The Real You
Title: The Real You
Pairing: Yesung/Ryeowook
Author: thundersquall
Rating: PG-13 (Yes, it's safe for once!)
Word count: 4,938
Summary: College!AU. Ryeowook hides a secret from his past, but he can’t keep it from his new roommate.
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of eating disorders.
Written based on a prompt from the lovely darleenk .
Also dedicated to the sweet hotarumyst , who writes some of the best YeWook I’ve ever read and drew me an insanely beautiful picture of the both of them. Thank you, love!
___
Ryeowook’s frankly petrified the day he leaves home to go to university, a four-hour train ride from his province.
He’s not afraid of going alone. Alone, he packs his three large bags in his bedroom, keeping his noise level as low as possible when he rummages through his drawers and closets so as not to wake his father; alone, he drags them to the train station, his body shaking with the effort; alone, he boards the train and settles into his seat for the ride to Seoul.
It’s only when the train’s started moving that he reaches into the front compartment of his knapsack and pulls out two items. One is a letter, handled so often that it’s crumpled and slightly grimy with finger marks, and the other is a photograph in a small frame.
Ryeowook looks at the letter first. He’s read it so many times that he has the words memorized by now, and the first line goes through his mind before he even registers the words printed on the page itself:
Dear Mr. Kim,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been offered a four-year scholarship to the School of Performing Arts at…
His heart swells up with pride, as always, and he reads the letter through, mouthing the words silently, before he turns then to the photograph. It’s slightly faded with age and shows a woman with kindly eyes, her arms around a chubby teenage boy of about 13 or 14 years old, both of them laughing into the camera. Ryeowook runs a fingertip gently over the glass of the frame, over the face of the woman, before he presses three fingers against the image of the chubby boy, blocking it out. He tries to remember when was the last time he’d laughed - 4? 5 years ago? Not after his mother passed away, that’s certain.
“Mom…” Ryeowook whispers under his breath, “I got the scholarship. I’m finally going to study music, like I always wanted to do, like you always wanted me to do. I can finally get away from my father. Aren’t you happy for me?”
It’s the only picture he still has of his mother, after his father burnt the rest, and even as his eyes well up with tears as he stares at his mother’s face, he never moves his fingers to uncover the chubby little boy who was once him, 5 years ago. He doesn’t want to think about himself or how he was, how he still is. He doesn’t need to see himself either; the image is seared into his mind.
The rattle of a cart jolts him out of his reverie and he looks up, blinking the tears away quickly, to see the train car attendant smiling down at him, a trolley of goodies in front of her. “Would you like anything?” she asks, gesturing.
Ryeowook looks at the cart, and the first thing he sees is a plate of dumplings, glistening and sticky and steaming, and his mother’s voice rises in his mind: My meat dumpling, Ryeowook, you’re my little meat dumpling, you’re so cute. He’s about to smile at the memory when his father’s voice, rough and harsh, emerges from the depths of his mind: You fat little piece of lard, you’re useless, all you do is eat and stuff yourself silly.
It’s as if the floodgates have opened, because suddenly Ryeowook’s assailed by all the sounds and scenes of the years from elementary to high school: kids shoving him, kids ostracizing him, and over the phantasmagorical whirl of images in his brain he hears their taunts, their laughter, every insult and every beating he’s ever had to endure ringing in his ears.
The bile rises in his throat before he can stop it and he can only just manage a quick shake of his head, his stomach cramping painfully as the attendant moves away. He fairly leaps out of his seat, staggering slightly, bolting into the bathroom at the end of the car where he barely has time to lock it before he’s over the toilet bowl, hands clutching the rim, heaving and heaving even though his stomach’s empty and nothing comes out except bitter bile and strings of saliva.
Nevertheless, when it’s over and he’s washed his face and made it back to his seat, he feels better - much cleaner and calmer, as it were. He’s able to close his eyes and drift off into a relatively untroubled sleep until the train finally pulls into Seoul Station and, alone, he drags his bags out to the bus stop indicated on the map his letter came with; alone, he gets on the bus; alone, he stares out with wide eyes at the bustling streets and counts down the bus stops to his new university and home.
No, Ryeowook’s never been afraid of being alone - he’s been alone ever since his mother died and his father decided that alcohol was preferable to raising a son by himself. What he’s petrified of is Seoul, the big city with all its temptations - temptations that will entice him into eating and make him even fatter than he already is and new people who will laugh at him and ostracise him again.
_______________________________________________________________________
The student leader of the residence hall, Leeteuk, seems nice enough, with a dimpled smile and a good dose of warm friendliness. He fusses like a mother hen over Ryeowook and his three huge bags. It makes Ryeowook a little uncomfortable at first; he’s not used to having someone pay him so much attention, and he replies to Leeteuk’s incessant questions only hesitantly, shrinking back into himself more with each one.
Leeteuk spends a good 45 minutes cooing over Ryeowook, and by the time he finally stops and moves on to business Ryeowook has a fairly good idea why he was made the student leader. He’s never met anyone, man or woman, who is this maternal.
“Your new roommate will be Yesung, he’s a performing arts major as well, in the year above you. He’s a nice person, don’t worry. He can be a little loud, and he’s clumsy and silly, but putting you with him will ground him, and he can help you in your studies.”
“Yesung?” Ryeowook asks, wondering why everyone in this residence hall seems to have odd names.
Leeteuk dimples. “His real name’s Kim Jongwoon, but we call him Yesung. Come on, I’ll take you to your room, he should be in there waiting. I told him you were coming today.”
“Why Yesung?” Ryeowook questions, as he stands and prepares to pick his luggage up.
Leeteuk arches an eyebrow at him. “You’ll have to hear him sing to understand why,” he says, smiling, and then he reaches over to tug the heavy bags out of Ryeowook’s hands. “Let me take these, Ryeowook - look at you, you’re so tiny and frail - how did you manage to lug these all the way from your home? It’s a wonder these bags didn’t squash you halfway here, you’re so thin!”
Ryeowook tenses up as Leeteuk laughs at his own joke and wonders, a sensation of cold prickling at his neck, why Leeteuk is lying to him. He decides that Leeteuk is not as nice as he seems after all; he’s cruel to lie to Ryeowook like that. If there’s one thing Ryeowook knows about himself, it’s that he’s far from thin.
