Ding.
The heavy double doors of the elevator opened slowly. Yoonshin, who had been looking up at the panel with the feeling of Alibaba standing before a cave brimming with treasure, calmly stepped out of the machine. At that moment, Secretary Tak—who seemed to have been waiting just ahead—greeted him and then planted himself squarely behind Yoonshin as he tried to pass. With both hands, he carefully pushed Yoonshin forward.
Propelled straight toward the farthest corner of the hallway, Yoonshin slightly furrowed his brow.
“Is something the matter?”
“Attorney Do, do you have a moment?”
“Yes. Is there something you need to say to me?”
Secretary Tak signaled affirmation with his eyes, surveyed their surroundings, and stood side by side with Yoonshin. From where they stood, Senior Partner Song’s office was visible diagonally across the way. It was several meters away, but it was a spot that would immediately catch the eye of anyone stepping out her door.
Yoonshin alternately took in the firmly shut office door and the lowered window blinds. He naturally realized that people were already inside. He also roughly understood why Secretary Tak had been waiting for him so early in the morning.
“What exactly are you curious about?”
“That depends on what you already know, Attorney Do. Right now, Senior Partner Kang is in Senior Partner Song’s office. I heard from the secretary over there that the two of them arrived an hour early side by side, as if they had coordinated it beforehand.”
He already knew that. He had spent the time before work with Seheon. But Yoonshin deliberately maintained an impassive expression.
“Don’t they do that sometimes?”
“Usually their meetings end in about ten minutes, but they’ve been in there for an hour now. This is no ordinary matter. They did this once before when they fired a partner.”
Yoonshin’s face, which had barely maintained a mask of composure, gradually paled.
Truthfully, he had slept fitfully the night before because of what had happened yesterday. Seheon had taken a call from Secretary Tak, said he would stop by home briefly, and only returned after a long time. When he came back, the sharp smell of cigarettes clung to him. Moreover, the gaze he directed at Yoonshin had looked quite complicated.
Yoonshin hadn’t asked outright, but he could guess from Seheon’s unusual reaction what topics had been exchanged. At the very least, it certainly hadn’t been work talk. He didn’t know exactly, but it was either about him, or about the two of them, or about all of them. It was one of the three. That conviction had solidified further when Seheon told him he would be going to work an hour early this morning to have a private meeting with Mihui.
Feeling a cold sweat wash over him, Yoonshin leaned his back more comfortably against the cold wall. Secretary Tak, who had been looking ahead, turned his body slightly.
“Your reaction is quite telling. Do you know, or don’t you?”
It was neither knowing nor not knowing. The description that most accurately represented his position was that he had pretended not to notice anything out of fear of knowing.
“Then how much do you know, Secretary Tak? I know you contacted Attorney Kang yesterday. You must know more than I do.”
“I only gave him a slight warning that something might happen soon, so I have no idea what’s been going on since the weekend. We won’t know until Senior Partner Kang comes out…”
For a moment, a tacit understanding of the situation hung between them without a word. Secretary Tak fell silent as he gazed at the firmly shut office door straight ahead. Then, perhaps sensing Yoonshin’s anxiety, he quietly spoke again.
“Senior Partner Song is actually a colder person than Attorney Kang if you get to know her. But she’s also strangely weak when it comes to her own people. Even if she says no, no, she’ll eventually help. Well, that’s just my personal opinion.”
At those words, Yoonshin’s face lit up, and his body belatedly turned toward Secretary Tak. He had been inwardly waiting for someone to say such things, and hearing them from an unexpected source buoyed his spirits.
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes. In fact, aside from loyalty, if she weathers this well, she’ll gain as much as she loses. If she shows herself protecting the two of you before becoming the firm’s official representative, she could earn loyalty from other employees. She could also draw cases from other companies at odds with Suhan. Large corporations have notoriously bad blood with one another, after all.”
Matching his tune, Yoonshin replied in a much brighter voice.
“Attorney Kang is also far too valuable a talent to lose.”
“Of course. To be frank, even if he only handles overseas M&A outside the country, he’d bring in enormous sums in a year. And Attorney Do is also…”
“Not a good fit for Do-Guk.”
