CHAPTER 44
Later that week, Noeul stood before the elegant wooden door, his fingers hovering over the bell.
Come on, he told himself. It’s not that hard. You can do this. And yet another thought followed almost immediately. What if he knew everything?
If Kija knew the truth about him—about Haneul, Gong, the mistakes he had made, the things he had failed to see—would he still look at him with the same warmth?
Part of Noeul still believed he wouldn’t.
That anyone who knew enough would eventually despise him.
He hated that the thought still had so much power.
But this wasn’t only about him. Ji-Woo needed help with his portfolio.
Noeul wanted to give shape to the grief he carried for Haneul, perhaps even turn it into something meaningful instead of letting it remain hidden in drawers and memories.
Whatever he had become, this mattered. For them, he thought.
And, for once, perhaps a little for himself too.
He rang the bell.
When the door opened, Kija’s warm smile eased some of the tightness in his chest. “Welcome, Noeul. How are you?” he asked gently, stepping aside.
“I’m well. I just got off work.” Noeul held out the bag in his hands. “I brought food. I hope that’s okay.”
Kija’s eyes softened. “Of course it is. Come in. Make yourself comfortable.” He took the bag from him. “Your brother?”
“He’s on a trip to Jeju Island with his girlfriend, so it’ll just be us today. He’s upset he can’t make it, he wanted to hear from you personally, but even if he tried, he wouldn’t get back in time.”
“Too bad. I’m sorry about the last-minute arrangement. It’s the only afternoon I have free before my flight back to the U.S. Would you like something to drink before we begin?”
“Coffee would be nice, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“For someone who brought dinner? I think I can manage.”
Noeul smiled faintly.
The apartment was quiet, faintly scented with coffee and clean wood. It felt lived-in but carefully arranged, much like Kija’s exhibitions, warm without being cluttered. Noeul sat on the white couch and placed Ji-Woo’s portfolio on the low table.
His brother first.
Then came the photographs of his own paintings. Each one centered on Haneul. Some were finished. Others were only studies, different expressions, angles, fragments of memory Noeul had tried to preserve before they disappeared. His fingers lingered over one photograph longer than he intended.
Kija noticed. “You care deeply for this person.”
“I do.” Noeul’s voice softened. “He was my best friend.”
“Was?”
Noeul swallowed. “He died three years ago.”
Kija’s expression changed. “Chung-Hee’s brother.”
“Yes.” Noeul looked down at the image. “Since then, everything I create seems to circle back to him.” His thumb brushed the edge of the photograph. “Even when I try to paint something else, somehow he ends up there.”
Kija remained quiet.
“His death changed my life,” Noeul added. A pause. “For the worse.” The words came out quietly, almost final.
“I’m sorry.” Kija didn’t add anything else. No attempt to comfort him. He gestured toward Ji-Woo’s portfolio. “May I?”
Noeul handed it over, then waited in silence, forcing himself not to fidget while Kija turned the pages slowly.
“His goal is to enter art school,” Noeul said after a while.
“His art teacher told him the portfolio needs improvement, but we don’t really know what to change. I’d appreciate your guidance.”
Kija nodded, still studying the work. “Your brother is very talented.”
Noeul straightened almost immediately.
Kija glanced up. A smile appeared. “That reaction is rather cute.”
Noeul’s gaze dropped at once. Heat crept into his cheeks. “Kija…”
“I’m only stating an observation.”
Kija returned to the portfolio as though nothing had happened. Noeul stared at him for a second before looking away.
“He has range,” Kija continued, “and his fundamentals are strong. His composition, anatomy, and use of color show that he clearly knows what he’s doing.”
Noeul immediately opened the notes app on his phone. “But?”
Kija smiled. “There’s always a but.”
Noeul laughed softly.
“Some of the pieces are weaker than the rest. Not bad. Just weaker. In a portfolio, every piece counts.” He turned back several pages. “This one, for example.”
Noeul leaned closer.
“It’s technically good, but it doesn’t tell me anything about him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can see that he can draw.” Kija tapped lightly near the image. “I can’t see why he needed to draw this.”
Kija continued. “Fewer pieces. Stronger ones. He needs a point of view, not simply proof that he has skill.”
Noeul typed quickly.
“And I’d add something more contemporary. Not because universities need fashionable work, but because it shows he can experiment.”
“Digital?”
“Possibly. Mixed media. Projection. Sequential work. Something that pushes him outside what he already does comfortably.”
Noeul nodded.
“And his descriptions need work.”
Ji-Woo’s descriptions. Of course they did. Noeul smiled to himself. “He hates writing them.”
“I can tell.”
Noeul laughed.