______________________________________________________________________
Yesung’s exactly like Leeteuk described him: Friendly and cheerful and a little loud, but nothing Ryeowook can’t shut out if he needs to.
He’s also, quite possibly, one of the best looking men Ryeowook has ever seen, with intense dark eyes and lovely tanned skin and very pretty lips that Ryeowook finds himself staring at from the very first moment Leeteuk introduces them.
“I’ll help you unpack,” Yesung says once the door has shut behind them, and without waiting for Ryeowook to either agree or protest he climbs onto the bed that now belongs to Ryeowook without being embarrassed or asking permission, and Ryeowook realizes that Yesung’s probably so used to having the entire room to himself he thinks nothing of flopping on either bed. It makes him feel even more awkward, like he’s a disruption to Yesung’s life, and he doesn’t feel any better when Yesung draws one of Ryeowook’s bags up on to the bed next to him and begins pulling clothes unceremoniously out of it.
Yesung insists that Ryeowook dispenses with any honorifics as they chat, talking a mile a minute about the university and the lessons and how he’s so glad to have a roommate after a year of being by himself. Ryeowook just listens and nods and puts his things away in the empty cupboard on his side of the room, trying not to speak too much and draw any more attention to himself than is necessary.
Yesung makes him even more uncomfortable than Leeteuk did, now that he’s locked in a room and in such close proximity with the other man. He doesn’t recall when anyone has ever spoken so much to him, and Yesung’s easy friendliness is throwing him very much off balance and making him increasingly agitated. How in the world is he ever going to live with another person after years of being on his own? He’s almost beginning to wish he’d never left home, never come to university, never had to meet new people -
“Ryeowook? Hey, Ryeowook!”
Ryeowook jumps and swings around to see Yesung right behind him, and he takes a step back in shock, crashing rather painfully into the closet. No one has come this close to him in years, not unless they were about to hit him, and he panics, his body reacting before he knows it, conditioned by years of abuse: he puts his arms up in front of his face to protect it and slumps to the floor, curling up into a tight little ball, tucking his face into his knees.
Instead of the expected blows, however, all he feels is a pair of warm gentle hands on his wrists - so gentle, his mind registers in shock - and then his arms are tugged from his head and he looks up, fear flickering in his eyes, only to see Yesung hovering above him, looking worried.
“Are you all right? Are you in pain?”
Ryeowook’s so utterly unused to having someone look at him like that, with worry and kindness, someone checking him over for injuries rather than inflicting the injuries, that he literally freezes when Yesung, one hand still gripping his wrist, runs his other hand down his spine and pulls up his shirt to look at his back where he’d collided with the closet.
“You probably won’t even have a bruise, it looks fine,” Yesung announces, getting to his feet, still holding on to him so Ryeowook’s forced to get up as well or be pulled, even though his mind is still numb. “I just got a shock, you fell down so suddenly.”
He looks Ryeowook up and down, then smiles suddenly. “I got quite worried there, you seem so fragile.”
“Fragile?” Ryeowook repeats dazedly, Yesung’s hand warm and tight and comforting around his wrist.
“You’re so tiny, Ryeowook, you look like you could be broken if you just step a little harder on the floor,” Yesung chortles. He lifts up the hand holding Ryeowook’s wrist, showing how his fingers encircle the limb, meeting almost at the first knuckle. “You’re all small little bones, Ryeowook.”
Ryeowook’s heart plummets into his stomach at the words.
That night, after turning down Yesung’s offer to go for dinner together at the in-hall cafeteria, he tosses and turns in his bed, wondering why Leeteuk and Yesung were so nice to him, wondering why they aren’t snubbing him.
Then he remembers how they lied to him, and figures that they’re just teasing him, trying to coerce him into believing that he is as small as they say, before they laugh at him and tear him down again, and by that time it’ll be much too late, Ryeowook will already have been lulled into the comfort of thinking he has people around him who actually like him, and putting on weight, and oh god -
Ryeowook deals with this the only way he knows how: by slipping out of bed and padding to the bathroom past a sleeping Yesung snoring lightly on his own bed against the opposite wall, where he bends over the toilet bowl and heaves automatically, having done this so many times he doesn’t even need to stick his fingers down his throat anymore.
When he returns to bed, he feels much better.
____________________________________________________________________
Three months into university life, and Ryeowook finds, to his astonishment, that Yesung and Leeteuk and the people in his residence hall and classes seem to be actually, genuinely, nice.
Yesung, especially, seems to have developed a special fondness for him, ruffling his hair and slinging a casual arm around his shoulders as they sit or walk together, always inquiring after Ryeowook’s day, and generally making certain that he’s always there whenever Ryeowook might need him, whether it’s help with his music or simply someone to talk to.
Ryeowook, on his part, has never warmed up to someone as easily as he does to Yesung, and though he’s still hesitant, still holding back, day by day he feels the barriers he’s put up around himself being taken down, slowly but surely.
He’s afraid of being hurt, more than anything else, but he somehow doesn’t believe Yesung would do that to him. Yesung’s sweet and affectionate and clumsy and endearingly awkward, and in that entire package there doesn’t seem to be a single monstrous bone.
But he still tries, as best as he can, not to get too close to Yesung. He reminds himself of his father and how caring he was before his mother died, and how this taught him that people can turn on you faster than they will befriend you.
________________________________________________________________________
Yesung introduces him to his circle of friends, all of whom live in the same residence hall. There’s Kangin, a burly physical education major who’s also Leeteuk’s boyfriend (when Leeteuk had first introduced him to Ryeowook as such, with a shy smile on his face, Ryeowook had blushed and Kangin had laughed uproariously, ruffled his hair and called him ‘adorable’, which only made Ryeowook blush harder). Then there’s Sungmin, a sweet-natured second-year studying veterinary science, and lastly Kibum, a quiet and serious first-year reading law.
They’re an eclectic group, but the dynamics work well, and Ryeowook’s amazed at how quickly and unquestioningly they accept him as part of them.
He suspects it may be Yesung’s influence as first - that they’re only being polite because he’s the new kid and he’s their good friend’s roommate - but then one day Sungmin texts him and asks him to go shopping together in town, just the two of them, which he does after some cajoling. He finds it to be the most fun he’s had in a long while, watching Sungmin go into shop after shop and trying on everything in sight, twirling and posing ridiculously in front of him.
