voice with a lowered pitch.
“When we first met, Chief, you were dressed like this then, too. I remember it vividly.”
Instead of answering, Seheon merely looked at him blankly. Yet certain unspoken answers were clearly draped over his pale face. Yoon Shin, having mustered more courage, continued.
“Are you going to a columbarium or something? I’m sorry for asking. But I want to know.”
Even as he intuitively sensed that this was a moment when he should comfort Seheon, he did not want to let it go just because Seheon wouldn’t tell him.
As expected. This time, something was clearly written on Seheon’s face as he looked at Yoon Shin intently. But even though he was looking straight at it, he couldn’t tell what emotion it was based on. That was probably because Seheon’s heart was quite complicated at this moment. The fact that he didn’t shake off Yoon Shin’s hand proved as much.
“Lawyer.”
Because there was no answer, Yoon Shin called him again in a rather forceful tone.
“Attorney Kang.”
“Fourth-year. A columbarium is a place for people with the financial means to keep an urn in a tiny box for decades, or it’s where you go when you’re dead. That’s the limit of your imagination, having lived as a young master your whole life.”
“Yes, my imagination is poor. It’s because you look like you’re struggling. It’s the first time I’ve seen such a face.”
“….”
“Should I really just go up? I’ll listen. If you say you want to be alone, I’ll give you space.”
As Seheon quietly, very quietly, listened to Yoon Shin speak, he asked back in a voice whose very tip was slightly frayed.
“If I, like you, ask you to stay with me, what will you do?”
‘I’m really sorry, but please stay with me for a moment. I can’t be alone.’
The words he had spoken to Seheon long ago had been another combination of language expressing the feeling of being in such pain that he was on the verge of collapse.
Meeting Seheon’s eyes blankly, Yoon Shin let go of his hand. For a moment, a very flustered look flashed across Seheon’s face and vanished. But Yoon Shin did not miss it.
Sometimes a single action expresses the heart far more effectively than a hundred words. Leaving Seheon behind, Yoon Shin approached the passenger side of the car he had started. Opening the door himself, he got into the car. After fastening his seatbelt diligently and facing forward, he could see Seheon staring at him quietly through the window. If he were to say that he saw signs of relief within that expressionless face, would that be reading too much into it?
Seheon took another step and got into the driver’s seat. He then gazed at Yoon Shin in the passenger seat for a long time with an unreadable look in his eyes. Eventually, silently gripping the steering wheel, he began to drive skillfully.
* * *
Evening came, and as the sunset and shadows emerged together, the air became cold to a degree incomparable to the day when sunlight had bathed the earth. Standing by the water made it even worse.
A certain provincial riverbank with nothing to see but the river stretching endlessly was quite dreary. A bleak landscape that might appear in a crime movie unfolded in every direction. Surprisingly, this seemed to be Seheon’s destination today. It wasn’t a place that suited him very well, given the splendid life he led.
The reddish light of the sky was gloomy. Since there was only a narrow national road nearby, there were few people. It might be somewhat crowded in the summer because it was by the water, but in winter, the river wasn’t charming enough to warrant a visit. At this lonely riverbank, he could only roughly guess the reason Seheon had come, but he still couldn’t know exactly.
Looking around, Yoon Shin eventually filled his vision completely with Seheon’s lonely back as he stood by the river. If Seheon had not been there in this quiet and desolate place, he would have felt terribly lonely himself.
Perhaps Seheon had always come here alone and been lonely.
“Where is this place?”
Yoon Shin, who had been gazing at Seheon with affection, asked as he approached him. Seheon, who had been observing the flowing river water, turned around. His persistent eyes, which seemed to repeatedly confirm Yoon Shin’s existence as if securing a safety zone, felt slightly wet today.
A voice escaping through red lips parted like the door of a birdcage was a little more subdued than usual.
“An eco-friendly columbarium.”
Realizing that his guess had been correct, Yoon Shin deliberately brightened his voice.
“Isn’t that an illegal burial? There’s no aquaculture farm around, but it’s not more than five kilometers from land.”
“Wrong. The Funeral Services Act does not define this act as illegal.”
“You’ve enjoyed exploiting loopholes for quite a long time.”
