“It’s a good thing my husband’s working tonight,” said P, switching on the studio lights. “Otherwise there might’ve been one hell of a misunderstanding.”

“Take a look at the sketches I mentioned.” He held them out to her and she gave them her full attention, an earnest expression on her face.

“Interesting. You know, I’m surprised. I didn’t know you knew how to use color like this. So.” She rubbed her sagging jawline. “This is quite an about-turn. Could you really exhibit something like this? Your nickname used to be ‘the May priest,’ you know. After Gwangju, your art was so engagé, almost as though you were atoning for surviving the May massacre. You seemed so serious, so ascetic…all very romantic, I have to admit.” P peered at him closely over her glasses. “I can see you’re aiming to transform your image, but…isn’t this a little extreme? Of course, it isn’t for me to argue the pros and cons.”

Not wanting to get into a debate with P, he kept quiet and began to take off his clothes.

P seemed a little surprised but nevertheless resigned as she mixed the paints in the palette and selected a brush. “Well,” she murmured, “it’s certainly been a long time since I last saw you naked.”

Slowly, painstakingly, P began to paint. The brush was cold, and the sensation was ticklish yet numbing, a persistent, effectual caress.

“I’ll make sure my personal style doesn’t come through. I mean, I like flowers too, so I’ve drawn plenty in my time, but yours have a distinctive energy about them. I’ll bring your drawings to life.”

It was well past midnight when P finally announced that she was finished.

“Thanks,” he said, shivering from the cold.

“If there was a mirror I’d show it to you.”

He looked down at his chest, stomach and legs, all covered with goose pimples, and at the huge red flowers painted there.

“I like it. You’re better at it than me.”

“I’m not quite sure about how the back’s turned out. In your sketches it seemed like you’d put more emphasis on the back.”

“I’m sure it’s great. Given your reputation, that is.”

“I tried to paint them the way you drew them, not how I’d choose to do it myself, but I guess I couldn’t stop a little bit of myself coming through.”

“I’m really grateful.”

Only then did P laugh. “Actually, when you took your clothes off I got kind of turned on…”

“Oh?” he remarked absentmindedly, hurriedly slipping his clothes on. He felt a little warmer with his sweater on, but his limbs were still stiff.

“Now, for some reason…”

“What?”

“It looks wrong. Seeing you with your whole body covered in flowers, it feels kind of…pitiful. I never felt that way about you before…” P came over and finished buttoning up his shirt for him. “I should at least get a kiss, seeing as you called me up in the middle of the night.”