A while after, Kibum bumps into him in the school library and asks him to go for lunch, and he does, but of course he doesn’t eat, just watches Kibum as he scarfs down a plate of pasta (Ryeowook winces inwardly as the little counter in his brain tots up the number of calories in that), while he sips at a glass of unsweetened iced tea. Kibum’s not as talkative as Sungmin, but they’re closer in age and get along well enough, and Ryeowook likes the kind of deep and involved conversations he always has with Kibum.
Kangin and Leeteuk never stop fussing over him whenever they see him, acting every inch like an unofficial mother and father. The first time Ryeowook goes out with them, they drag him off to the amusement park an hour’s bus ride from campus where he clings on to Kangin’s reassuringly beefy arm on every ride and screams his lungs out, but it’s exhilarating nonetheless.
On one memorable group outing, they head to a noraebang, and then Ryeowook finds out why Yesung got his nickname - his voice is beautiful, husky and low and raw, stirring up emotions in Ryeowook that he never even knew he had, and Ryeowook wonders how he’s lived for months with the man without knowing the explosive talent he has inside.
Despite the fun he has with each of them, though, Ryeowook thinks that he enjoys Yesung’s company best of all.
Even when they’re doing nothing but lazing in their shared room, Yesung reading a manhwa on his bed while Ryeowook pores over music sheets on his, there’s a comfort and togetherness that Ryeowook can’t explain. It’s just an effect Yesung has on him; whether he’s laughing and talking or quietly engrossed in whatever activity he’s engaged in, Ryeowook finds him strangely charming either way.
____________________________________________________________________
It’s been a long while since Ryeowook had people he could call friends, and he’s happy that he has the group now. They’re never judgemental about his weight, they’ve never teased him even once, and it gives him the strength to skip more meals, to carry on with his regime, because he knows that once he slackens and goes back to being the fattie he used to be, they won’t want to associate with him anymore.
He envies them and how they can all eat so much without putting on weight - Kangin is all muscle, Leeteuk is thin and soft, Sungmin and Kibum are fit and trim, and Yesung - well, Yesung’s practically perfect to Ryeowook, all softly defined muscles and firm abs that Ryeowook finds himself covertly staring at whenever Yesung changes in their room.
He’s always managed to dodge meals with them by insisting he isn’t hungry, or that he’d just eaten before meeting them, but one day, when they’re in the cafeteria for dinner and he’s again refusing to eat, going back to his room instead with excuses of overdue assignments, Yesung follows him with a tray of food and a worried frown on his face. He sits down on his bed, putting the tray on his side table, and pats the spot next to him to indicate that Ryeowook should sit there.
“Ryeowook, why aren’t you eating again?” he asks, his eyes dark and piercing, and Ryeowook has to look away from him.
“I told you, I’m not hungry, I had a really late lunch,” he mumbles.
“All you had for lunch was an apple,” Yesung says incredulously.
“I ate again after that,” Ryeowook lies.
“When? You didn’t even leave our room, we were both here all day mugging. And this isn’t the first time, Ryeowook, you keep refusing to eat, and you never seem to, I can see that.”
Ryeowook begins to shake; he doesn’t know what to say or do. He’s never realized that Yesung watches him this closely.
Yesung puts an arm around him and Ryeowook leans his head against Yesung’s shoulder quite unconsciously, slightly dizzy from his fear of Yesung’s questions and the constant lack of food.
“Are you really okay, Ryeowook?” he hears Yesung whisper softly against his ear, his breath tickling him. “I’m worried, I don’t like seeing you so thin, and you’re getting thinner by the day.”
Ryeowook looks up at him then, hardly daring to believe what he’s just heard. “Do you really mean it? Do you think I’m thin?”
Yesung looks down at his anxious, pinched face, and exhales loudly. “Shit, Ryeowook,” he says, and then he’s lifting Ryeowook up and pulling him to the mirror, where he pulls up Ryeowook’s oversized t-shirt, ignoring his outraged cry of “Yesung!”
“Look,” Yesung says exasperatedly.
He reaches out and his hand flutters over Ryeowook’s chest, fingers tracing the clear lines of his ribs. “Look at that, I can count every bone you have.” He moves his hand up to Ryeowook’s collarbone, standing out starkly like ridges under his skin. “You’re so bony, Ryeowook.” His hand moves back down, over Ryeowook’s body, and Ryeowook begins to feel uncomfortably warm even in the evening autumn chill as Yesung’s fingers follow the sharp curve of his hipbone, peeking out above his baggy jeans. “Look at this, Ryeowook, you have barely enough flesh on you.” And then his hand floats upwards again, cupping his face, thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. “Even your face, Ryeowook, you’re so thin, far too thin, why are you still starving yourself?”
“I’m not,” Ryeowook finds his voice and jerks away, flushing hotly as he tugs his shirt back down.
“Mirrors don’t lie, Ryeowook. That’s the real you in there. How long has this been going on?”
Ryeowook gulps. He tries to open his mouth and deny it, push aside whatever Yesung’s implying, but nothing comes out.
“Tell me.”
Yesung’s voice is so firm that Ryeowook can’t do anything but answer.
“I - I don’t know,” he whispers, twisting a loose thread at the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “3, maybe 4. Since I was in middle school. When my mom… when she died. And - and she didn’t mind me being chubby, she loved me, but - but everyone else laughed at me, all the kids in school, and my father, he hated it, he hated me, and I - I didn’t want to be fat anymore, after she died…”
There’s a long silence, and he looks up fearfully, dreading what he’ll see in Yesung’s face. He’ll hate me, his mind screams desperately, despise me like everyone else…
But Yesung’s eyes are gentle, and to Ryeowook’s surprise, he takes his hand and leads him back to the bed, where Ryeowook tucks his legs under him and watches as Yesung picks up the tray.
He half-thinks Yesung’s going to make him eat, and he tenses up, ready to battle, but Yesung doesn’t do that; instead, he begins eating by himself, not talking, not looking at Ryeowook. Ryeowook finds himself fixated on the spoon in Yesung’s hand, staring blankly as it moves from tray to Yesung’s mouth, back to the tray, the food disappearing almost magically to Ryeowook.