At Seheon, who laughed at the joke, the tense expression seen in the parking lot earlier had almost disappeared. He had been quiet throughout the drive here, but fortunately, his mood seemed to have improved.
Facing him up close, he looked quite detached. No, it would be more accurate to say he looked as if he had already given up on many things he might otherwise have been able to obtain. Because of this, a corner of Yoon Shin’s heart crumbled. The cheerful expression he had forced onto his face also vanished like the last embers dying out. As Seheon watched this, the faint smile on his smooth lips disappeared as well.
They stared at each other.
Their surroundings were open. Yet an intensely focused, heightened gaze passed between them, as if the two of them were holding hands inside a tiny, cramped circle, barely managing to stand. For some reason, Seheon tilted his head. As if to kiss him, Yoon Shin closed his eyes.
But even after several seconds, there was no sensation touching his skin.
“Open your eyes. I want to see them.”
At his ambiguous command—or perhaps request—Yoon Shin slowly opened his eyes again. Seheon stared intently at the shape of his eyes, then turned his gaze above Yoon Shin’s head.
Seheon’s profile, gazing up at the red sky just before darkness completely descended, was beautiful. Yoon Shin shared in his silence and did the same.
Then Seheon tilted his head again. Determined not to be fooled twice, Yoon Shin opened his eyes wide and resisted, but this time Seheon really did kiss his lips. When he came to his senses and looked at him, deeply settled pupils were staring solely at Yoon Shin’s face, as if Do Yoon Shin were the only thing that existed in this world, and Yoon Shin felt shy.
This was Seheon’s weakness. Yoon Shin felt that this moment was the time to ask such a question.
“Who did you scatter here?”
Surprisingly, Seheon answered obediently.
“A dongsaeng.”
“You had a sibling? A boy? A girl?”
“A boy. He died when he was little.”
The moment he heard that, Yoon Shin became anxious at the “just in case” thought and pressed on with his questions.
“Are you perhaps projecting that onto me? There are people with such trauma.”
“Are we filming a French movie?”
“Then never mind.”
Furrowing his brow and throwing a cold gaze as if asking what nonsense he was talking about, Seheon soon shook his head. Yoon Shin felt a bit awkward and moved closer to his side. Fidgeting slightly beside him, he bumped against Seheon and moved away, repeating this several times. Whether it irritated him, or whether he had wanted to do this from the beginning, Seheon immediately reached out his hand.
“Come here.”
He embraced Yoon Shin’s thin body from behind, as if hugging him. Their vision overlapped, and they stared at the same vanishing point. Seheon, who seemed to gaze at the darkness-laden river for a moment, slowly tilted his head. After leaving several light kisses on Yoon Shin’s left cheek and around his ear, he rubbed his nose around Yoon Shin’s chin. That affectionate sensation made Yoon Shin’s heart stir.
He wanted to know more about him. He had always thought that, but never before had such an intense desire surged up within him.
Yoon Shin, who had been moving his hand, placed it over the back of Seheon’s hand wrapped around his waist. Silently exchanging body heat while waiting for the right timing, surprisingly, Seheon opened his mouth first.
“He wasn’t my blood brother. Just a dongsaeng who followed me around. Our situations were similar. We lived in jjokbang in the same neighborhood. Our parents didn’t live with us, but since they were alive somewhere on Earth that we didn’t know, neither of us could go to an orphanage. It’s not allowed by law.”
“May I ask why he died?”
“Assault resulting in death.”
In plain terms, he had been beaten to death.
Gasping, Yoon Shin tilted his head and glanced at him.
“By whom?”
“It’s speculated to be local thugs who lived nearby, but it wasn’t a neighborhood with good CCTV coverage. It happened on a dark night, so there were no witnesses. The police investigated it half-heartedly because he was a child without parents. And I was young, too. There was a body, but no criminal.”
It seemed he didn’t know the exact perpetrator, either. Yoon Shin, too, had sometimes felt that death was not fair to everyone. Although he hadn’t experienced much in life, he knew enough to see the difference. If there was a death like his father’s, receiving the grief of many people, there were also deaths where one tragically faded away without even knowing the cause.
When both closed their mouths at the same time, their surroundings grew even more silent. In this bleak space, all they exhaled was breath. The sound of the cold wind blowing, the sound of the not-so-clean river water trickling, the sound of cars passing on the road far behind—these sounds filled the gaps around where they stood one by one.
