L*st and Death

“Raise your arm so it’s perpendicular to your side. Yes, like that.”

The master tailor made minor adjustments to the placement of the pins with careful hands, ensuring the suit fit Siron’s body perfectly. Siron held his breath as the tailor’s hands cautiously touched his body. He had never worn a suit before—let alone a custom-tailored tuxedo. It felt like he had stepped into a movie. Thinking that this kind of event might happen frequently if he debuted as an actor in Korea and became a star made his heart swell.

While the tailor took his measurements, Siron wasn’t thinking about the upcoming prom party at all—instead, he imagined attending film festivals in the distant future.

Once all the measurements were done, Siron stepped out of the fitting station and entered the client lounge. There, Baekgyeong was reviewing a tuxedo catalog with the shop’s manager. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, Siron quietly took a seat beside Baekgyeong, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“As you requested, we’ll go with the base tuxedo design using a deep blue silk-blend fabric. For shoes, we’ll prepare loafers that won’t be too uncomfortable for everyday wear.”

Siron was studying the tuxedo design Baekgyeong had chosen when he looked up at the shop manager’s deep voice—and flinched. The man, who appeared to be in his late forties, wore a perfectly tailored suit and radiated an air of restrained authority, with silvery-gray hair and icy blue eyes. He didn’t seem overtly friendly, yet somehow was. Siron shrank instinctively from the man’s cold, awl-like charisma.

“You asked for the earliest possible fitting date. Typically, the first fitting would be scheduled in four weeks...”

“One week.”

Baekgyeong cut him off.

“We’ll do the first fitting in a week. Prom’s in ten days, so it has to be ready before then.”

The man raised an eyebrow slightly, as if he’d just heard something ridiculous, and looked at Baekgyeong.

“I’m sorry, sir, but completing it within a week is not possible.”

“Then pull an all-nighter if you have to.”

The man’s already icy eyes flashed even colder, like the tip of a dagger. He seemed to be holding back the twitch in his jaw muscles as he looked at Baekgyeong—then shifted his gaze toward Siron, who was sitting beside him.

Siron quickly ducked his head to avoid meeting the man’s eyes. He wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. Baekgyeong’s brazen behavior left him mortified.

To make such an outrageous demand in a luxury tailor shop, and to an older white man in a sharp designer suit at that—

Siron had known Baekgyeong had a temper, but seeing his rudeness directed at someone regardless of status or age came as a genuine shock. Siron had already been feeling intimidated by the manager, who was dressed like the stereotype of a high-society snob.

The man inhaled deeply and said, suppressing his emotion:

“I’m sorry, sir, but that request is impossible.”

“Hm? Dr. Tigri told me there’s an option to expedite fittings.”

The man arched one eyebrow in surprise, then softened his expression as if realizing he had no choice.

“There is such an option, but there is a significant surcharge involved.”

Without bothering to answer, Baekgyeong pulled out a card from his wallet and held it out between his index and middle finger.

“If I may ask, what is your relationship to Dr. Tigri?”

Instead of taking the card, the man arrogantly lifted his chin and asked the question with his eyes lowered. Baekgyeong, frowning with clear irritation, didn’t even look at him as he flicked the card again.

“My mom’s friend.”

Siron held his breath, overwhelmed by the silent power struggle between the two men. He wanted to blurt out that he’d be fine with a cheap tux from a party rental shop instead of this tailor, but in this situation, it wasn’t the staff’s opinion that mattered—it was the wallet’s.

“A friend of the doctor, you say.”

“Yeah. College friend, apparently.”

“I see... Dr. Tigri’s father is also a long-time customer of ours.”

The manager still looked unconvinced but didn’t push the matter further. After giving them a price quote with an arrogant look, he took Baekgyeong’s card and stepped away.

Siron glanced nervously at Baekgyeong.

“Who’s Dr. Tigri?”

“She’s the building owner’s daughter.”

Only then did Siron remember the name of the shopping mall they’d come to—Tigri Center. It was a renowned shopping complex located on the campus of a prestigious university, a local landmark in the area.

“No wonder his attitude changed so fast.”

The realization that Baekgyeong’s family was connected to people who owned famous landmarks in the States made Siron feel even more distant from him.

“Still, it feels like a rip-off... Isn’t that too expensive?”

Even though Siron’s tux was a basic custom order requested on an expedited schedule, the cost still came out to well over ten thousand dollars.

“What’s wrong with expensive? So what if we overpay a little?”

