I arrived in France some odd hours later, feeling a sense of renewal. I had specifically brought my laptop so that I could work on editing the last remaining pages. 80 pages would be condensed down to 10. A special entry would be released months later with an additional 10 pages from the large stack. In total, 20 pages to make a smaller portfolio. Although I had written endlessly, the pages needed to be wittled down so it could fit into a magazine. If it had been released as a book, there would be more promise but Hyukjae already had his book which was to be released in a few more weeks. 

At that moment, I thought of Hyukjae. What was he up to? We hadn't seen or spoken to each other since the conference and in a way I was thankful. I didn't have much to say. I felt embarrassed. The humiliation had worn off and the anxiety from coming out so abruptly was starting to sizzle down. It wasn't that I didn't care, it was that Chaerin was right. I spent too much time focusing on the negatives instead of the positive. Everything in life has cons and pros, even this. 

I grabbed my suitcase from the conveyor and wheeled it down the airport to exchange my dollars for Euros. I had taken a hotel in the heart of Paris, nearest the Eiffel Tower. Or as near as I could get with my budget. The hotel didn't matter, the sights did. I had promised to call Chaerin once I arrrived, but the jetlag was slowly seeping in. I still had to catch a cab, or whatever was here to get to the hotel and check-in. She could wait. I knew she'd be watching my flight time anyway. 

As I exited the airport, a rush of wind caught me by surprise and I curled inward to escape it. Maybe I should have checked the weather. I glanced up towards the sky and saw thick grey clouds. Sigh. Looks like a day spent indoors. I looked around trying to see any resemblance of a cab and eventually hailed one. All those years in college, I took a few French language courses. I wasn't fluent, but I knew enough to ask for directions and hold a casual conversation. I gave him the directions and off we were. 

On the drive there, the views were spectacular! To be a tourist fascinated me. People arriving in my country, this was how they felt. Something I had seen everyday eventually dulled out the point that it wasn't even a thought. I didn't care about the next skyscraper or the new statue erected in the park. It felt as if I'd seen it a million times even if it was brand new. But here, the architecture, the smells, the small shops; everything was new. If I could wake up here everyday, how happy would I be? I didn't expect the depression to magically delete itself, but a sense of peace and motivation rippled through me. 

Eventually, I arrived at the hotel and paid my driver. This hotel as simplistic as it was, took my breath away. The curvatures in the building, the rich history behind it. I felt honored to even step foot here. I entered and I was gracefully welcomed with a smile. A busboy had taken my luggage, I was given my key and sent to the 4th floor. The wood floors were immaculately waxed, the shine reflecting off of the glass mirrors hung on each hallway alongside renaissance paintings. The detailing of the molding that lined the ceilings and walls was so intricate I ran my fingers against one, feeling the ridges of each bump as if I could relive the history that ran through the hotel. The elevator was very simplistic, but the way the buttons aligned the wall I could tell it was hundreds of years old. Fright took over my features as I was worried that it might give way, but I paid no mind to it and followed the busboy. 

We arrived at the 4th floor and I noticed how different this was from the lobby. The entire floor was painted an easter egg blue. Speckled white molding aligned the bottom of the wall and a toned carpet dripped across the walkway to where my room was. The busboy led me to door 415 and swiped my keycard handing it over to me. He bid me goodbye and that if I needed anything I could simply call. I nodded and entered the room. 

The room itself was a creamsicle orange, pale and energizing. I had specifically booked a fairly large room with a king-sized bed. I wanted the space to move about, to let my mind churn with ideas and to be able to do my work witout worrying about dropping anything or making a mess. I took off my jacket, hung it on the rack that awaited my coat, placed my bag next to it and went to sit on the bed, kicking my shoes off into the emptiness. I laid down for a few minutes taking it all in. 

I was actually in Paris. Alone. I couldn't believe it. It felt as if I would close my eyes and any second awaken to my apartment. But this was a different kind of lonely. This was a warm, embracing loneliness. Something I could live with on a daily basis without yearning for the love of someone who didn't want me back. My heart stuttered. Hyukjae. I came here to forget him and I was, but the years I spent watching him, learning from him and most recently, writing about him. I couldn't forget that. It was a part of me. But I was here for new beginnings. 

I closed my eyes and slept. 

A knock on the door interrupted Chaerin as she was typing away at the latest draft Donghae had given her before he left. 

"Come in" She called out, completely focused on the work in front of her.

"Chaerin, you have Lee Hyukjae waiting for you in the reception area. Shall I send him in?" Her newly hired assistant, Hyomin asked.

