If Kyu-Sik ever met Altan, which Donovan was determined to never allow happening, any misconception of the man being mature would be immediately corrected. He was passionately talented at his best, had impossibly high standards, and didn't take quite enough of his anger out on the beating of his drums. Even absent, the other man's lingering presence almost completely drowned out the fact Donovan even lived there, the territory clearly marked.
Anything slightly out of place could immediately be identified as Donovan's doing- the seat to the piano keyboard slightly askew, a forgotten mug of tea from a few hours before next to the armchair that was positioned closer to the bookshelf than with a decent view of the television. Small things that were probably not too noticeable, and yet would have quickly been corrected if Altan hadn't been away.
"Probably only theoretically and coincidentally," he responded with a slight pout but no actual defensiveness, watching Kyu-Sik drink with a bit more attention than intended. Quickly turning away, no excuse to stay so close and food to attend to, Donovan returned to the kitchen without a glance back. The salad was a colourful assortment with olives and feta abundant, and he moved the serving bowl to the small dining table.
"And where in line would you have stood?" he asked curiously, wondering just which of those kind of people Kyu-Sik saw himself as.