Second Place

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

The question could have been referring to two things - the sculpture of the female form at the centre of the art gallery’s main floor, or to the beautiful young artist standing next to it.

“She is,” you agree, knowing that your new companion knew exactly to which you were referring.

From the open mezzanine of the art gallery’s second floor, Seungyeon leans on the railing next to you. Together you watch as her younger sister, Jeongyeon, interacts with the dozen or so men and women who are each vying for her attention in the gallery’s central exhibition space on the first floor.

In a short, tight red dress and with her bright, radiant personality on full display, the younger Yoo sister and her newest art piece were undoubtedly the fundraiser’s centre of attention. She smiles at the people around her, laughs at their jokes, adds in the odd quip or anecdote of her own - every movement graceful, every word enrapturing, a woman working and playing with the crowd as easily as any of the mediums that composed the many pieces of her art that decorated the gallery.

“She always has been,” Seungyeon continues, wistfully, as you both continue to watch the young artist entertain her patrons. “Even when we were kids, she always got all the attention. And not just for her art. All the boys loved her - and some of the girls, too. I’ve always been second place in the Yoo household.”

“You make it sound like you’re a hot bag of garbage,” you quip, turning your head to face her for the first time. The corner of her mouth perks up slightly at your compliment. “Clearly the beauty runs in the family.”

“I know,” she says proudly as she brushes her sable hair over her shoulder with an exaggerated twirl, ensuring it didn’t get in the way of the milky, creamy skin of her upper chest. “I’ve had to fight off thirsty old men all evening who’ve wanted a piece of this action. I suppose it’s because I’ve brought the ladies out to play,” she adds, bringing her hands up to her chest and cupping her breasts playfully.

You turn your attention back to her younger sister, not willing to give Seungyeon the satisfaction of falling into her trap.

“I will not check out your rack, Gong Seungyeon,” you say with a little added volume, “although I’m sure they are perky and round and taste-”

Seungyeon scoffs and punches you softly in the arm. You turn to smile at her, and the bright, toothy smile on her lips brightens up your mood, if only temporarily. After a moment you turn your attention back to Jeongyeon, who is laughing politely at some joke, as if to intentionally mirror her sister’s reaction to yours. Even from the second floor her laugh sounds like soft, playful music, clearly audible even over the soft jazz number played by the live band.

There is a moment of silence as you both watch the young artist for a bit longer. She gestures towards her piece, likely explaining some artistic nuance that made it what it was, her every word hung on by those around her. She smiles at newly arrived friends and fellow artists and interested patrons, shaking hands and exchanging polite kisses on the cheeks.

She is approached by more than her fair share of young, handsome men, each taking their chance at wooing what they believed to be the most beautiful woman in the room. For some her art is a mere secondary attraction. She is the centrepiece of the event in more ways than one.

You let a small, barely audible sigh escape your lips as you take another sip of your glass of wine. You weren’t really a wine person, but somehow the bitterness of the vintage managed to capture your feelings better than a sweeter drink could.

“You know, she’ll never fall in love with you if all you do is stand in a dark corner watching her. It’s kind of creepy, actually,” Seungyeon quips.

“Hmph,” you scoff. “I’m not in love with her.”

“Your lips deny it, but your eyes say otherwise,” she retorts with a sly smile. You shoot her a smirk. She’d taken every recent opportunity to tease you about Jeongyeon, ever since, over drinks, you let slip that you kinda maybe sorta had a crush on her younger sister.

“Maybe you can stop worrying about my love life and start doing your job by talking to some of these guests,” you retort, gesturing widely at the crowd milling about the art gallery, “I’m sure some of them are interested in purchasing some of your sister’s work to hang in their mansions.”

“Our underlings can take care of that,” she replies, referring to the rest of your management team. As Jeongyeon’s agent, part of your job was arranging for her appearances at events like these in order to promote her work; as her manager it was Seungyeon’s job to handle the administrative and logistical details. Together you’d spent the last five years working together, watching as the younger Yoo sister’s work had grown in prominence from small shows at local galleries to exhibits at the national level. It was only a matter of time before she received some international recognition.

“So you’re just here to bug me for the rest of the night, are you?”

“Yes,” she answers with a smile - the bright, beaming one she almost always wore. “It’s so entertaining. You’re so cute when you’re annoyed.”

