The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and disinfectant, but it didn't reach me. Nothing did. The lights above buzzed faintly, like a swarm of bees circling endlessly, echoing the ache in my head. I didn't move from the corner of the classroom, hunched over my desk as if curling into myself could somehow make me disappear.
Whispers floated from the other side of the room.
"Look at him…" someone muttered, almost too quiet for me to hear.
"Crying again, like a little spoiled brat," another voice snickered.
I forced my gaze to the floor, pretending the words weren't there, pretending the sting of the bruise across my cheek wasn't burning every time I blinked. My stomach churned. My chest felt hollow.
I didn't eat lunch. I couldn't. Every bite felt like confirming the truth I had long suspected: I wasn't supposed to exist here. I wasn't supposed to matter. I traced my fingers over the wood of my desk, rough against my palms, wishing I could trace myself out of existence, wishing I could just vanish.
The bell rang, shrill and loud, but it was no relief. Walking home wouldn't help. Home wasn't safe. Home was where the words "worthless" and "pathetic" lived in my father's gaze, where my mother's cold indifference could cut me just as sharply as a slap.
I curled further into myself, drawing my knees to my chest, and whispered the truth I didn't dare speak out loud before:
"I'm… worthless. I can't… survive… anywhere… not school… not home… nowhere…"
My voice trembled, almost a whimper. The bruises on my face burned with every thought of my mother's hand and my father's silence. The pull of despair wrapped around me, tightening.
And then—like a light cutting through fog—a shadow fell across my desk.
"Woo-jin."
I froze. My stomach twisted violently. I didn't want to look. I didn't want anyone seeing me like this.
"Woo-jin, what happened?"
I could barely lift my head. The voice was calm, steady… impossibly kind in a place where kindness felt foreign. I didn't answer. I couldn't.
The figure crouched beside my desk, leaning on the edge so his eyes were level with mine.
"I saw your face. A new bruise—please, tell me what happened."
I shook my head, forcing the words down. "It's… nothing."
"Nothing?" The voice was firm now, a gentle command. "That's not nothing. Someone hurt you."
My hands trembled as I hugged my knees tighter, trying to disappear into myself. "It's… my mom. She—she didn't like something I did. It's… my fault."
"Your fault?" The disbelief in his voice wasn't judgment—it was shock, worry. He didn't look angry, but his eyes burned with concern. "Your mom… hit you because of that?"
I swallowed hard, voice small. "She… only cares about appearances… family… reputation… I… I wasn't careful… I just—"
"Stop." His hand rested gently on my shoulder, grounding me without pressing too hard. "Stop blaming yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. None of this is your fault."
I shook my head again, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "You… you don't understand. You don't know what it's like to have every part of your life controlled, judged, hated… ignored until it hurts."
"I might not know everything," he admitted softly, "but I do know that no one deserves to be hurt like this. And you—" His gaze was unwavering—"you deserve better. You deserve care. You deserve safety. Just like everyone else does."
I flinched at the intensity, but his words… they settled in a corner of my mind I had long abandoned. Safety. Care. Those were things I'd thought were impossible for me, things I couldn't even imagine having.
"I… I don't know if I can," I whispered, voice cracking. "I'm scared… I'm… I'm always scared…"
He nodded, not pressing me further, just sitting there, steady, like the world had narrowed to only this small moment where he existed and I existed and it didn't have to be cruel.
"Then let me help you," he said, almost as if reading the tremor in my chest. "Just for a little while. I'll stay with you. You don't have to face it alone."
I wanted to believe him, wanted to reach out, but fear still curled around my ribs, tight and suffocating. Still… I didn't pull away when his hand remained on my shoulder. I let the warmth seep into the coldest part of me, tentative and fragile.
He smiled softly. "You're not alone, Woo-jin. Not today. Not ever if I can help it."
And for the first time in a long while, maybe the first time in years, a tiny spark of relief flickered in my chest, fragile and uncertain, but alive.
The bell had long since rung, but the hum of the classroom felt distant, muted, like I was underwater. Dae-hyun stayed crouched beside me, his hand still lightly resting on my shoulder. I didn't know what to do with the sudden warmth, the strange safety of it.
"You know," he said softly, "you don't have to sit there and carry it all alone."
I shook my head, biting my lip. "You don't get it. No one does."
"I might not understand everything," he admitted, his eyes level with mine, "but I understand enough. I know what it's like to feel trapped… to feel like the world is against you. And I don't want you to be alone in that."
I blinked, surprised by his words. Nobody had ever… offered that before. Not friends. Not family. Not anyone.
"I… I'm not used to… people caring," I whispered. My throat felt raw, and I looked down, afraid he'd see how vulnerable I was.
"You don't have to be used to it," he said gently. "You just have to let it happen. Let me be here. For you."
I wanted to protest, to tell him I didn't deserve it, but the lump in my throat caught in my words. I swallowed and nodded slightly, the tiniest motion, barely perceptible.