Standing among them, Seheon continued in a calm tone. His unwavering voice was as quiet as water passing by, and so stoic that it somehow felt sad.
“They don’t accept the ashes of a dead child anywhere, apparently. I considered listing him as unclaimed, but since his parents are still alive, that doesn’t work either. I didn’t have anywhere to put him, so I scattered him here. And since I’d heard it was illegal, I couldn’t scatter him boldly. I was scared, so I did it secretly. At night.”
“….”
“It’s quite far from here to the house where I lived as a child. I probably walked as fast as I could for about five or six hours in the late night. I scattered him in a hurry, but it was so late at night, and I wasn’t in my right mind, so I’m not even sure exactly where in this river it was. Just. Somewhere around here? After making a lot of money, I regretted it. Since you can’t collect what’s been scattered in water again. I should have kept it stored for a while.”
Now his pupils, gazing at the river as if thinking that it had simply flowed away somewhere, were calm.
This calm, stoic voice felt more desolate than any frequency he had ever heard before. With an aching heart, Yoon Shin observed Seheon’s profile, then turned his gaze to follow Seheon’s eyes. Then he quietly gazed at the river flowing majestically and leisurely, as if nothing had ever happened here. The water glimmering with faint reflected light was cruel.
Being buried in such a place brought a devastating feeling beyond imagination. Since that water flowed from top to bottom, it must have already forgotten that matter from long ago. Perhaps only the short, sparse trees and the pebbles underfoot remembered that sad night with Seheon. Having remembered everything alone for such a long time must have been a very lonely task.
“You have an unexpectedly sentimental side. Do you come here every year to remember your dongsaeng like this?”
“Quite the opposite. I come here to remember.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No. I’ve made enough money, and I have fame, and my life is livable now. I forget him sometimes. There’s so much to remember and think about that I deliberately forget how shittily I used to live sometimes. So before a new year begins, I come here today to recall it. Ah, I came this far after going through such a childhood. Let’s not forget.”
Let’s not forget.
Those words sounded exactly like self-hypnosis: don’t grow any weaker.
Until now, for Seheon, there had been no one to rely on except a blood-unrelated dongsaeng in a similar situation. Even if time passed and he met benefactors like Mihui, and even if more time passed and he encountered people like Secretary Tak, who looked at him with compassionate eyes, ultimately, the only one he could lean on was a childhood friend who was already dead.
The affectionate heart must have become his driving force to live, but because that subject no longer existed in this world, it could not help but become his weakness.
Only now did it seem he was faintly grasping why Gang Seheon had no choice but to be such a coward. Of course, compared to him, Yunshin—who had passed a relatively smooth childhood to become the adult he was now—could not perfectly understand Seheon’s feelings. It was only natural that people could only understand as far as they had experienced. Everything beyond that was merely imitation.
Still, Yunshin wanted to comfort Seheon somehow.
He fiddled regretfully with Seheon’s hard, long fingers, their bones prominently visible, and slowly opened his mouth.
"They say water always returns to where it started flowing."
Seheon didn’t answer. But Yunshin felt that he was listening more intently than ever right now.
"Just as the lawyer comes here every year, I’m sure he returned here too. If you’re lucky, you might have passed each other at least once."
The one who had been silent suddenly tilted his head. Yunshin turned his face in exactly the opposite direction, exchanging glances with Seheon.
"Do you still absolutely hate things without a cause-and-effect relationship? You have nothing to lose by thinking positively. Especially with something like this—there’s no right answer anyway."
"I think you’re misunderstanding something. What’s already dead and gone has no power at all. I didn’t come here because I’m desperately sentimental to the point of tears. I just came to wrap up the year well and steady my mind, that’s all."
"Life isn’t easy or comfortable enough that you have to periodically steady your mind. It must be hard for you to live like that too, Chief. Enemies on all sides, so much to do, and unable to trust anyone. Truthfully, it’s very lonely and desolate, isn’t it?"
"…."
"But isn’t it okay now that you have me?"
As if at a loss for words, he furrowed his brows. Yunshin curved up the corners of his lips, smiling gently to be doubly amusing in his stead. In the end, Seheon also let out a sharp laugh, as if admitting defeat.
