➳ genre/warnings: slow burn, fluff, slight bad boy!yugyeom, triggers; mentions of violence, injuries, physical abuse
➳ word count: 2,504 words
➳ summary: 24. “Just because,”
➳ author's note: this will probably turn into a two-shot, inspired by new era yugs. all creds for the gif below to @jinyoungot7, thank you so much 💖 i’ve been sitting on this idea for a bit too long + rewrote it 3 times (bc my dumb self forgot to hit save) so i really struggled to form the right words. i hope you’ll forgive me for this! any form of feedback will be very much appreciated 💕 (also: imo = aunty)
wounded // scarred // healed
A rush of stiflingly hot summer air pummeled through the double doors of your family’s restaurant, disrupting the once cool atmosphere created by the air-cons. Being reminded of this season’s unforgiving behaviours urged you to lift the straw of your cool drink to your lips.
The sip of iced Americano, however, got stuck in your throat when you laid eyes upon the restaurant’s newest patron.
Yugyeom. Kim Yugyeom, with his untucked shirt and loosened tie, took confident strides across the dining area in the direction of the kitchen window where chefs would place finished dishes, ready to be served. Your brain short-circuited for several moments as you did nothing but watch him from your position behind the cashier. His actions were that of a regular’s as he arrived at the window and stuck his head through the opening in the wall, his hand coming up in a small wave to catch the chefs’ attention.
It was then that you registered, quite belatedly, the bruises and splotches of crimson littered across the back of his raised hand, tarnishing the fair skin.
You distinctly remembered that you saw plasters wrapped around his fingers earlier today when you sat beside him in class. His current wounds made the older ones seem like insignificant paper cuts. It wasn’t unusual for Yugyeom to turn up covered in fresh cuts and purple bruises, though. In fact, you had grown so accustomed to this that you started stocking up on assorted Rilakkuma plasters. Since the start of the semester when you were assigned the furthest desk from the whiteboard, you learned how to disinfect open wounds with saline solution and cover it properly with pastel-coloured dressings, all courtesy of Kim Yugyeom.
“Imo, can I please order takeaway? One bibim naengmyeon and one mul naengmyeon, double serving of pickled radishes, two eggs and extra-”
“Yugyeom-ah!” Your mother’s unmistakeable voice pierced through as her head peeked out of the little window, coming face to face with your desk partner. She addressed him with such a warm and motherly tone, which left you surprised and confused. “Oh, oh dear… It’s best if you take a seat, you can have your dinner here. I’ll pack Mark’s in a takeaway container, don’t you worry.”
“But Imo, I need to get back, Mark-”
“No buts, Yugyeom. I already memorised your orders. Sit down, your food will be ready in a second.”
“Imo, I can’t-” Yugyeom protested weakly, waving his hands in refusal, but you knew it was all for nought. Attempting to deny your mother’s orders were an impossible feat.
A short silence ensued. You guessed this was caused by your mother’s signature death stare. Having been on the receiving end countless times during your lifetime, you were well aware that it could make anyone’s skin rise with goose bumps or a chill to run down their spines.
“Okay, Imo…” Came Yugyeom’s resigned voice as his lanky legs dragged himself over to the vacant seat closest to the kitchen.
You took this as your cue to question your mother in detail about how she became so familiar with your class’ bad boy. Unfortunately, you were met with a curt reminder of the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the counter as she busied herself with blanching the buckwheat noodles. When she was in her element, there was no way to deviate her attention from the task at hand.
Rummaging through the cupboard, you fished out the white box with a red cross stuck on the top of the lid. Taking a few moments to steel your quickening heart rate, you were struck by the realisation that this would be the first time seeing Yugyeom outside of school in the entire five years you spent as classmates. He was a quiet boy, never uttering a single word in school, even when the teachers were asking him questions, landing him a semi-permanent spot in detention. Most days, he would plug one earphone into his ear and rest his head on folded arms, taking frequent naps as the class learned about organic compounds or Punnett squares. He was also handed multiple demerits for breaking the school rules, which ranged from getting into fist fights with seniors who bullied students for their lunch money, or wearing one too many piercings (especially the shiny ones), to refusing to get a haircut when his fringe began to grow past his eyebrows, obscuring his eyes.
