CHAPTER 33
In the days that followed, they went out more often, sometimes to play chess, other times for a meal or a drink.
Chung-Hee never mentioned the cemetery again.
He simply filled the silence with ordinary moments, and Noeul slowly began to look forward to them, though he still refused to think too deeply about what that meant.
“I have a little something for you, but it’s at my place. Want to come with me?” Chung-Hee asked as they got into the car after lunch at one of his favorite restaurants.
Noeul’s eyes widened in surprise.
“A gift? For me? But you already paid for lunch. That’s too much, hyung.”
“It’s an original piece of art from a friend. I thought you’d appreciate it more than I do,” Chung-Hee said playfully, flashing a mischievous smile. “But if you don’t like it, I can always put it away.”
“Don’t you dare treat a painting like an old piece of furniture.” Noeul laughed. “I’ll take it! Definitely taking it!”
His excitement made Chung-Hee chuckle.
The moment his eyes landed on it, he stopped in the middle of Chung-Hee’s living room and simply stared.
Fumage. His favorite technique.
And not just any painting. An original by Sora, one of his favorite Korean artists.
For several seconds, he forgot Chung-Hee was even there.
“Hyung…” Noeul finally whispered. “How?”
He moved closer to the painting, studying the smoke-created forms, his expression almost childlike in its fascination. “It’s like you knew Sora is one of my favorite artists.”
Chung-Hee didn’t look at the painting. He watched Noeul instead: every movement, every change in his expression, the way his eyes traveled across the canvas, the faint smile appearing whenever he discovered another detail.
“Sora is a friend,” Chung-Hee explained. “She sent it as a thank-you for my help. I knew you’d appreciate it. Probably more than I do.”
Noeul turned toward him.
“It’s yours now.”
Noeul blinked. “Mine?”
“Yours.” Chung-Hee smiled. “I can’t wait to see it on your wall next time I visit.”
For a moment, Noeul didn’t know what to say. The gift wasn’t merely expensive. Chung-Hee had remembered what he loved.
After everything between them—the anger, the guilt, the cemetery, the strange peace they had somehow found afterward—that simple realization affected him more than he wanted it to.
“Thank you,” he whispered, giving a small bow. “I’ll treasure it like a jewel, hyung.”
Something in Chung-Hee’s expression changed. He moved closer.
Noeul noticed but didn’t step away.
Chung-Hee stopped in front of him, close enough that Noeul could smell his cologne. His right hand slowly rose to the back of Noeul’s head while the other settled against his waist.
Noeul’s breath caught.
For one brief second, Chung-Hee hesitated. Noeul could have moved.
He didn’t.
Chung-Hee kissed him.
Noeul froze at the first touch of his lips. Then his eyes closed.
The kiss was softer than he had imagined it would be.
And he had imagined it. Far too many times. For years.
Noeul’s fingers curled instinctively into Chung-Hee’s shirt as the kiss deepened. His heart pounded so hard he could hear it.
For a few seconds, there was no Haneul. No cemetery. No revenge.
Only the man he had once wanted more than anyone else.
Then the memory returned.
Cold stone. Pain. Chung-Hee’s hands holding him down.
Noeul pulled away sharply.
They remained close, both breathing unevenly. Chung-Hee searched his face.
“I…” Noeul brought a hand to his mouth. “I don’t think we should do this.”
Chung-Hee said nothing.
Noeul stepped back. “I’m going home.”
He turned before Chung-Hee could see how badly his hands had begun to tremble.
“Noeul.”
Noeul kept walking.
“Don’t avoid me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
Noeul pressed the elevator button. Behind him, Chung-Hee exhaled impatiently.
“You kissed me back.”
Noeul closed his eyes. “I know.”
The elevator doors opened. He stepped inside, and Chung-Hee followed.
For several seconds, neither spoke. Noeul stared at the changing numbers above the doors. He could feel Chung-Hee behind him, too close, and his pulse quickened again.
“Noeul.”
“Please.”
Chung-Hee stopped.
Noeul turned toward him. “I said I need to go home.”
Chung-Hee studied him. “Because you don’t want me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I don’t know!”
His voice echoed inside the elevator. Noeul immediately lowered it.
“I don’t know, hyung.” His shoulders dropped. “You kissed me and I…”
He stopped.
Chung-Hee waited.
“I wanted it.”
“But?”
Noeul looked away. “But I remembered.”
Chung-Hee’s expression went still. Neither needed to ask what. The cemetery entered the elevator with them.
Noeul wrapped his arms around himself. “I wanted you to kiss me,” he admitted quietly. “And then suddenly I wanted you nowhere near me.”
Chung-Hee had no immediate answer.
Noeul turned his back to him and closed his eyes, trying to calm his body and mind.
Did he feel the same way he had years ago? Had those feelings deepened, or faded like a flower in the wind? Noeul couldn’t tell.
The attraction was undeniable. But was there more? Could there still be?
The elevator continued downward.
After a while, Chung-Hee spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
Noeul opened his eyes. He almost turned around.
Almost.
“For the kiss?”
A pause.
“For frightening you.”
Noeul’s throat tightened. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. But it was the first time Chung-Hee had acknowledged his fear without turning it into another accusation.
“Okay,” Noeul whispered.
The ding of the elevator reaching the ground floor snapped him from his thoughts. The doors opened, and Noeul immediately stepped out, needing fresh air, needing distance, needing a few minutes in which Chung-Hee wasn’t close enough to confuse everything inside him.
He walked quickly through the lobby.
Chung-Hee followed.
“Noeul.”
Noeul kept walking.
“Let me at least take you home.”
“Hyung, I just need…”
Noeul stopped abruptly.
Chung-Hee, following only a step behind, nearly collided with him.
Noeul drew in a sharp breath. His entire body went still.
Chung-Hee frowned. “Noeul?”
But Noeul wasn’t looking at him.
His face had lost its color. His hands trembled at his sides, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“Ms. Lee?”
Chung-Hee looked up—and froze.