“But he’s clearly a good lawyer. Whether people like Attorney Do or not, they all acknowledge that. They say your closest friend changes every ten years. I suppose it’s about time for Do-Guk, too.”
After hearing so many optimistic, pleasant stories, at some point Yoonshin felt hollow. It would be nice if things resolved that simply, but he already knew this world was not so lenient. It was far more heartless than he had thought, far crueler than he had imagined. And most of those comprising this place were very shrewd.
Still, what Secretary Tak had said was the hypothesis that satisfied him most.
With half an anxious heart and half an expectant one, he was watching Mihui’s door when it burst open at an unexpected moment. A flustered Yoonshin tried to dodge aside, but this was the end of the hallway—a dead end. Before either of them could escape, Seheon stepped out. To make matters worse, his sharp gaze pinned them in place. Though the distance was not extremely close, it was a piercing stare so intense they could feel its brilliance fully.
Hesitating, Yoonshin finally opened his mouth in an awkward posture.
“Uh… Secretary Tak. What should I do right now?”
“I’m sorry. I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. Why don’t you talk to him, Attorney Do?”
Exchanging a glance with Seheon, Yoonshin looked at Secretary Tak, who nodded as if passing on courage. After a wordless greeting with his eyes, Secretary Tak naturally veered around Yoonshin and disappeared down the corridor in the opposite direction from Mihui’s room.
Soon, Seheon slowly approached the now-alone Yoonshin. Throughout that time, Yoonshin simply watched him. For some reason today, he couldn’t read his expression at all.
Finally, Seheon stopped firmly before him. He looked at his wristwatch and faintly furrowed his brow. The sight of his smooth forehead creasing, the moment his long, cool eyes subtly closed and opened, the shape of his red lips slightly parting, the frequency of Kang Seheon permeating the air—Yoonshin loved all of it.
“You’re five minutes late.”
“I arrived on time. I even did the dishes before leaving.”
“Who told you to do that? Unasked-for dishwashing, and dried pollack.”
“I didn’t nibble on dried pollack.”
“Don’t lie. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“It wasn’t that, it was a somewhat productive conversation… Fine. Yes, I nibbled a bit. I was curious about what you were saying in that room.”
As Yoonshin brought up the topic he hadn’t dared to ask about at home, Seheon gently closed his mouth. Feeling that now was the time to muster courage, Yoonshin tossed him the ball.
“Shall I ask? Or will you tell me, Senior Partner?”
“You look like you’ve already got a rough idea.”
“My head sometimes works too well for no reason.”
“What happens to me—no, to us now? Are we leaving Do-Guk?”
“There’s something you need to hear. This place isn’t quite right for it; shall we go up for a cup of coffee?”
Fidgeting with the hand holding his briefcase, Yoonshin nodded.
* * *
The lights came on in the VVIP reception room on the top floor of the building. The two entered, locked the door, and sat side by side on the corner sofa. Two cups of coffee in disposable cups sat before them. When they had first brought these in, the surfaces had been so hot they required sleeves; now they had nearly cooled to lukewarm. Even then, silence flowed within.
Yoonshin took a sip of the bitter coffee and glanced at Seheon. He was lost in thought. Then, perhaps sensing the gaze, he turned to look back with an expression unsuitably tender. Softly pursing his lips, Yoonshin opened his mouth first.
“I’m fine. I’ve carried this resignation letter with me every day since you rejected it last time.”
Yoonshin opened his briefcase and took out an envelope. When he pushed it slightly toward Seheon, Seheon took out the paper and cast his eyes over the document printed in black ink.
“You’re worried, aren’t you, Senior Partner? You’ve faced more turmoil since you started dating me.”
“Turmoil, my foot. Didn’t I tell you not to pull this kind of stunt? Don’t my words as your team leader mean anything?”
Seheon set the paper down with a clack, as if throwing it, and crossed his legs. Leaning his body, he stared directly at Yoonshin with a gaze full of reproach. The arrogant expression and somewhat neurotic glint in his eyes were the Seheon he knew.
Yoonshin was bewildered because his reaction differed from what he’d expected.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“You always have to get ahead of things. No, you idiot.”
