Chapter Text
They should talk. Talking was good. That would fix everything, right? Maybe it would help with not making Yeonwoo feel like a pathetic loser.
They had already eaten. The dishes were done. Now, they say on opposite ends of the couch. Not far or anything, just… not touching. Haesol’s posture was relaxed like always, her body pointed towards the TV, but her eyes weren’t.
Yeonwoo hates that he notices.
“I didn’t mean to,” he muttered. He did his best to keep his voice steady.
Haesol blinked. Her gaze softened ever so slightly as she shrugged. “I’m not upset.”
He knows that. He does. But he can’t stop himself. “It won’t happen again.”
He hears himself. How pathetic he sounds. Haesol is still looking. She opens her mouth, then closes it. For a split second, something unrecognizable passes over her face. Not hurt, not anger. What was it?
“Was it… something I did?” she tentatively asked, tilting her head.
Yes. “N-No.”
The silence sits between them. Yeonwoo feels it settle on his shoulders. The weight alone makes him want to sink into the couch.
He stood up. “I’m… I’m gonna shower really quick.”
This was supposed to be a romantic night. A normal night. He doesn’t know why he reacted the way he did, but it doesn’t matter.
Now, all he can do is wish he hadn’t.
It had been an amazing day. Yeonwoo got off work early and surprised her at her house. He had finished making the meal as soon as she got home. He almost suffocated with how tightly she hugged him.
It was supposed to be a nice evening.
It started as it always did. Soft, slow, familiar. It wasn’t long after they had officially cemented their relationship when Yeonwoo noticed just how touchy-feely Haesol truly was. If it weren’t for a basic need for oxygen, he was sure Haesol would kiss him forever.
Her hands rested on his waist. Yeonwoo’s fingers curled gently into the fabric of her sleeve. The kiss lingered longer than usual, but it felt nice. Safe. Somewhere between that and the next breath, her hand slipped upwards. Her fingers had barely slid beneath the hem of his shirt.
And Yeonwoo flinched.
His whole body recoiled. Too far and too fast. A reflex that didn’t ask permission. He didn’t even realize what had happened until Haesol’s hands froze.
Yeonwoo blinked, confused, because he didn’t want to move. He wasn’t even scared. His body just… did it. He apologized. What else could he do? Make up a reason he didn’t have? Haesol wasn’t angry, she never was. She just reassured him, quiet and careful.
That made it worse.
The water runs colder than it needs to. Yeonwoo stood under it anyway.
It’s easy to tell himself he doesn’t know why he flinched. That’s the best version of the truth. The hardest version is that maybe he does. His gaze drifted downward before he could stop it.
It was no secret that Yeonwoo wasn’t too fond of his body. Nineteen years old and he still can’t take his shirt off at the beach. He’s built a little mass. Grew a couple of inches. Yet the feeling remains the same. Too narrow shoulders. Too soft waist. Skin that never hardened the way other boys did.
In high school, it was worse. Locker rooms. Comments. Judging eyes that lingered a bit too long. He found ways to cope. Change while facing the wall. Wearing long-sleeved shirts under his uniform with enough begging from his teachers. He learned how to keep his guard up.
In middle school, it was pure hell.
There was no way to cope. All he could do was survive.
Yeonwoo pressed his hand against his stomach. It wasn’t Haesol that made him feel this way. Never her hands. Never her voice. Never her.
“Smile, Yeon-Nyeon.”
He squeezes his eyes shut as his breathing begins to stall. The memories never come all at once. Just fragments. Fragments that always hit him where it hurts. Cold tile. Excited laughter. The sharp sting of bruises burning hotter with every humiliating second that passed.
A camera flash.
He remembered sobbing in that bathroom. Scrambling for his clothes while also trying, but failing to cover himself. Arms crossing over his chest. Knees pulling in. The cackling only grew louder, even after the other guys left.
“God, your body and face really don’t fit. Are you sure you don’t want me to cut that thing off for you?”
Thrilled. That’s how Hyeong Jun looked. So thrilled that one threat from him was enough to make Yeonwoo wail and sob on the floor. Just a fun source of entertainment.
Yeonwoo inhales sharply, forcing himself back to the present. That was years ago. It didn’t matter anymore. He’s not the same boy. Haesol doesn’t see him like that. She never has. His brain knows that, and it’s only a matter of time before his body realizes that too.
He reaches for his shirt. Pulls it on before drying his hair. The fabric feels more like armor now. When he crawls into bed, Haesol is waiting for him. She shifts closer to his side, her arm barely brushing his side.
He doesn’t flinch this time.
“I love you,” she says.
She’s being careful. He hates it. He hates himself even more for feeling relieved. He wishes he could explain it better. Maybe even using the it’s not you, it’s me line, but that sounds dumb no matter how he tries to frame it.
So instead, he lies still. “I love you too.”
He hates this part of himself. He hates that it hasn’t gone away. He hates the people who’ve done nothing but make it worse. But he loves Haesol more.
All he can do is hope that one day, that will be enough.