Siron had nothing to say to that. It felt pointless trying to explain the guilt he instinctively felt when dealing with someone whose entire mindset was just fundamentally different.

“How much do you think a suit like this should cost?”

“I...”

He was about to say five hundred dollars should be enough but shut his mouth.

“I don’t know. How would I know? I’ve never worn something like this before.”

With nerves on edge, Siron sat with perfect posture, not even leaning back against the couch. Baekgyeong studied his profile up close, flashing what looked like a hostile smile—as if sizing up prey.

“Then shut up and enjoy it.”

He blew a puff of air teasingly against the side of Siron’s head, then leaned back and closed his eyes, reclining like a traveler sunbathing on a resort lounge chair.

After signing the invoice the staff returned with, the two got into a Rolls-Royce chauffeured by a driver. Siron maintained a careful distance—close enough to not seem cold, but far enough not to brush shoulders—as he gazed out the window at the manicured gardens of the university campus.

The incident at the tailor shop replayed in Siron’s mind. He knew full well that from the staff’s perspective, Baekgyeong’s rudeness was unforgivable—but he couldn’t help feeling a strange sense of liberation. Maybe it was because he’d spent eighteen years acting like a well-mannered, invisible Asian, always polite and never standing out. Baekgyeong’s blatant lack of manners came as a refreshing shock.

It’s a miracle this guy hasn’t been shot yet.

Siron glanced sideways at Baekgyeong, who now rested his head against the window with his eyes closed.

Why am I the exception?

Baekgyeong was rude and aggressive to everyone—but somehow, Siron seemed exempt. Baekgyeong watched him constantly, hung on every word he said, obsessed like a man possessed. Sometimes he’d twitch anxiously and hyper-focus on Siron’s every movement—then suddenly, as if flipping a switch, withdraw all interest completely, leaving Siron bewildered.

Maybe it was because they shared the same birthday. But was that reason enough to bring a stranger into your home? Siron couldn’t understand Baekgyeong’s mind, but he found himself drawn to his extreme personality. If he ever played a rude rich heir role someday, he’d use Baekgyeong as a model. And if he ever went on a variety show, he planned to shamelessly sell his anecdotes about a Korean chaebol friend he met in America.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Huh?”

Siron, lost in thought while staring at Baekgyeong, snapped back to reality and stammered.

“Oh, s-sorry. I was just thinking about something...”

“You’ve got a weakness for handsome guys, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, you couldn’t take your eyes off the manager back at the tailor. Honestly, I thought something was off from the moment you kept sneaking glances at my face.”

“What nonsense—”

“You gay?”

The question struck Siron like a bolt of heat. Baekgyeong observed him calmly, as if testing what effect his words had. If Siron got angry here, Baekgyeong wouldn’t hesitate to punch him in the face. And if things went really badly, he might get kicked out of Holmby Hills altogether. Baekgyeong had thrown Choi Seongmin out of the mansion before without a second thought. The servants, too, disappeared like mice whenever Baekgyeong roamed the halls.

Which meant that right now, the only person daring to face Baekgyeong head-on was Yoon Siron. And as a teenage runaway who had nowhere to go after leaving the shelter, Siron couldn’t afford to piss him off even slightly.

“Choi Seongmin’s probably the one who’s gay.”

But before he could stop himself, something entirely off-script slipped out of his mouth. Words he couldn’t take back. Siron’s face went pale.

“Gay? That asshole?”

Siron couldn’t bring himself to tattle about Seongmin’s creepy line—“I swing both ways”—so he scrambled to come up with an excuse.

“He just, I mean, looks kinda gay.”

“That asshole’s obsessed with girls. Definitely not gay.”

“Ah, r-right? I just, uh, misunderstood.”

Siron hurried to change the subject.

“Hey—what about you? Aren’t you... lonely?”

Baekgyeong raised an eyebrow.

“Lonely?”

“Living all alone in a huge house like this. Don’t you ever feel... emotionally isolated?”

Siron asked cautiously, worried he might be stepping on a landmine. But Baekgyeong answered flatly.

“I don’t need that kind of thing. I just hang out with people when I feel like it.”

Baekgyeong looked at Siron with a gaze like a compound eye—flat, emotionless, and impossible to read. His words—that he only interacted with others when he wanted to—were completely alien to Siron’s worldview. All Siron could do was stay silent. That side of Baekgyeong both fascinated him... and put him on edge.

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