You frown at her before you let a breath out through your nose, leaning once more on the railing. You watch as Jeongyeon poses for pictures with the photographer Seungyeon hired. The flashing cameras only highlight the brightness of her smile.

“See, that there’s your problem,” Seungyeon says. “You give up too easily. She likes confident guys. You need to be more assertive.”

“Y’know, for someone who’s so freely giving out relationship advice, you seem awfully single.”

“Oh please,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m single by choice. Like I said, I’ve had to fend off plenty of guys tonight. Remember - the ladies are out,” she says, gesturing once more to her chest.

This time, even before you knew what you were doing, you glance toward her chest and the tantalizing cleavage produced by the low, swooping neckline of her black dress. The older Yoo sister generally dressed casually and conservatively, but her choice of attire this evening did well to highlight her slim, tight figure - and the enticing curves of her cleavage. The glimmering diamonds on the banded necklace she wore only drew further attention to her chest, the glimmering gemstones bright and shining against her creamy vanilla skin.

Your eyes linger a split second too long on her chest, and your reward is a swift punch to the arm.

“Gotcha!” she says, triumphantly. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

“See, that’s what being assertive got me. A punch in the arm.” You rub your bicep for emphasis, even if it didn’t exactly hurt.

“C’mon, you know what I mean. Okay, let’s try it. Pretend I’m her.” Seungyeon slips her hand into your elbow and pulls you away from the railing, forcing you, reluctantly, to face her. “Go on. Give me your best pickup line.”

For a moment you think you notice a slight blush on her cheeks as you finally make prolonged eye contact, although you dismiss it as either a trick of the light or the alcohol in your veins - or maybe both. She was beautiful, as she always was - with long, dark hair swept to one side of her round, soft face, and the deepest, most captivating brown eyes you’d ever seen in your life.

But you’d always convinced yourself that Seungyeon was out of your league - that she was likely dating some older, more successful, much better looking guy than yourself. There was no doubting that you were attracted to the elder Yoo sister - which straight man wouldn’t be? - but pursuing her had never crossed your mind. Not because you weren’t interested, but rather because you doubted she ever would be.

And so you dismissed the recent increase in her teasing as just that - a natural strengthening and deepening of a friendship that you treasured dearly. And part of that friendship was your constant banter, and the incessant trading of barbs and insults, meant mostly in jest. And thus when she’d asked for your best pickup line, well, there was only one way you knew to respond.

“Girl, are you an elevator? Because I’d like to push whatever button will get you to go dow-”

Your line is interrupted by a swift punch to your gut. You double over in exaggerated pain, clutching your stomach, as Seungyeon returns to the railing.

“…And that’s why you’re single,” she says with a sly smirk as you pull yourself back to the railing next to her.

“You’re just as single as I am, last I checked,” you snap. “Your sister would’ve liked that line. I guess there’s a reason why you’re second place.”

There is a moment of silence between you, one that catches you off guard. For as long as you’d known her Seungyeon was always ready with a witty retort or comeback - your verbal sparring had been the foundation of your friendship. When it doesn’t come immediately, you look up at her to find her eyes locked on yours with an expression you weren’t expecting.

Her eyes are heavy, almost glassy - and her lips give the slightest, smallest quiver before she bends them into a frown. She swallows, as though your comment had left an unpleasant taste in her mouth that she wanted to rid herself of.

“Maybe you should go give my sister some more of your precious attention,” she hisses between gritted teeth. “There’s no point in spending your time on second place.”

Seungyeon turns to leave, and too stunned and confused by her words, all you can do is watch her leave.

—

It takes you more than a moment to gather yourself before chasing after her. The gravity of what you’d said and what it could have meant to Seungyeon finally hit home, and you knew that a sincere apology was in order.

When you finally find her she is slipping through a doorway that led to the fire escape stairs. She is already halfway down the first flight of stairs when you catch up to her.

“Seungyeon, please, I-”

“Don’t,” she snaps, raising a hand and not bothering to slow her descent down the steps. “Just don’t.”

You quicken your pace until you reach her at the bottom of the flight of stairs, just as her hand is about to push open the door that led outside to the parking lot. You reach out and grasp her by the bend of her elbow, turning her to face you.

You were more than a little unprepared for what you saw - her eyes were already glassy when she’d left you at the railing, but now they were threatening to spill over into tears.

“I’m sorry, Seungyeon. I didn’t mean what I said.”

She shakes her arm free of yours, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand as she does so.