He’s almost fascinated; never before has he paid so much attention to food, or to eating it, and there’s something so alluring about watching someone eating so close to him. He’s in such a daze, he hardly notices when Yesung finally speaks, his voice low, “Ryeowook-ah, there’s nothing bad or scary about eating.”
“Huh?” Ryeowook says, disoriented.
“I said, there’s nothing wrong, or scary, about eating,” Yesung repeats, this time louder and stronger, and he lifts his head and smiles. “Want to try?”
And Ryeowook can’t do anything but sit glued to the spot as Yesung scoops up a spoonful of rice, a thankfully small one, and brings it to his lips. He opens his mouth slowly, and Yesung slides the spoon in, and smiles even wider when Ryeowook begins to chew tentatively.
It takes Ryeowook forever to swallow that first spoonful - he just keeps masticating at it, worried and apprehensive, until it’s nothing but liquid mush and Yesung says patiently, “Ryeowook-ah, it’s okay, just swallow it.” So he does, painfully and with difficulty, but he does. It’s amazing how it feels as it travels down his oesophagus, a lump of carbohydrates that feels so different from his staple of apples and bananas.
“Another one?” Yesung asks gently, but Ryeowook shakes his head quickly. “Just one more,” he coaxes, and Ryeowook nods reluctantly.
Yesung feeds him the way he did with the previous spoonful, and when Ryeowook’s done he smiles again, putting the tray aside and wrapping his arms around him, hugging him tightly.
“I’m really proud of you,” he says, and Ryeowook melts gratefully into his arms.
__________________________________________________________________
That night, though, after Yesung falls asleep, Ryeowook gets out of bed again and pads off to their bathroom, where he hunches over the bowl, praying and hoping not too much time has passed and the carbohydrates haven’t made their way into his system.
It’s odd, now that he thinks back on it, how he gave in to Yesung earlier, and he’s assailed by guilt as he prepares to throw the food back up, swearing that no matter what Yesung says or does he’ll never be so weak again.
For the first time ever, nothing comes back out.
“Come on, come on,” Ryeowook mumbles desperately to himself, hoping fervently the food isn’t completely digested.
Then he hears a knock on the door, followed by Yesung’s sleep-rough voice. “Ryeowook? Are you okay? What are you doing in there?”
“Fuck,” Ryeowook swears, panicked, and he gets down on his knees, putting his face over the bowl. “Fuck, come out fast - “
“Ryeowook, I’m coming in if you don’t open up.”
In desperation Ryeowook jams three fingers into his mouth and down his throat, nails scraping the soft tissue, and just as Yesung pushes the door open he throws up explosively all over his hand, though what comes out is nothing more than bile.
He barely has time to be upset over the fact that he was too late in getting the food up when Yesung yanks him to his feet by his collar and shoves him brutally into the shower stall, slamming him so hard into the tiled wall he crumples to the ground again, weak from his vomiting and the lack of food. Yesung turns the tap on and a harsh spray of ice-cold water pours down on him, making him cry out.
Ryeowook’s fully drenched when Yesung steps in under the water as well and lifts him to his feet before pressing him painfully into the wall again, both of them already shivering from the cold of the water and the autumn air. He shuts his eyes, preparing for the blow he thinks Yesung’s going to give him, but all he feels is something hard against his forehead and wet hands on his cheeks and when he opens his eyes Yesung has his forehead pressed to his and his fingers stroking the delicate skin of his face.
“Don’t torture yourself like this, Ryeowook, please,” he says brokenly, and Ryeowook realizes with a dull shock that Yesung is crying, crying over him.
“Please, Ryeowook, it kills me to see you like this, don’t hurt yourself anymore,” Yesung sobs, and Ryeowook feels his own tears welling up.
“I won’t, I’m sorry, I promise I won’t,” he whispers back, his arms going around Yesung’s neck, and with a boldness he never knew he had he leans forward and kisses him, hearing and feeling Yesung’s sharp surprised intake of breath before he begins kissing Ryeowook back, fingers tight on his face and pressing him even harder into the wall.
It’s the only wake-up call Ryeowook’s ever needed.
_________________________________________________________________
The next day, Yesung feeds him three spoonfuls, and he eats it all and keeps it in.
The day after that, five.
One week later, Ryeowook’s eating up to six spoonfuls of proper food by himself, without Yesung’s help.
__________________________________________________________________
“You’re joining us for lunch today? That’s great, Ryeowook!” Sungmin squeals when he sees Ryeowook come into the cafeteria, hand in hand with Yesung.
“I am,” Ryeowook says softly. He feels the familiar knot of fear bubbling in his chest as he glances at the long buffet-style counter, around which the students are milling and helping themselves to, and he looks up at Yesung, who smiles and squeezes his hand reassuringly as he leads Ryeowook there and hands him an empty plate.
Ryeowook walks slowly up to the first tray. Beijing fried rice, the card below it says, and Yesung nods encouragingly. “Go on, try some. The cook here, Hankyung, is Chinese, and we love his fried rice, he’s an amazing cook.”
Ryeowook picks up the large (alarmingly so, to him) ladle next to the tray and cautiously dumps a small heap of rice on his plate. The smell rises up into his nose enticingly, and he hesitates, eyes flicking to Yesung again. He’s right there next to him, his presence comforting.
Then, before he can think any more on it, he dips the ladle into the rice again and scoops another heap, larger this time, onto his plate before turning to Yesung, his eyes sparkling. It still isn’t very much at all; it’s probably half of what Yesung would eat, and maybe a quarter of Kangin’s normal portions, but it’s much, much more than he’s eaten at one sitting for almost 4 years, and Yesung knows that.
Later, when he’s finished every last grain (it’s every bit as delicious as Yesung promised), his stomach is stretched uncomfortably full and he has to struggle to repress the urge to throw up. But the way Yesung beams at him, almost blindingly bright, makes it all worth it.
_____________________________________________________________________
Ryeowook never manages to put on much weight at all even when he starts eating normally again, the years of undernourishment taking their toll and keeping his frame small and delicate.
But he’s healthy, and he no longer questions himself or the others around him.
And he is loved, very much so, as much as his mother used to love him, as he is reminded each day by the way Yesung kisses him or smiles at him or holds his hand, and by the way Yesung tucks him snugly against his side when they’re in bed and rubs his hand slowly over the bare skin of his stomach while he sings softly into his ear.