He closed his eyes quietly and rested a hand on his forehead, then soon fixed his gaze on Yoonshin again.
“Partner Song made me a deal.”
Was it optimistic news like Secretary Tak had guessed, or the opposite? Without bothering to hide his worry-lined face, Yoonshin met Seheon’s eyes, prompting him to add:
“Do-Guk might protect you.”
“No. Not me. I’m asking about you, Senior Partner. Tell me that first.”
“I’m talking about myself right now.”
The context flipped so quickly that he cocked his head, unable to understand immediately, but Yoonshin soon read between the lines and accepted it. Seheon was saying they were in the same boat. That must be what he meant.
“She told us both to stay here?”
“Yeah. Senior Partner Song wants me to remain as a partner attorney when she becomes the firm’s official representative. And I want you. That’s the condition each of us put forward.”
Yoonshin nodded as if in agreement, his cheeks flushing slightly. He knew better than anyone that this was a serious conversation and not the right timing, but whenever he heard a fragment of Seheon’s heart through his words, his own heart always fluttered. Seheon’s large, bony hand caressed his smooth skin.
“She has extensive connections in the corporate world, so even if things get rocky with Suhan, she seems intent on making it work somehow. It’ll take time to build trust with other companies comparable to what we had with Suhan, but she’s willing to endure that. She probably finds the corporate intel I hold too valuable to waste. So this is where my worth gets appraised.”
“I don’t understand. I heard everything Attorney Song said when she was angry back then. Why did she change her mind? There’s no reason for it. The situation is only getting worse, and it will get even worse going forward.”
Seheon, seeming to search his memory, answered in a low voice.
“I asked her for help.”
“That’s absurd. You’re lying.”
He had blurted it out like a reflex, yet couldn’t immediately grasp which part of it made sense. That Seheon would ask someone for salvation, and that Mihui would agree to shoulder a considerable burden for such a reason—all of it felt unreal. Treading through the circuits of his thoughts as if crossing stepping stones, various possibilities arose. Perhaps she truly, truly found Seheon too precious to discard. Enough to give up other things. Or perhaps she wanted to show him, who did not believe in good faith between people, that such a thing existed. The problem was what compromise she had proposed in the process. In a sense, Mihui seemed the type not to take a loss, even compared to Seheon.
“What do I need to do?”
“Resolve.”
“What…”
“Senior Partner Song proposed a condition: in exchange for Do-Guk covering your sister’s lawsuit together and protecting you from the law going forward, neither you nor I may move to another firm for the next seven years. She essentially told us to endure until we rebuild revenue comparable to what we had with Suhan, wherever that may come from. Of course, Suhan might not touch us at all in the meantime, but that possibility has grown slim. The pressure has already begun.”
That must have been the gist of the conversation Seheon had had with Mihui that morning.
“Seven years?”
“Yeah. You were planning to hang in there for a while and then leave again, right? You never fit the firm.”
“At first.”
“Not now?”
Sharp yet earnest eyes focused solely on him.
Yoonshin humbly accepted that he could not deceive him, nor did he wish to.
“I’m sorry. I still do. Once things settle down… I’m too much of a burden.”
“Are you saying I’m telling you to sacrifice yourself for me right now?”
It was a difficult matter, but the word “sacrifice” was somewhat inaccurate. As Seheon said, his temperament and Do-Guk’s couldn’t be said to match well. But he had learned much by watching others work. The opportunity itself had been driven by his sister’s insistence, but he had entered with the intention of enduring at least a few years from the start; perhaps he could manage it. Of course, seven years was far longer than he had imagined—longer than the time he had spent since becoming a lawyer. Still, it wasn’t impossible. Rather, it was too simple. And Yoonshin had learned one truth during his time at Do-Guk: a deal condition this favorable to him could not possibly exist. Someone had clearly paid the price in his stead.
“The one sacrificing is you. How is me maintaining the status quo a sacrifice? She granted a favor just because you asked? What is this, a friendship movie? What other conditions don’t I know about?”
“There’s no such—”
“There must be. Don’t lie to me. How many blank checks are you writing because of me?”
Not a single part of his rambling was wrong; Seheon deeply furrowed his brow.