The most intimidating aspect about sitting next to Kim Yugyeom, however, was that nearly every week you were forced to come face to face with angry gashes and wounds that he seemingly gained overnight. He always turned a blind eye when you succumbed to your curiosity and inspected his injuries from your seat, mere inches away. Wordlessly, you would clean the damaged skin with practiced hands, then patch it up with a plaster. Rilakkuma, you decided, suited him best. The plasters matched his yellow Rilakkuma earphones. You even caught him occasionally staring at the plasters when you stayed in class during lunch, the only period in which he remained awake.
“Y/N,” Yugyeom called as you drew the seat next to him. He stared at the table, refusing to meet your eyes.
Your ears perked up the moment your name left his lips; you were not used to this. It was a rare occurrence for the two of you to speak. Usually you went about your everyday tasks silently, with little words being exchanged. It was a silence that grew comfortable over the semester, and you found yourself appreciating the peace it brought during stressful times.
Conversations between the two of you had only started up recently. This was largely attributed to your father, who worked front of the house, being ridiculed by your classmate’s parents when they visited the restaurant. They complained about your father’s complete lack of competence when they had to wait forty-five minutes for their food to arrive, only to receive the wrong dishes in the end. Furious, they shoved the plate of food off the table and stormed out of the restaurant, not even bothering to settle the bill. Your father was left to clean up the scraps in front of all the other customers, severely damaging the restaurant’s reputation.
The classmate, a snobby, pampered girl, confronted you in school the next day by rudely pushing your books and stationery onto the floor, just like her parents did. You held back angry, frustrated tears as she ridiculed you and your family in front of all your other classmates, tearing you down to shreds. Yugyeom, rousing from his nap, caught the girl’s wrist before she had the chance to slap you across the face with a notebook.
Everyone grew quiet then. The boy had never done anything to gain attention, always preferring to remain behind the shadows in perfect silence. “Keep it down, you’re ruining my sleep.” Yugyeom hissed threateningly. She cowered in fear and backed off, never to provoke you again.
“Look up, Yugyeom.” You instructed, returning to the task at hand. With a concerned gaze, you conducted a thorough examination of his injuries. The cuts on his hands and the bruises on his knuckles were fairly standard – a quick clean and plaster should do the trick. You got to work, pulling out the alcohol-free cleansing wipes and dabbing over the torn skin with gentle fingers. The boy flinched slightly upon the first contact but behaved rather well as you continued to tend to his hands. Your gaze flitted over the two spherical scars on the underside of his left forearm as he reached forward, closing the distance between the two of you. They were cigarette burns, you figured. You could feel Yugyeom’s fingers brushing against your temples as he pushed strands of your short hair back to rest behind your ears, the tips of which glowered pink at his actions.
“What happened this time?” You asked, somewhat rhetorically. You knew full well that Yugyeom would never divulge the events that led up to his injuries, no matter how persistent you were.
He hummed in response, as though that were an appropriate answer, and scrunched up his face slightly to express his reluctance in answering your question.
The wound smack bang in the middle of his nose presented itself as a bit more of a challenge. While Yugyeom was no stranger to facial injuries, often sporting shallow cuts close to his brow or near his chin, this was much deeper; much larger. It drew unwanted attention and tarnished his otherwise handsome features.
A dull thud sounded as a bowl of cold noodles landed on the table. Your mother stood over the two of you, shaking her head as she handed you a warm towel. You accepted it, still utterly clueless about how your mother was so well acquainted with Yugyeom and his injuries. “Y/N-ah, use this to clean the wound. If it’s still bleeding a lot, apply some pressure to it.” She then turned to the boy, tutting in disapproval. “Yugyeom, I’ve always respected your privacy when you show up in my restaurant covered in cuts and bruises, but this is where I draw the line. Your injuries are getting more serious. You and I are going to have a serious talk once you finish your dinner, young man. It’s been two years and I can’t watch from the sidelines any longer, are we clear?”
You watched as Yugyeom nearly heaved out a sigh, but decided against it in the last minute. “Yes, Imo. Thank you, Imo.”