Pairing: Yesung/Ryeowook
Author: thundersquall
Rating: PG-13 (Yes, it's safe for once!)
Word count: 4,938
Summary: College!AU. Ryeowook hides a secret from his past, but he can’t keep it from his new roommate.
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of eating disorders.
Written based on a prompt from the lovely darleenk .
Also dedicated to the sweet hotarumyst , who writes some of the best YeWook I’ve ever read and drew me an insanely beautiful picture of the both of them. Thank you, love!
___
Ryeowook’s frankly petrified the day he leaves home to go to university, a four-hour train ride from his province.
He’s not afraid of going alone. Alone, he packs his three large bags in his bedroom, keeping his noise level as low as possible when he rummages through his drawers and closets so as not to wake his father; alone, he drags them to the train station, his body shaking with the effort; alone, he boards the train and settles into his seat for the ride to Seoul.
It’s only when the train’s started moving that he reaches into the front compartment of his knapsack and pulls out two items. One is a letter, handled so often that it’s crumpled and slightly grimy with finger marks, and the other is a photograph in a small frame.
Ryeowook looks at the letter first. He’s read it so many times that he has the words memorized by now, and the first line goes through his mind before he even registers the words printed on the page itself:
Dear Mr. Kim,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been offered a four-year scholarship to the School of Performing Arts at…
His heart swells up with pride, as always, and he reads the letter through, mouthing the words silently, before he turns then to the photograph. It’s slightly faded with age and shows a woman with kindly eyes, her arms around a chubby teenage boy of about 13 or 14 years old, both of them laughing into the camera. Ryeowook runs a fingertip gently over the glass of the frame, over the face of the woman, before he presses three fingers against the image of the chubby boy, blocking it out. He tries to remember when was the last time he’d laughed - 4? 5 years ago? Not after his mother passed away, that’s certain.
“Mom…” Ryeowook whispers under his breath, “I got the scholarship. I’m finally going to study music, like I always wanted to do, like you always wanted me to do. I can finally get away from my father. Aren’t you happy for me?”
It’s the only picture he still has of his mother, after his father burnt the rest, and even as his eyes well up with tears as he stares at his mother’s face, he never moves his fingers to uncover the chubby little boy who was once him, 5 years ago. He doesn’t want to think about himself or how he was, how he still is. He doesn’t need to see himself either; the image is seared into his mind.
The rattle of a cart jolts him out of his reverie and he looks up, blinking the tears away quickly, to see the train car attendant smiling down at him, a trolley of goodies in front of her. “Would you like anything?” she asks, gesturing.
Ryeowook looks at the cart, and the first thing he sees is a plate of dumplings, glistening and sticky and steaming, and his mother’s voice rises in his mind: My meat dumpling, Ryeowook, you’re my little meat dumpling, you’re so cute. He’s about to smile at the memory when his father’s voice, rough and harsh, emerges from the depths of his mind: You fat little piece of lard, you’re useless, all you do is eat and stuff yourself silly.
It’s as if the floodgates have opened, because suddenly Ryeowook’s assailed by all the sounds and scenes of the years from elementary to high school: kids shoving him, kids ostracizing him, and over the phantasmagorical whirl of images in his brain he hears their taunts, their laughter, every insult and every beating he’s ever had to endure ringing in his ears.
The bile rises in his throat before he can stop it and he can only just manage a quick shake of his head, his stomach cramping painfully as the attendant moves away. He fairly leaps out of his seat, staggering slightly, bolting into the bathroom at the end of the car where he barely has time to lock it before he’s over the toilet bowl, hands clutching the rim, heaving and heaving even though his stomach’s empty and nothing comes out except bitter bile and strings of saliva.
Nevertheless, when it’s over and he’s washed his face and made it back to his seat, he feels better - much cleaner and calmer, as it were. He’s able to close his eyes and drift off into a relatively untroubled sleep until the train finally pulls into Seoul Station and, alone, he drags his bags out to the bus stop indicated on the map his letter came with; alone, he gets on the bus; alone, he stares out with wide eyes at the bustling streets and counts down the bus stops to his new university and home.
No, Ryeowook’s never been afraid of being alone - he’s been alone ever since his mother died and his father decided that alcohol was preferable to raising a son by himself. What he’s petrified of is Seoul, the big city with all its temptations - temptations that will entice him into eating and make him even fatter than he already is and new people who will laugh at him and ostracise him again.
_______________________________________________________________________
The student leader of the residence hall, Leeteuk, seems nice enough, with a dimpled smile and a good dose of warm friendliness. He fusses like a mother hen over Ryeowook and his three huge bags. It makes Ryeowook a little uncomfortable at first; he’s not used to having someone pay him so much attention, and he replies to Leeteuk’s incessant questions only hesitantly, shrinking back into himself more with each one.
Leeteuk spends a good 45 minutes cooing over Ryeowook, and by the time he finally stops and moves on to business Ryeowook has a fairly good idea why he was made the student leader. He’s never met anyone, man or woman, who is this maternal.
“Your new roommate will be Yesung, he’s a performing arts major as well, in the year above you. He’s a nice person, don’t worry. He can be a little loud, and he’s clumsy and silly, but putting you with him will ground him, and he can help you in your studies.”
“Yesung?” Ryeowook asks, wondering why everyone in this residence hall seems to have odd names.
Leeteuk dimples. “His real name’s Kim Jongwoon, but we call him Yesung. Come on, I’ll take you to your room, he should be in there waiting. I told him you were coming today.”
“Why Yesung?” Ryeowook questions, as he stands and prepares to pick his luggage up.
Leeteuk arches an eyebrow at him. “You’ll have to hear him sing to understand why,” he says, smiling, and then he reaches over to tug the heavy bags out of Ryeowook’s hands. “Let me take these, Ryeowook - look at you, you’re so tiny and frail - how did you manage to lug these all the way from your home? It’s a wonder these bags didn’t squash you halfway here, you’re so thin!”
Ryeowook tenses up as Leeteuk laughs at his own joke and wonders, a sensation of cold prickling at his neck, why Leeteuk is lying to him. He decides that Leeteuk is not as nice as he seems after all; he’s cruel to lie to Ryeowook like that. If there’s one thing Ryeowook knows about himself, it’s that he’s far from thin.