"I had a feeling if I brought you along, you’d chatter away uselessly like this."
"You’re the one who asked me to stay with you, Chief."
"Right. So let’s head back now that we’ve kept each other company enough."
Tap. He lightly flicked Yunshin’s smooth forehead with his finger and pulled him away from his embrace. Then he seemed to gaze at the river for a very brief moment before soon walking toward the car parked on the rear embankment. But one strange thing was that, unlike when they had arrived, his back looked comfortable now, if only by a very slight difference.
Yunshin tried to gauge whether this change was thanks to him or not, but when no answer came, he belatedly chased after him.
"Where should we eat dinner?"
"We each take care of our own."
"If we make do at home, the timing will be ambiguous. Let’s take care of it on the way up. When we came down earlier, I saw a clam kalguksu restaurant by the roadside—how about that? I’ll let you off easy for assaulting my forehead earlier."
"Beg me. Then I’ll consider whether it’s kalguksu or sujebi."
"Please buy me a meal, Seheon sunbae."
He shrugged his shoulders, then suddenly tilted his head and pecked a kiss on Yunshin’s lips with a smacking sound. It seemed to mean acceptance. Yunshin, who had been following him with a smile, faltered mid-step. Unable to move his body as he strained his ears to the countless psychological states squeezing out of the pocket of emotions. He started the engine and slowly turned to look at Yunshin, who was frozen behind.
"Aren’t you getting in? I’ll leave you behind."
"You’re not angry this time?"
"What should I be angry about? You’d have to have only one or two things you did wrong."
"Can I call you by your name now?"
Seheon, who had only been throwing his gaze silently, lightly struck the car body as if tapping piano keys. It didn’t seem like he was pondering whether to permit it, but rather tracing back why such words had come from Yunshin’s mouth in the first place. As he replayed their conversation, perhaps a conclusion drawn in his mind, he gestured toward the passenger seat.
Yunshin quickly ran over and got into the passenger seat, primly fastening his seatbelt as he had on the way here, and gazed at Seheon outside. Somehow, Seheon’s reaction felt unusual, and he felt slightly uneasy, wondering if he had hurt his feelings. Seeing this, the man outside the car bent at the waist. Then he cupped Yunshin’s smooth cheeks with both hands and pressed a firm kiss, like stamping a seal, before pulling away.
Their gazes collided like a match catching fire from very close range.
At the end of a strange silence, it was Yunshin who expelled a vocal frequency.
"If you say it’s not allowed yet, I won’t do it. I just… feel good when the Chief calls my name. So…."
"You can."
Because the affirmative answer came so easily, Yunshin was rather flustered himself. He began to stammer.
"Y-you can’t take it back."
"Alright."
As his mind wouldn’t calm down and his hand flinched needlessly, as if sensing his anxiety, this time Seheon raised his right hand and kissed the back of it. Soon after, in a voice that clung to his ears like silk, he spoke softly.
"I’ll buy you dinner at a nice place. Do Yunshin."
Yunshin blushed and nodded vigorously.
* * *
Perhaps because it was the end of the year, the roads were far more congested than expected. By the time they finished their meal and arrived home, night had long since claimed a complete victory in its power struggle against day.
Yunshin, who had been looking up at the dark sky around the apartment complex through the car window, suddenly grabbed Seheon’s wrist as he drove. Seheon turned his head slightly as if asking what the matter was. However, Yunshin’s gaze remained fixed outside.
"Please stop here for a moment."
"We’re almost home—where are you going?"
"There’s something I need to buy. Please wait here for a moment. I’ll be right back, so don’t leave me behind."
Having made him pull over to the side of the road, Yunshin got out without hesitation, not looking back even once. Seheon considered getting out too, but soon gave up and sat in the car, surveying the path his retreating figure took.
Following his steps tenaciously with his eyes, he saw Yunshin enter the commercial district where clothing stores were. His final destination seemed to be the lit flower shop located in the innermost corner. Because Seheon got off work late almost every day, he had hardly seen it open, but today was a peak season day and tomorrow was a holiday, so it seemed they were operating until this hour.
He watched Yunshin’s figure beyond the large glass window. Yunshin cautiously asked the owner something before going deep inside the shop, causing his figure to quickly disappear from sight.