Chaerin peeked from underneath her reading glasses and nodded. She removed them, folded them and placed them at the side of her laptop. She wasn't sure why Hyukjae was visiting her. Donghae had been gone for 3 days already. The days that ticked away feeling faster than the last. Truthfully, she missed her best friend. But more than that, she missed his genuine smile, his happiness. All that had been lost in the conference. 

She was cocky, but calm enough for it to be displaced as genuinity. Which it rarely was. It was a cruel industry, one had to fake it till they could make it. 

Hyukjae walked in smoothly wearing black slacks and a grey sweater. The outfit was simple yet he pulled it off flawlessly. Even she, the Queen of Fashion could acknowledge this. 

"And how can I help you, Hyukjae?" She asked. She was irritated, beyond so.  

"I apologize for showing up unannounced." He looked gloomy. There was an unmistakable aura surrounding him. "I don't know what to say honestly." He continued, fumbling with his words.

Chaerin was completely floored. The cool, calm and collected chef was....stuttering? Secretly she reached over for her pink and black pen that laid beside her laptop and clicked the top. 

"What do you mean? You obviously came here for something, Hyukjae. Is it to discuss your book? or the portfolio?"

Hyukjae sighed. He pulled the chair outwards a bit and sat on it, his entire body heaving as he did so. When he looked up, his eyes glistened and Chaerin gasped. What could make him so distraught? She was growing angsty just to find out.

"Donghae..." He whispered softly. "How is he?"

Chaerin leaned back in her chair, becoming defensive. Her arms crossed over her chest. "He's fine. Actually he's on a well-needed vacation."

"Vacation?"

Now she was angry. Did he come here just to chat about nothing? 

"Hyukjae." She said firmly while rubbing at her temples. She had editing to do and a phone call to Donghae. They hadn't spoken since he left for his trip. The only sign was the flight number he had left for her which she followed closely until it landed. Other than that she was at a loss too.

"He isn't answering any of my calls, but I don't know what I expected. I never got the chance to apologize."

"How could you when you ran off before the conference was even over." She interjected. Someone had to tell him how Donghae had taken all of the blame. Hyukjae got off because of the book he was releasing and a portfolio that folks were dying to read. For someone who kept his personal life private, he sure made enough mistakes. Chaerin had to spend days hugging the phonelines that were going wild asking about both parties. It got to the point where she sent the calls straight to her old assistant's number. It was discontinued anyway.

"It's complicated. I had to speak to Yuri and Kyuhyun's been furious with me. I put everyone in a precarious position and Donghae---I never got to confirm whether what he said was true or not."

"Which part?" Chaerin was trying to speed up a conversation that he was clearly dodging.

Hyukjae toyed with his fingers, his eyes staring at anything but Chaerin. "Where he said he had liked me...for years."

Chaerin clicked the pen again. "It was true. Still is true as far as I'm concerned, but why are you asking about it now? Donghae has kept it professional this entire time and it is much too late to find another equally talented food photographer. Regardless of being my close friend, his work is amazing. I've been in this business for years and he's as good as it gets."

"No!" Hyukjae burst out. "That's---that's not what I meant. I lo-like working with him. It's a neutral space. As an artist myself, creativity can stall. Any little nuisance can ruin a perfect idea, or in my case a dish. He's inspired me and motivated me to even work on my book. I started it years ago but it always remained a rough draft. I didn't see anything worth writing about, but as a photographer he's shown me the beauty in my dishes. I see things in terms of value. The prettier a piece, the more expensive. He describes food to me like a painter. He's painting the things I can't see. I just never expected that from him. I--I like Yuri. She---she's my friend and---and my closest associate and---"

"-those are not adjectives you use to describe someone you like, Hyukjae." Chaerin interjected, a smirk playing on her face.

Hyukjae hunched over himself, arms wrapped around his small waist and his head dipped low.

"And she's safe." He whispered, mostly to himself.

"Safe? Why? Are your parents agains--" She paused. A sharp intake of air and a shaky breath were the only sounds that came from Hyukjae. She watched as his head fell even lower and he trembled slightly. At first he shivered, his arms tightening around himself and then his body heaved with anguish. She could see thick droplets fall onto the sleeves of his sweater, soaking into the fabric and leaving wet stains.

"You're gay." She said and leaned back into her chair, the pen tossed into the mess atop her desk.

The only sounds that could be heard were footsteps retreating from her.

From where Hyukjae had bolted out of the room.

From where three truths were revealed.

The first, that Hyukjae was gay.

And the second which was absolutely awful, Yuri was his "safe" bet. His coverup, his bandage to a wound that was never a wound.

And third, she would never tell Donghae.