______________________________________________________________________
Yesung’s exactly like Leeteuk described him: Friendly and cheerful and a little loud, but nothing Ryeowook can’t shut out if he needs to.
He’s also, quite possibly, one of the best looking men Ryeowook has ever seen, with intense dark eyes and lovely tanned skin and very pretty lips that Ryeowook finds himself staring at from the very first moment Leeteuk introduces them.
“I’ll help you unpack,” Yesung says once the door has shut behind them, and without waiting for Ryeowook to either agree or protest he climbs onto the bed that now belongs to Ryeowook without being embarrassed or asking permission, and Ryeowook realizes that Yesung’s probably so used to having the entire room to himself he thinks nothing of flopping on either bed. It makes him feel even more awkward, like he’s a disruption to Yesung’s life, and he doesn’t feel any better when Yesung draws one of Ryeowook’s bags up on to the bed next to him and begins pulling clothes unceremoniously out of it.
Yesung insists that Ryeowook dispenses with any honorifics as they chat, talking a mile a minute about the university and the lessons and how he’s so glad to have a roommate after a year of being by himself. Ryeowook just listens and nods and puts his things away in the empty cupboard on his side of the room, trying not to speak too much and draw any more attention to himself than is necessary.
Yesung makes him even more uncomfortable than Leeteuk did, now that he’s locked in a room and in such close proximity with the other man. He doesn’t recall when anyone has ever spoken so much to him, and Yesung’s easy friendliness is throwing him very much off balance and making him increasingly agitated. How in the world is he ever going to live with another person after years of being on his own? He’s almost beginning to wish he’d never left home, never come to university, never had to meet new people -
“Ryeowook? Hey, Ryeowook!”
Ryeowook jumps and swings around to see Yesung right behind him, and he takes a step back in shock, crashing rather painfully into the closet. No one has come this close to him in years, not unless they were about to hit him, and he panics, his body reacting before he knows it, conditioned by years of abuse: he puts his arms up in front of his face to protect it and slumps to the floor, curling up into a tight little ball, tucking his face into his knees.
Instead of the expected blows, however, all he feels is a pair of warm gentle hands on his wrists - so gentle, his mind registers in shock - and then his arms are tugged from his head and he looks up, fear flickering in his eyes, only to see Yesung hovering above him, looking worried.
“Are you all right? Are you in pain?”
Ryeowook’s so utterly unused to having someone look at him like that, with worry and kindness, someone checking him over for injuries rather than inflicting the injuries, that he literally freezes when Yesung, one hand still gripping his wrist, runs his other hand down his spine and pulls up his shirt to look at his back where he’d collided with the closet.
“You probably won’t even have a bruise, it looks fine,” Yesung announces, getting to his feet, still holding on to him so Ryeowook’s forced to get up as well or be pulled, even though his mind is still numb. “I just got a shock, you fell down so suddenly.”
He looks Ryeowook up and down, then smiles suddenly. “I got quite worried there, you seem so fragile.”
“Fragile?” Ryeowook repeats dazedly, Yesung’s hand warm and tight and comforting around his wrist.
“You’re so tiny, Ryeowook, you look like you could be broken if you just step a little harder on the floor,” Yesung chortles. He lifts up the hand holding Ryeowook’s wrist, showing how his fingers encircle the limb, meeting almost at the first knuckle. “You’re all small little bones, Ryeowook.”
Ryeowook’s heart plummets into his stomach at the words.
That night, after turning down Yesung’s offer to go for dinner together at the in-hall cafeteria, he tosses and turns in his bed, wondering why Leeteuk and Yesung were so nice to him, wondering why they aren’t snubbing him.
Then he remembers how they lied to him, and figures that they’re just teasing him, trying to coerce him into believing that he is as small as they say, before they laugh at him and tear him down again, and by that time it’ll be much too late, Ryeowook will already have been lulled into the comfort of thinking he has people around him who actually like him, and putting on weight, and oh god -
Ryeowook deals with this the only way he knows how: by slipping out of bed and padding to the bathroom past a sleeping Yesung snoring lightly on his own bed against the opposite wall, where he bends over the toilet bowl and heaves automatically, having done this so many times he doesn’t even need to stick his fingers down his throat anymore.
When he returns to bed, he feels much better.
____________________________________________________________________
Three months into university life, and Ryeowook finds, to his astonishment, that Yesung and Leeteuk and the people in his residence hall and classes seem to be actually, genuinely, nice.
Yesung, especially, seems to have developed a special fondness for him, ruffling his hair and slinging a casual arm around his shoulders as they sit or walk together, always inquiring after Ryeowook’s day, and generally making certain that he’s always there whenever Ryeowook might need him, whether it’s help with his music or simply someone to talk to.
Ryeowook, on his part, has never warmed up to someone as easily as he does to Yesung, and though he’s still hesitant, still holding back, day by day he feels the barriers he’s put up around himself being taken down, slowly but surely.
He’s afraid of being hurt, more than anything else, but he somehow doesn’t believe Yesung would do that to him. Yesung’s sweet and affectionate and clumsy and endearingly awkward, and in that entire package there doesn’t seem to be a single monstrous bone.
But he still tries, as best as he can, not to get too close to Yesung. He reminds himself of his father and how caring he was before his mother died, and how this taught him that people can turn on you faster than they will befriend you.
________________________________________________________________________
Yesung introduces him to his circle of friends, all of whom live in the same residence hall. There’s Kangin, a burly physical education major who’s also Leeteuk’s boyfriend (when Leeteuk had first introduced him to Ryeowook as such, with a shy smile on his face, Ryeowook had blushed and Kangin had laughed uproariously, ruffled his hair and called him ‘adorable’, which only made Ryeowook blush harder). Then there’s Sungmin, a sweet-natured second-year studying veterinary science, and lastly Kibum, a quiet and serious first-year reading law.
They’re an eclectic group, but the dynamics work well, and Ryeowook’s amazed at how quickly and unquestioningly they accept him as part of them.
He suspects it may be Yesung’s influence as first - that they’re only being polite because he’s the new kid and he’s their good friend’s roommate - but then one day Sungmin texts him and asks him to go shopping together in town, just the two of them, which he does after some cajoling. He finds it to be the most fun he’s had in a long while, watching Sungmin go into shop after shop and trying on everything in sight, twirling and posing ridiculously in front of him.