“Can’t you be a little less perceptive?”
“How much are you going to get extorted over seven years?”
“I don’t know either. We’ll have to see.”
“Have you ever in your life done something so vague that you only know by trying?”
The more he spoke, the more his voice trembled. Perhaps finding it pitiful, Seheon calmly ran his hand over Yoonshin’s prominent Adam’s apple.
“I haven’t.”
“I can’t let this go on anymore. Mediation is almost over; I’ll take over the lawsuit from here. Senior, step back.”
“What the hell is this punk saying now? You’re dismissing me? I’ve never been dismissed before. I refuse to accept it.”
“You know I’m not completely hopeless. I may not have been a money-making lawyer, but I know how to win. I can do it well. I can handle it. It’s our sibling matter anyway. From now on, step away.”
“Do Yoonshin.”
“I can’t sit next to you pretending not to know like a clueless idiot, watching you bear everything alone anymore. Don’t go asking others for favors! You’ve never done that kind of thing before. It suits you much better to just live as the self-centered bastard you’ve always been.”
Furrowing his brow, Seheon clicked his tongue. Then, seeing the moisture flickering at Yoonshin’s eyes, he bit his lips in extreme irritation.
“Don’t cry.”
“What on earth did I… why are you doing this, really?”
“I said don’t cry. It gets on my nerves.”
Overcome with emotion, Yoonshin eventually burst into tears despite his command. Being with him was good. Whenever Yoonshin despaired that there was no one by his side, Seheon remained there with a resolute attitude, becoming a great source of support. But being so deeply entangled and constantly indebted to him—no matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t tell if this was the right thing to do. Seheon’s foolish decision must have contained so very many things. And he felt that perhaps only he existed within it, while Kang Seheon himself was absent. There was an enormous gap between truly not knowing and pretending not to know. This was the limit.
“Look at you. Come here.”
Seheon pulled the sobbing Yoonshin into his arms. His thin body swayed slightly and slowly collapsed onto him. A man with no patience at all, he silently patted Yoonshin’s back and calmly soothed him until the crying stopped. Perhaps because he had caught him crying several times before, he was now accustomed to comforting him. The hand patting down lightly was like a lullaby without a melody.
Seheon’s shirt grew wet silently. Feeling the hollow of his shoulder grow damp in real time, he pressed his lips to Yoonshin’s hair.
How much time had passed? The heaving of Yoonshin’s shoulders subsided considerably, and he caught his breath in Seheon’s embrace. Only then did Seheon continue in a low voice.
“Do I look like such an altruistic person to you?”
Yoonshin, who had been sniffling, answered in a deeply subdued voice.
“You just look like someone who likes me a lot.”
“I told you. I like how things are now. I used to live out of inertia, but right now, I’m enjoying my life more than ever. It feels like riding a roller coaster. Dizzying, and fun.”
“There is no sacrifice devoid of selfishness. Every action I take is for my own satisfaction. We just need to do that fairly.”
“It’s not very fair.”
“Do Yoonshin.”
“Besides, roller coasters leave you dizzy afterward.”
“But you want to ride again. Like rough sex.”
The moment he heard the answer, Yoonshin pushed against Seheon’s shoulder and stared at him. His nose and cheeks were flushed red, and his eyes were bloodshot, yet he sent an unmistakably accusatory gaze. As if he could read exactly what Yoonshin was thinking just from his eyes, Seheon chuckled and tapped the bridge of his smooth nose with a straight finger.
Yoonshin asked in a slightly softened tone.
“Can you like me for seven whole years?”
“Well. I’ve never tried that either, so I don’t know. Can I answer again in seven years?”
Perhaps a response of “I’ll try for now” was the most honest answer there was.
“Still, I’ll take charge of the lawsuit. That seems right. My sister relies on me a lot these days too.”
“You couldn’t persuade your sister, but I did. Director Do Ikyung retained me, so that’s my case. No matter how much it’s you, I can’t stand the sight of you stealing my case.”
“Because it’s me, just let it go.”
“Because it’s you, I can’t. Do something pointless and I’ll really get mad.”