Your mother, with her hands perched atop her waist, nodded gravely before strutting over to the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone once more. A million questions swarmed in your head as Yugyeom took the towel from your hands, pressing it onto his wound as he began to devour the bowl of cold noodles. This has been going on for two years? You wondered to yourself. Two long years, and yet I’ve never even ran into him in the restaurant. There’s no way, he must’ve been here when I worked over the summer. Maybe he was just sitting in a corner, eating in silence… As usual.
“You’ve been coming her for two years?” You asked before you could stop yourself, your curiosity getting the better of you. “But why?” Why didn’t you tell me? You thought silently, the rest of the sentence unable to leave your mouth.
Yugyeom shrugged as he picked out two halved egg yolks from the boiled eggs with his chopsticks. “Just because,”
Because you pitied me? Because you were ashamed of me? Because you couldn’t face me in school without thinking about that incident caused by the girl’s parents?
“It’s not like that.” The boy said flatly, his eyes meeting yours with a resolute gaze when he noticed you withdrawing, getting lost in your thoughts. “This is the only place that sells naengmyeon all year.”
“What?” You muttered in disbelief.
“I have naengmyeon every Friday, even in winter. The food is good and I only live five minutes away.”
You nodded at his explanation. Perhaps you were overthinking the situation.
“I was also trying to hide most of my injuries from you.” He admitted in a low voice, barely audible above the white noise of the restaurant. Yugyeom took another mouthful of noodles into his mouth, chewing appreciatively as the refreshing flavours soothed his senses. “Fridays…” He paused, eyes wandering vacantly around the vicinity of the restaurant. “Fridays are gambling days for my uncle. He’ll gamble, lose, drink and come home for dinner. You know my older brother, Mark?”
“Yeah, I know Mark.” It was hard not to know about Mark. Before he graduated four years ago, rumours about him spread like wildfire throughout the entire school. The one rumour you distinctly remembered as a first-year student was that he maintained good grades by doing, for a lack of better word, favours, for his female teachers.
“Mark would rush me out of the house before our uncle got home. He acted as my uncle’s babysitter by cooking him dinner, and then as his punching bag when he had to take out his frustration. I was home once when it happened, some time last year. After that I made Mark agree for us to take turns.”
Your head started to spin as your brain worked to process this new information. “Wait so, the cuts, the bruises, the burns, all of that…?”
Yugyeom nodded, still staring beyond the double doors. The sun was beginning to set. In the back of his mind, he registered that his uncle would be home soon. “Honestly, Mark had it worse, especially in the first few months after.”
He meant after his parents passed away two years ago. A car accident. They were coming home from their anniversary dinner. It was raining. There was a truck going around the corner at insane speeds, towards their car. It swerved. Their car plummeted off a cliff. They died instantly, the aunties gossiped as they filtered in and out of the restaurant. Poor kids, they would remark, casting pitied looks at the brothers.
“Your mother, she’s really something else.” He said with a small smile while picking up a few pieces of cucumber and radish. “The first time I came in, the restaurant was about to close. She took one look at me and forced me to press a piece of frozen beef on my bruise. She talked to me the entire time she was dressing my wound, I swear my ears nearly fell off.”
That sounded exactly like your mother. She loved to nag, but it always came from a place of genuine concern. “Imagine being her daughter.” You joked, grateful for the slight comedic relief from the heavy nature of the words you shared. It was one of the few proper conversations you had with your desk partner.
“Sometimes I have to remind myself that she isn’t my mother.” Yugyeom said, his tone so broken and devastated that you felt your heart ache within your chest.
You placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, trying your best to provide him with some form, any form of comfort. “I’m sure she cares for you like her own son. Especially since she’s been making you dinner every Friday for the past two years.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“She even nurses your injuries.”
“But you do that too.” He pointed out without missing a beat, a teasing glint in his eyes as he finally turned to look at you.
“I…”
“Nevermind, forget I said anything.” Yugyeom replied with a knowing grin, returning back to his dinner.
I care about you too, a lot. You confessed silently, resting your heavy head on your palms as you watched him eat. The golden shine of the sun casted upon his pointed features. Despite the old scars and the new wounds, he glowed.
A part of you realised that after so many months, you had finally broken-down Kim Yugyeom’s iron walls. School would be very different from now on.