A while after, Kibum bumps into him in the school library and asks him to go for lunch, and he does, but of course he doesn’t eat, just watches Kibum as he scarfs down a plate of pasta (Ryeowook winces inwardly as the little counter in his brain tots up the number of calories in that), while he sips at a glass of unsweetened iced tea. Kibum’s not as talkative as Sungmin, but they’re closer in age and get along well enough, and Ryeowook likes the kind of deep and involved conversations he always has with Kibum.
Kangin and Leeteuk never stop fussing over him whenever they see him, acting every inch like an unofficial mother and father. The first time Ryeowook goes out with them, they drag him off to the amusement park an hour’s bus ride from campus where he clings on to Kangin’s reassuringly beefy arm on every ride and screams his lungs out, but it’s exhilarating nonetheless.
On one memorable group outing, they head to a noraebang, and then Ryeowook finds out why Yesung got his nickname - his voice is beautiful, husky and low and raw, stirring up emotions in Ryeowook that he never even knew he had, and Ryeowook wonders how he’s lived for months with the man without knowing the explosive talent he has inside.
Despite the fun he has with each of them, though, Ryeowook thinks that he enjoys Yesung’s company best of all.
Even when they’re doing nothing but lazing in their shared room, Yesung reading a manhwa on his bed while Ryeowook pores over music sheets on his, there’s a comfort and togetherness that Ryeowook can’t explain. It’s just an effect Yesung has on him; whether he’s laughing and talking or quietly engrossed in whatever activity he’s engaged in, Ryeowook finds him strangely charming either way.
____________________________________________________________________
It’s been a long while since Ryeowook had people he could call friends, and he’s happy that he has the group now. They’re never judgemental about his weight, they’ve never teased him even once, and it gives him the strength to skip more meals, to carry on with his regime, because he knows that once he slackens and goes back to being the fattie he used to be, they won’t want to associate with him anymore.
He envies them and how they can all eat so much without putting on weight - Kangin is all muscle, Leeteuk is thin and soft, Sungmin and Kibum are fit and trim, and Yesung - well, Yesung’s practically perfect to Ryeowook, all softly defined muscles and firm abs that Ryeowook finds himself covertly staring at whenever Yesung changes in their room.
He’s always managed to dodge meals with them by insisting he isn’t hungry, or that he’d just eaten before meeting them, but one day, when they’re in the cafeteria for dinner and he’s again refusing to eat, going back to his room instead with excuses of overdue assignments, Yesung follows him with a tray of food and a worried frown on his face. He sits down on his bed, putting the tray on his side table, and pats the spot next to him to indicate that Ryeowook should sit there.
“Ryeowook, why aren’t you eating again?” he asks, his eyes dark and piercing, and Ryeowook has to look away from him.
“I told you, I’m not hungry, I had a really late lunch,” he mumbles.
“All you had for lunch was an apple,” Yesung says incredulously.
“I ate again after that,” Ryeowook lies.
“When? You didn’t even leave our room, we were both here all day mugging. And this isn’t the first time, Ryeowook, you keep refusing to eat, and you never seem to, I can see that.”
Ryeowook begins to shake; he doesn’t know what to say or do. He’s never realized that Yesung watches him this closely.
Yesung puts an arm around him and Ryeowook leans his head against Yesung’s shoulder quite unconsciously, slightly dizzy from his fear of Yesung’s questions and the constant lack of food.
“Are you really okay, Ryeowook?” he hears Yesung whisper softly against his ear, his breath tickling him. “I’m worried, I don’t like seeing you so thin, and you’re getting thinner by the day.”
Ryeowook looks up at him then, hardly daring to believe what he’s just heard. “Do you really mean it? Do you think I’m thin?”
Yesung looks down at his anxious, pinched face, and exhales loudly. “Shit, Ryeowook,” he says, and then he’s lifting Ryeowook up and pulling him to the mirror, where he pulls up Ryeowook’s oversized t-shirt, ignoring his outraged cry of “Yesung!”
“Look,” Yesung says exasperatedly.
He reaches out and his hand flutters over Ryeowook’s chest, fingers tracing the clear lines of his ribs. “Look at that, I can count every bone you have.” He moves his hand up to Ryeowook’s collarbone, standing out starkly like ridges under his skin. “You’re so bony, Ryeowook.” His hand moves back down, over Ryeowook’s body, and Ryeowook begins to feel uncomfortably warm even in the evening autumn chill as Yesung’s fingers follow the sharp curve of his hipbone, peeking out above his baggy jeans. “Look at this, Ryeowook, you have barely enough flesh on you.” And then his hand floats upwards again, cupping his face, thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. “Even your face, Ryeowook, you’re so thin, far too thin, why are you still starving yourself?”
“I’m not,” Ryeowook finds his voice and jerks away, flushing hotly as he tugs his shirt back down.
“Mirrors don’t lie, Ryeowook. That’s the real you in there. How long has this been going on?”
Ryeowook gulps. He tries to open his mouth and deny it, push aside whatever Yesung’s implying, but nothing comes out.
“Tell me.”
Yesung’s voice is so firm that Ryeowook can’t do anything but answer.
“I - I don’t know,” he whispers, twisting a loose thread at the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “3, maybe 4. Since I was in middle school. When my mom… when she died. And - and she didn’t mind me being chubby, she loved me, but - but everyone else laughed at me, all the kids in school, and my father, he hated it, he hated me, and I - I didn’t want to be fat anymore, after she died…”
There’s a long silence, and he looks up fearfully, dreading what he’ll see in Yesung’s face. He’ll hate me, his mind screams desperately, despise me like everyone else…
But Yesung’s eyes are gentle, and to Ryeowook’s surprise, he takes his hand and leads him back to the bed, where Ryeowook tucks his legs under him and watches as Yesung picks up the tray.
He half-thinks Yesung’s going to make him eat, and he tenses up, ready to battle, but Yesung doesn’t do that; instead, he begins eating by himself, not talking, not looking at Ryeowook. Ryeowook finds himself fixated on the spoon in Yesung’s hand, staring blankly as it moves from tray to Yesung’s mouth, back to the tray, the food disappearing almost magically to Ryeowook.