Speaking with a tone more resolute than ever, as if making a declaration, he placed equal kisses on both of Yoonshin’s swollen eyelids. Then he caressed here and there on Yoonshin’s face, which was red as proof that he had cried. Yoonshin stayed still for a moment, then soon pulled Seheon’s rigid hand down.
“I feel like I create too many unexpected situations in your life, and I don’t know what to do. You won’t let me do anything I say I will.”
“You didn’t create anything. I acknowledged you. These days, I think of you every morning when I open my eyes. When I look beside me, you’re asleep.”
He brushed Yoonshin’s hair aside with a very tender touch.
“The feeling of having something to protect is better than I thought.”
All his words were so sweet that they even made Yoonshin feel as if his blood were turning thick and sticky. They seemed to circulate through his body, slowly devouring him at a very languid speed.
Thud. As all strength left him and he rested his forehead against Seheon’s hard shoulder, Seheon suddenly lifted him by the waist. And while Yoonshin was flustered, he seated him on his lower body so they could face each other. With his legs wrapped around Seheon’s waist, Yoonshin wrapped his arms around Seheon’s long neck, binding him with his body.
He thought he now understood why this had to be the top floor instead of the office floor where secretaries moved busily about whenever the door opened. A place apart from others, a separated space, and inside there were only the two of them. It felt as if only the two of them had been left behind in another world.
“Still, I…”
“Answer that you’ll sign.”
“Ha, I’m going crazy. Really. Why are you so unreasonable?”
“I hate waiting very much. Quickly.”
He felt he should be more stubborn and push through with his own will, but he hesitated because that was likely not what Seheon wanted.
Yoonshin let out a deep sigh and finally raised the white flag in surrender.
“Yes. Let’s try. Together.”
His eyebrows twitching as if satisfied, he immediately reversed their positions and thud, laid Yoonshin down on the sofa.
Then he pressed their lips together and began kissing frantically.
* * *
The door to the interview room inside the building was open. Yoonshin poked his face slightly inside. Broadcast company staff were busy setting up camera equipment and the like. Reporters from a certain media outlet that usually maintained a close relationship with Do-Guk had come here directly to interview Mihui, Seheon, and Yoonshin. They had already finished individual interviews in their respective offices.
This was Yoonshin’s idea. Before Suhan could present allegations that his hiring at the firm had been a backroom deal, he wanted to inform the media of their deep ties and make the first move. They had a very plausible medium: Yoonshin’s father. He intended to use this. He thought of making a documentary about his father’s life spent helping others, naturally formalizing those details in an official manner.
In any case, these days ominous and malicious rumors surrounding his sister had begun circulating in abundance. Adding himself to the situation in such a climate seemed likely to worsen things. So he decided to bear the slight psychological burden of using his deceased father.
He was standing near the door, debating whether to go in and wait, when Seheon and Mihui walked toward him from the opposite side, conversing. Mihui entered first, leaving Seheon to face Yoonshin.
“Why that expression? You’re the one who came up with the idea to make a documentary about your father.”
“I know, but I didn’t think you’d handle such trivial matters too, Senior Partner.”
“I’ve figured out one of your traits, Do Yoonshin.”
Because he said something so out of the blue in the middle of their back-and-forth, Yoonshin found himself cocking his head.
“Were you studying me? What is it?”
“You’re very consistent.”
“Is that… praise?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“It’s an insult, then. Figures. I didn’t expect much.”
“Aren’t you going to move aside? Anyone would think we’re gay.”
Yoonshin bit his lip tightly and let out a hollow laugh. Every time Seheon acted like this, it ignited his competitive spirit.
“I’m right. Kang Seheon is a perfect, complete homosexual. He likes men, dates men, goes on dates with men, has sex with men. A perfect-score homo. Full marks.”
Having stared at Yoonshin in disbelief, Seheon shrugged as if to say think what you want. And with that, he passed by Yoonshin’s slender frame and entered the interview room. Yoonshin, who had been watching him with a thoroughly resentful gaze, naturally followed behind.
Mihui sat first in a suitable spot on the sofa, reading the question sheet. Seheon took a seat across from her and pointed to the spot beside him as if telling Yoonshin to sit. As inst