Kija pointed at one. “This says, ‘I drew this because I liked the character design.’”
Noeul covered his face for a second. “That sounds exactly like him.”
“It’s honest.”
“And not very helpful”
“I’m afraid so.” Kija laughed.
For the next several minutes, he showed Noeul how Ji-Woo could explain intention, process, and development without making the descriptions sound artificial. Noeul typed as fast as he could. By the time Kija finished, he had filled several pages of notes.
Noeul stood and bowed deeply. “Thank you. Truly.”
“You don’t need to bow like I’ve saved his life.”
“You might save his application.”
“That’s more pressure than I agreed to.”
Noeul smiled, then hesitated. “One last thing.”
Kija looked up.
“Would an exhibition help him?”
Kija considered the question seriously. “Yes.”
Noeul’s eyes brightened. “Even before university?”
“Especially before university, if the work is ready. Local galleries often support emerging artists, even students. It doesn’t need to be huge.
” He closed the portfolio. “A small, well-curated exhibition would show confidence, commitment, and the ability to present a body of work rather than isolated pieces.”
Noeul immediately wrote that down too. “One exhibition could make a difference?”
“It could.” Kija leaned back. “But don’t build an exhibition only because you think admissions people want one. Give it a reason to exist.”
Noeul looked at the photographs of Haneul. Something fragile and unfamiliar settled in his chest.
Possibility.
For the first time in a long while, the future did not feel entirely closed.
Kija stood and went into the kitchen to serve the food Noeul had brought. Noeul remained on the couch, adding a few more notes while the sounds of plates and cutlery drifted in from the next room.
When Kija returned, he placed the dishes on the low table between them, then picked up one of Noeul’s photographs. Noeul immediately became more self-conscious.
Kija studied it for a long moment. Then another. “You’re just as talented as your brother.”
Noeul gave a dismissive little laugh. “I’m not.”
“You are.” Kija’s tone left little room for argument. “Your work is different.” He held up one of the paintings. “Your brother seems interested in movement and character. You’re interested in memory.”
Noeul stared at him.
“There’s passion in these, even with the melancholic tones.” Kija’s eyes returned to the image. “You don’t hide what you feel very well when you paint.”
Noeul’s smile faded slightly. “Maybe that’s why I don’t show them to people.”
Kija looked at him. “Maybe that’s exactly why you should.” He picked up another photograph. “Your emotions are present everywhere. Grief, certainly. But also tenderness.”
Noeul’s throat tightened.
Kija looked toward him again. “What technique are you using now?”
Noeul opened his mouth to answer.
The doorbell rang.
Kija took a bite of food, then moved toward the door and opened it. “Chung-Hee? What are you doing here?”
Noeul looked up immediately.
Chung-Hee stood in the doorway. The moment their eyes met, Noeul tensed.
Chung-Hee didn’t answer Kija. He stepped into the apartment, his expression controlled but visibly strained.
Noeul slowly stood. “Hyung? How did you know I was here?”
Chung-Hee crossed the room without answering and caught him by the wrist.
Noeul flinched.
“Why did you come here?” Chung-Hee demanded. “Didn’t I tell you not to?”
Noeul pulled against his grip. “Let go.”
Chung-Hee didn’t.
Noeul’s exhaustion surfaced immediately. “How did you know where to find me?” He looked directly at him. “Don’t tell me you had someone follow me.”
For a brief moment, Chung-Hee said nothing.
Noeul’s expression changed. “Seriously?”
Kija watched them in growing disbelief. One of his closest friends had entered his home without greeting him, grabbed Noeul by force, and was now speaking to him as though he had committed some unforgivable betrayal. This wasn’t jealousy as Kija understood it. Something was wrong.
“Chung-Hee,” he said calmly. “What’s going on?”
Chung-Hee ignored him. His grip tightened around Noeul’s wrist, making him suck in a breath.
“Did you enjoy yourself with Kija?” Chung-Hee asked.
Noeul stared at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Hyung…”
“You thought you could come here alone and pursue something with my friend after everything between us?”
Kija’s expression hardened. “Excuse me?”
“We’re leaving,” Chung-Hee continued. “You will not stay here alone with another man.”
Kija froze, his eyes moving between them. “Wait. You two are together?”
Noeul responded immediately. “No.”
Chung-Hee’s jaw tightened.
“We are not together,” Noeul repeated, more firmly. “And this is not a date.”
Kija looked at Chung-Hee. “I didn’t know you were interested in men, Hee.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“It obviously is.”
Chung-Hee ignored him again. “If this wasn’t a date, why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?”
Noeul stared at him in disbelief. “Because I don’t need your permission.”