He’s almost fascinated; never before has he paid so much attention to food, or to eating it, and there’s something so alluring about watching someone eating so close to him. He’s in such a daze, he hardly notices when Yesung finally speaks, his voice low, “Ryeowook-ah, there’s nothing bad or scary about eating.”
“Huh?” Ryeowook says, disoriented.
“I said, there’s nothing wrong, or scary, about eating,” Yesung repeats, this time louder and stronger, and he lifts his head and smiles. “Want to try?”
And Ryeowook can’t do anything but sit glued to the spot as Yesung scoops up a spoonful of rice, a thankfully small one, and brings it to his lips. He opens his mouth slowly, and Yesung slides the spoon in, and smiles even wider when Ryeowook begins to chew tentatively.
It takes Ryeowook forever to swallow that first spoonful - he just keeps masticating at it, worried and apprehensive, until it’s nothing but liquid mush and Yesung says patiently, “Ryeowook-ah, it’s okay, just swallow it.” So he does, painfully and with difficulty, but he does. It’s amazing how it feels as it travels down his oesophagus, a lump of carbohydrates that feels so different from his staple of apples and bananas.
“Another one?” Yesung asks gently, but Ryeowook shakes his head quickly. “Just one more,” he coaxes, and Ryeowook nods reluctantly.
Yesung feeds him the way he did with the previous spoonful, and when Ryeowook’s done he smiles again, putting the tray aside and wrapping his arms around him, hugging him tightly.
“I’m really proud of you,” he says, and Ryeowook melts gratefully into his arms.
__________________________________________________________________
That night, though, after Yesung falls asleep, Ryeowook gets out of bed again and pads off to their bathroom, where he hunches over the bowl, praying and hoping not too much time has passed and the carbohydrates haven’t made their way into his system.
It’s odd, now that he thinks back on it, how he gave in to Yesung earlier, and he’s assailed by guilt as he prepares to throw the food back up, swearing that no matter what Yesung says or does he’ll never be so weak again.
For the first time ever, nothing comes back out.
“Come on, come on,” Ryeowook mumbles desperately to himself, hoping fervently the food isn’t completely digested.
Then he hears a knock on the door, followed by Yesung’s sleep-rough voice. “Ryeowook? Are you okay? What are you doing in there?”
“Fuck,” Ryeowook swears, panicked, and he gets down on his knees, putting his face over the bowl. “Fuck, come out fast - “
“Ryeowook, I’m coming in if you don’t open up.”
In desperation Ryeowook jams three fingers into his mouth and down his throat, nails scraping the soft tissue, and just as Yesung pushes the door open he throws up explosively all over his hand, though what comes out is nothing more than bile.
He barely has time to be upset over the fact that he was too late in getting the food up when Yesung yanks him to his feet by his collar and shoves him brutally into the shower stall, slamming him so hard into the tiled wall he crumples to the ground again, weak from his vomiting and the lack of food. Yesung turns the tap on and a harsh spray of ice-cold water pours down on him, making him cry out.
Ryeowook’s fully drenched when Yesung steps in under the water as well and lifts him to his feet before pressing him painfully into the wall again, both of them already shivering from the cold of the water and the autumn air. He shuts his eyes, preparing for the blow he thinks Yesung’s going to give him, but all he feels is something hard against his forehead and wet hands on his cheeks and when he opens his eyes Yesung has his forehead pressed to his and his fingers stroking the delicate skin of his face.
“Don’t torture yourself like this, Ryeowook, please,” he says brokenly, and Ryeowook realizes with a dull shock that Yesung is crying, crying over him.
“Please, Ryeowook, it kills me to see you like this, don’t hurt yourself anymore,” Yesung sobs, and Ryeowook feels his own tears welling up.
“I won’t, I’m sorry, I promise I won’t,” he whispers back, his arms going around Yesung’s neck, and with a boldness he never knew he had he leans forward and kisses him, hearing and feeling Yesung’s sharp surprised intake of breath before he begins kissing Ryeowook back, fingers tight on his face and pressing him even harder into the wall.
It’s the only wake-up call Ryeowook’s ever needed.
_________________________________________________________________
The next day, Yesung feeds him three spoonfuls, and he eats it all and keeps it in.
The day after that, five.
One week later, Ryeowook’s eating up to six spoonfuls of proper food by himself, without Yesung’s help.
__________________________________________________________________
“You’re joining us for lunch today? That’s great, Ryeowook!” Sungmin squeals when he sees Ryeowook come into the cafeteria, hand in hand with Yesung.
“I am,” Ryeowook says softly. He feels the familiar knot of fear bubbling in his chest as he glances at the long buffet-style counter, around which the students are milling and helping themselves to, and he looks up at Yesung, who smiles and squeezes his hand reassuringly as he leads Ryeowook there and hands him an empty plate.
Ryeowook walks slowly up to the first tray. Beijing fried rice, the card below it says, and Yesung nods encouragingly. “Go on, try some. The cook here, Hankyung, is Chinese, and we love his fried rice, he’s an amazing cook.”
Ryeowook picks up the large (alarmingly so, to him) ladle next to the tray and cautiously dumps a small heap of rice on his plate. The smell rises up into his nose enticingly, and he hesitates, eyes flicking to Yesung again. He’s right there next to him, his presence comforting.
Then, before he can think any more on it, he dips the ladle into the rice again and scoops another heap, larger this time, onto his plate before turning to Yesung, his eyes sparkling. It still isn’t very much at all; it’s probably half of what Yesung would eat, and maybe a quarter of Kangin’s normal portions, but it’s much, much more than he’s eaten at one sitting for almost 4 years, and Yesung knows that.
Later, when he’s finished every last grain (it’s every bit as delicious as Yesung promised), his stomach is stretched uncomfortably full and he has to struggle to repress the urge to throw up. But the way Yesung beams at him, almost blindingly bright, makes it all worth it.
_____________________________________________________________________
Ryeowook never manages to put on much weight at all even when he starts eating normally again, the years of undernourishment taking their toll and keeping his frame small and delicate.
But he’s healthy, and he no longer questions himself or the others around him.
And he is loved, very much so, as much as his mother used to love him, as he is reminded each day by the way Yesung kisses him or smiles at him or holds his hand, and by the way Yesung tucks him snugly against his side when they’re in bed and rubs his hand slowly over the bare skin of his stomach while he sings softly into his ear.