As Seheon checked the current time on his wristwatch and waited, lightly tapping the steering wheel, a few minutes later Yunshin appeared again. In his hand was a single white flower.
"Quite a refined taste you have."
"It’s pretty, right?"
Having gotten back into the passenger seat at some point, Yunshin held the flower preciously to his chest. Then he smelled its fragrance. That sight was just like a scene from a fairy tale. Seheon observed it briefly like an audience member entranced by a single shot in a film, then soon started the car again without a word. Since they had already arrived near home, it didn’t take long to reach the parking lot.
The two got out of the car, still not having any particular conversation. They simply walked together along the familiar path toward the lobby. Just as the central doors of each building—their point of parting—came into view, Yunshin opened his mouth first.
"Do you know what this flower is?"
"Isn’t it a lily?"
"That’s right."
"Are you going to put it up at your place?"
"No."
As if to say *perish the thought*, Yunshin thrust the flower toward Seheon. Seheon frowned as he looked down at it in bewilderment.
"Why are you giving this to me?"
"I thought you were going to a typical columbarium or something, and I expected there would be a flower shop along the way. But the road was almost unpaved, and there was nothing there, so it bothered me that you couldn’t buy any. Next time, buy something like this too, Chief. Chrysanthemums are too obvious, but if you don’t like those, apparently lilies are used at funeral halls abroad too. Roses are fine as well."
"I don’t need these things."
"It’s not for the lawyer, but as a sign of happiness to your younger sibling that you met them. You’re just the deliverer, Chief. Therefore, this is my gift."
When it came to flowers, people easily thought of their nature to wither quickly, but Yunshin thought of the opposite first. It was vitality. That was why, when going to see his father, he always bought one or several flowers, depending on his mood.
*Though you are not here, this flower bloomed so splendidly and beautifully.* Like a flower that knew it would wither but still had to fully bloom, he would live diligently too. When he conveyed such feelings in that single flower, his sadness greatly subsided. He hoped Seheon would know that power of life too.
Instead of pretending not to know all this affection, Seheon slowly accepted the flower. Just as Yunshin had done, he smelled its fragrance. While he did so, Yunshin belatedly came to his senses and continued.
"About that thing from last time."
"That thing?"
At that moment, Yunshin, who had been looking around front, back, left, and right fairly, suddenly stopped walking. Fortunately, at this very moment, there was no one around.
"The invoice. You told me to write one."
The hand holding the flower went slack. Only moments ago, while smelling the sweet fragrance, he hadn’t looked particularly displeased, but now his expression quickly hardened and he stared straight at Yunshin. Yunshin, who didn’t know the reason, simply conveyed his thoughts calmly.
"I’ll write that now."
"You should say what you want first."
"You should come over here first, Chief. A quiet timing like this, when everyone is fleeing outside on a day like today, doesn’t come easily."
As if to see what on earth he was going to do, Seheon approached without hesitation. In the center of the deserted lobby, two men in suits stood facing each other. Yunshin glanced to see if the elevators of the buildings showed any sign of opening, then stretched out both arms. Then he grabbed Seheon’s solid upper body and pulled him into a tight embrace, trapping him in his arms. Since Seheon was taller and bigger, it was difficult, but it was barely within the allowable range.
"Is this the invoice?"
"No. My demand is that no matter what I say from now on, the Chief doesn’t laugh."
Yunshin held Seheon tightly, squeezing with crushing force. Perhaps because it was an invoice befitting the market price in his judgment, Seheon stayed still. Thanks to that, in the midst of silence, he could clearly convey this feeling.
"I lost the game."
"…."
"I like you, Chief."
While the careful voice filled the spacious area, Seheon said nothing. He simply stiffened his slender body like a still life, creating silence. Yunshin didn’t press him. He already didn’t doubt the fact that Seheon’s heart was wavering toward him. However, whether he would actually take a step forward for the abstract value of a deep relationship with another person was a different matter.
In a sense, it was an overturning of the life he had lived until now, so it would not be an easy decision. Having watched him all along, Yunshin felt he could understand that defensive psychology of why Seheon couldn’t readily extend a hand to him. Seheon had grown accustomed to the feeling of being alone that had persisted since childhood. It had only now become a tolerable companion, so bringing a stranger into his life anew felt daunting.