He smiled softly. "That's enough for now. You don't have to say anything. Just… breathe. Okay?"
I did as he said. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. The rhythm was simple, almost meditative, but every breath felt like a lifeline. His hand stayed there, steady, reassuring.
After a long pause, he asked, "Do you want to come with me after school? Just for a little while. I know a park nearby… you can get some air, see the sun, maybe even… talk about something else for a change."
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say yes, to escape the hollow walls of my home and the suffocating weight of my life. Part of me wanted to run, to hide, to stay in the shadows.
"I… I don't know," I admitted.
"You don't have to decide right now," he said, his voice patient, soft. "But think about it. Fresh air, sunlight… just a few hours. Nothing else. Just us."
I blinked, not trusting my own emotions. "Why… why would you care about me?"
His gaze didn't falter. "Because someone should. And if not me, then who?"
The words hit harder than any slap, any insult. Nobody had ever said that to me with such conviction. My chest tightened, and I realized my eyes were wet.
"I… I don't know," I whispered again, voice cracking. "I don't… I'm scared."
He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. "Being scared is okay. Feeling pain is okay. But hiding it forever… that's not okay. Not for you. You deserve more than fear."
I wanted to argue, to hide, to pull back. But there was something in his presence that made it hard to move. His warmth, his patience, the genuine concern—it was disarming.
"Then… can we… just sit for a little?" I asked quietly, surprising even myself.
"Of course," he said with a small smile. He adjusted his position so I could lean slightly against him, giving me a support I had never known before. "No one's going to hurt you here."
The minutes stretched, each one filled with silence that was heavy but comforting. He didn't try to force words out of me, didn't push. He simply existed beside me, steady and unyielding.
Eventually, he whispered, almost teasing, "You know… you have the weirdest way of hiding from the world. But even if you try to disappear, I'll find you. Always."
I felt my cheeks heat, not entirely from embarrassment. His words, though soft, carried weight, reassurance, and a strange hope.
"I… I've never… had anyone," I muttered, voice barely audible. "Stay like this?"
"I will," he said firmly, his hand giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "As long as you need me. Even if it's just a little while every day, I'll be here."
For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself breathe without panic. I let myself lean on him, let the warmth and care wash over the cold, hollow spaces inside me.
And though fear still lingered, tiny and stubborn, it didn't dominate me. Not when he was here. Not when someone, finally, cared enough to stay.
The evening air was cool against my flushed cheeks as Dae-hyun walked me home. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of my day, my life, my fears, clung to me like chains.
"You're quiet today," he observed gently, glancing at me. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I muttered, avoiding his gaze. My heart thumped in panic, and I felt the familiar knot in my stomach tighten. "Really."
He didn't reply immediately, just fell into step beside me. I knew he could sense my tension, could see the tremor in my hands, the way I hesitated with every step toward my front door.
When we reached the door, I stiffened. " I'm going. See you tomorrow."
He smiled at me. "Come to my place."
"What—"
He suddenly grabbed me.
The night felt impossibly still as Dae-hyun guided me into his apartment. My hands trembled, and I kept my gaze fixed on the floor. Every step away from home, away from my parents' shouting, felt like a small victory, yet a terrifying one.
"You can sit," he said softly, motioning to the couch. His apartment was warm, cozy—everything I wasn't used to. The faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air, and it was almost dizzying in its normalcy.
I nodded mutely and sank into the cushions, hugging myself. Dae-hyun crouched beside me, his presence calm, grounding.
"You don't have to say anything," he whispered. "Just… rest."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I didn't deserve kindness, that I couldn't trust it. But the exhaustion of the day, the bruises—both on my body and in my soul—overpowered me.
I let my head fall onto his shoulder. The warmth seeped into me, softening the edges of my fear. I felt the rise and fall of his chest, steady and real, and for a moment, I allowed myself to breathe without trembling.
"You're safe here," he murmured. "No one's going to hurt you. Not tonight. Not as long as I'm here."
I swallowed, trying to speak but finding only a broken whisper. "I… I don't know how to… trust… anyone…"
He tightened his arm around me slightly, careful not to smother. "Then start with small steps. Just tonight. That's enough."
I closed my eyes, feeling tears trail down my cheeks. The tension in my shoulders loosened, just slightly. "I… I'm scared," I admitted, voice raw.
"I know," he said softly. "And it's okay to be scared. You don't have to hide it from me."
A long silence stretched between us. The world outside continued its indifferent hum, but inside this small apartment, it felt like a bubble where fear and judgment didn't exist.
I buried my face further into his shirt. "I… I've never had someone… care like this."
He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head. "Then let me be the first," he said, voice firm but gentle. "I'll stay. I won't leave."
I didn't feel like I had to be strong, didn't feel like I had to hide. I let myself be small, let myself lean, let myself rest against him.
And in that quiet, fragile moment, I realized… Maybe I could finally be happy.