Yeong hides a smile, and he takes it as Hana dies with curiosity beside me. I don’t know why I bought him a pair of earrings—I know the stylists usually pick out a selection for them to wear—and they’re only simple hoops but with a design of little watch faces etched on the thick metal. I thought of him when I saw them.
Hana doesn’t say anything about it.
Tired but looking phenomenal, we stumble back to the condo and dump our bags on the floor before grabbing some fancy water fromthe fridge and collapsing on the couch. I look at my haul with satisfaction. It’ll take me time to sort through my new clothes, which have green and red and blue among my beloved but now strikingly cut black, and even longer to get used to wearing them.
I can’t deny it was a very illuminating day, even without the museums.
Hana wriggles her toes in the thick rug and checks the time. “Two hours until we need to go. You know what you’re going to wear tonight?”
Not at all, so that’s the cue to drag everything to my room, where I stop dead at the sight of a box on the bed. “Hana?” I call.
She comes in as I pick up the long box, which is swathed and knotted in an emerald velvet that catches the light in a complex pattern. Hana dances with impatience as I pick it open with my nails to reveal a plain black box. Inside, tissue paper dotted with silver teacups is carefully folded over. I push it aside to reveal something black.
Hana’s eyes bug out as I pull out a blazer. “That’s a Harhawk.”
I don’t recognize the brand. I shake it out, and Hana gasps. It’s exactly the kind I would wear to work except this sucker is turbocharged. The wool, which gleams with a subtle woven black-on-black pattern, is soft under my fingertips, and the lining is a lovely pale blue silk patterned with more teacups.
“Try it on,” Hana insists. She’s got the green velvet wrapped around her throat like a scarf.
I pull it on over the shirt I’m wearing, and it fits as if it’s been custom-made. Hana fusses over me, exclaiming over the hidden details. There are soft cuffs inside the sleeves so I can push them up, and pockets line the inside of the jacket in a row. Inside one is a small box I toss on the bed. An inside button at the back means I can cinch it for a tighter fit, and when Hana tests it, the blazer doesn’t wrinkle at all around the waist. Then we find out it has a detachable bottom panel to turn it into a long jacket with a belt and another to make it flare at the hips in what Hana calls a peplum. She stands back with her hands on her waist.
“That thing is a work of art,” she says. “You know that Harhawk’s waiting list is as long as one for a Birkin bag? They have to decide to sell to you.”
“A brand for the rich and famous.” Celebrities.
She flicks me on the arm. “Plus people they think deserve them. The brand is a social cooperative. Profits go to help girls get educations and fund microloans for women entrepreneurs.”
She sees my confusion. “Jihoon is one of their global ambassadors. The members support gender and sexual diversity acceptance, too. Daehyun gave a song to an LGBTQ charity under a different name because Newlight wouldn’t let him do it officially, but everyone knew. StarLune keeps all their lyrics gender-neutral. Didn’t you notice?”
“The lyrics are mostly in Korean.”
“They weardresses.”
“I thought that was a stylist thing.”
She closes her eyes. “I cannot believe you.”
I can’t believe me either, to be honest. My internet research was appallingly selective, and I don’t want to dwell on why I was more interested in the footage of them getting mobbed by screaming fans than the stories about their charitable work.
Hana grabs the box I found in the pocket. “Open it, open it.”
I obey and nearly drop the box on the floor. It’s a pair of earrings. Thin chains with diamonds that might be a lot of carats dangle from thin gold hoops. They’re so pretty, Hana sucks in her breath beside me, and we both reach in to touch the gems with tentative fingers.
“I can’t accept these,” I say automatically.
“The hell you can’t. Give them to me if you don’t want them.”
I clutch the box to my chest. “It’s too much.”
Hana grabs my hands to lift one of the hoops and holds it up to her ear, checking out her reflection. “You know Jihoon bought my parents’ mortgage out for them, right?”
I blink. “Seriously?”
“Mom was so pissed.” Hana grins. “Said he was showing off. Then she burst into tears and said he was the best nephew ever.”
“They’re family, though.”
“Buying gifts is his love language,” she says. “He wants you to know he cares. When I visited him in Seoul last time, he wouldn’t let me pay for a thing. I had to sneak out to get him a bottle of whiskey as a host gift.”