But Yunshin was an honest person. Hiding things did not suit his nature. So it was only right that the one less skilled at hiding should extend a hand first.
"Do Yunshin."
The low resonance when he called his name, the tenderness that didn’t suit him, that calm breath—he loved everything. By universal moral standards, one might not say he was a very good person. Even so, Yunshin had already come to like him. He had come too far to turn back.
Right then, a distant *ding* sound was heard, and two of the elevator doors in Building B in the center opened sequentially. Only then did Yunshin let go of Seheon’s solid body and meet his gaze, his pupils like a serene lake.
"We’re dating anyway, and I already know your heart, Chief, so I’m not very anxious. I’ll wait until you’re ready to talk. You’ll want to be alone tonight, so let’s meet next year."
The frozen man glanced down at the flower in his hand. Meanwhile, Yunshin pushed Seheon’s back—his shoulder blades protruding—toward the central door of Building A.
Stepping back and looking at him, Yunshin felt Seheon’s expression was different from usual. Though it was unlikely this was his first time receiving a confession, he was clearly shaken by this clumsy expression of feelings. So once again, Yunshin felt that he too already liked him, that their hearts were connected.
"Happy New Year. Dream of me."
As Yunshin lightly bowed his head in greeting, the central door opened and people came out into the lobby. Thanks to that, Yunshin’s figure quickly disappeared behind the people.
Seheon, who had stood blankly for a while, moved his steps stiffly like a rusted machine.
Entering his home and heading to the dressing room, he placed the single flower on the display stand with a light tap, as if tossing it. Then, as he tried to take off his coat, he halted.
Leaning his back against the wardrobe, his eyes as he stared blankly at the white petals were dark. In his head, a distant sound like a New Year’s Eve bell reverberated heavily. An understated floral scent flowed unbelievably all the way here, seemingly tickling the tip of his nose.
He had constantly predicted that Yunshin might be taking advantage of his wavering heart as needed. That he was trying to move him by making reasonable use of the sincerity aimed at each other. It was extremely unpleasant, yet he constantly thought he didn’t want to let go of that string. Thus, confusion continually arose between the desire to approach and the pride that didn’t want to be treated foolishly.
In fact, just moments ago, he had expected Yunshin to bring up the matter of his sister who was experiencing conflict with her husband. The invoice had been a trap he deliberately set because he wanted to quickly bring the situation to a clear state. If Yunshin, who was clumsy at deceiving others, declared a white flag and took himself hostage to ask for help using that as an excuse, he had thought he might break the grammar of his life and indulge him just once. Yunshin was worth that much to him.
But the other party threw a completely different topic, shaking Seheon.
〈I like you, Chief.〉
He was a person who always doubted everything, but on the other hand, he was also a person who judged sharply and made decisions.
He wasn’t foolish enough not to realize that, at that moment, all Yunshin had wanted to say to him was "I like you."
He didn’t know how Yunshin could always be so confident without a shred of doubt about his own feelings. He didn’t hide them, didn’t conceal them, and showed no signs of being uncomfortable with them. When he wasn’t confident in his own heart, he expressed it as such, and when faith came at some point, he spoke of it to the other person without hesitation. He seemed to calculate meticulously, yet at times he didn’t calculate at all.
He was different from Seheon, who calculated everything and acted according to profit and loss. That was why Yunshin, who repeatedly escaped the bounds of his conjecture, was incomprehensible to him. Precisely because of that, he was drawn to him. Perhaps, even if it meant allowing himself to be used as the other party wished.
Staring at the lily with a gaze that seemed to pierce right through it, he found it awkward that he was having such thoughts and let out a sharp laugh. Then he checked his wristwatch. If he went back the way he came, dawn would probably have broken by the time he reached the riverside again, but he disliked keeping for himself a gift he had given to another.
〈Do you still absolutely hate things without a cause-and-effect relationship?〉
Though it was conditional upon Do Yunshin, Seheon was surprisingly no longer averse to it anymore. Did there really have to be a cause? As long as the result was Yunshin, that was enough.
〈You came well. You saw me there.〉
Chewing over the tender voice, he eventually picked up his coat again just as it was.
Then, clutching the flower in his hand as if it were Yunshin himself, he left the house once more.