MYFL | Chapter 4.2

His brown hair resembled the pale, faint color of the coffee mix I often made for my dad at the taekwondo dojo. His distinctly round eyes were a similar shade—just a bit darker. The thin-framed glasses he wore suited him so well that it felt like he had been born with them.

His transparent, pale skin, with thin pink veins faintly visible here and there, looked as if someone had carefully wrapped him up and only now let him out into the world—like he had never once experienced the scorching sun or summer.

That white skin, now turning red from the cold, stirred something inside the teenage boy.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes.”

As soon as the front door closed, the faint pheromone scent wafted in. Inevitably, the scene from behind the shopping complex earlier came to mind. It was hard to believe he was the same person.

“My parents aren’t home today because of work.”

“Oh, I heard.”

“Are you okay being alone with me?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re an omega.”

Ah, even with a question that could seem quite rude, Seungjae didn’t show any annoyance and asked back.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

That question sparked a strange defiance in me.

“No, not at all. I’m not a kid or anything…”

“That’s a relief.”

Seungjae replied with a gentle smile. If it weren’t for his scent, he was tall enough to be mistaken for a beta. Though hidden under a roomy knit, the slender curve of his neck suggested a delicate frame.

He fiddled with a can of coffee, perhaps using it as a hand warmer. Beomchan quickly averted his gaze from the small movements of his hands—movements that kept leading to inappropriate thoughts.

“That’s my room over there.”

Seungjae headed toward the room Beomchan pointed at. Beomchan quietly watched the neat back of his head before following him inside. Without even glancing around, Seungjae walked straight to the desk, placed his bag on the floor, and took off his coat, hanging it on the chair.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I’m good. I brought this.”

Seungjae shook the can of coffee in his hand as he answered. Beomchan didn’t insist further and sat down.

“I heard we need to start from the basics. Hmm. You look like you’d be good at studying, though. Why?”

That was the first time I had ever heard something like that.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, I rubbed the back of my neck and denied it.

“…I’m not good at it.”

“Really?”

From the moment we first met at the door, he had been smiling constantly. Maybe that’s why it was hard to imagine he was the same person who had been swearing just earlier.

“Since it’s the first day, let’s start light with some past questions and go over vocabulary. We need to see where you’re lacking. Want to try this first?”

Seungjae pulled out a stack of papers from his bag and handed them over. The sheets, which looked like he had printed them himself, were neatly stapled together.

Perhaps because I had heard we needed to start from the basics, the questions he prepared were easy enough that even someone as bad at English as me could recognize some of them.

Yet, the whole time I was solving them, I felt tense.

The mechanical pencil kept breaking. Embarrassed by that, my face grew hot. Fortunately, Seungjae either didn’t notice or pretended not to, as he didn’t mention it.

The tension continued until the grading. My emotions swung with the movement of his hand—relief when he drew a circle, shame when he drew a line. It was an unfamiliar experience for someone like me, who had always studied alone and never cared much about grades.

“Wow, you’re good!”

Seungjae’s eyes widened after finishing the grading.

Another compliment. Beomchan unconsciously clenched his fist under the desk. Having only known people like Beomjin and his similar friends, Seungjae’s presence was a shock in itself. Yet, the image of him exchanging curses and kissing a stranger lingered in my mind.

The image he wanted to show me was probably that of a kind and gentle teacher. But for some reason, I was more curious about the raw side I had seen earlier. Perhaps it was the side he didn’t want to reveal—the face behind the mask he wanted to hide.

And Beomchan thought.

How close do I have to get to see that again?

After that, we continued with problem-solving and vocabulary tests, but I couldn’t focus. That’s why, even years later, the memory of that day is filled entirely with Seungjae.

Because of the swollen lips that bothered me, the scene in the alley kept replaying in my mind. The hand that had blatantly caressed the neck and shoulders of a stranger was now grading English words as if nothing had happened. It was amusing. The situation—being alone in an empty house—was stimulating. The brush of our arms, the vivid pheromones every time he smiled kindly, the sweet chocolate scent, the curiosity, the beauty.

That’s how it was—my first love.

⋆˚🐾˖°

I wanted to know everything about him, but Seungjae wasn’t the type to spill personal stories in front of a mere tutoring student. So Beomchan asked—but not too much. Asking too many questions might annoy him and make him dislike me. If ten questions came to mind, I’d pick one or two to ask.

Thanks to that effort, I learned a few things. First, Seungjae liked botanical gardens. When asked what he did over the weekend, he often replied that he had visited one. I thought it was a hobby that suited him well. Second, he had a twin sister. They didn’t seem to get along very well. Third, he was in a relationship—a passionate one at that.

One day, Seungjae came wearing a turtleneck. It was odd since the weather had noticeably warmed after the cold snap. My curiosity was finally resolved when he bent down to pick up a fallen pen. A lip mark on the back of his neck, previously hidden, was revealed. The t-shirt that had slipped down didn’t seem to want to go back up, and Beomchan found himself distracted by that mark throughout the lesson.

There must be more below.

For some reason, jealousy surged to my head. At the time, I didn’t even know why I was feeling jealous. I was just an annoyed nineteen-year-old who blurted out whatever I wanted, with no regard for manners.

“Teacher, your neck.”

“Huh?”

Beomchan pointed to his own neck, indicating a spot similar to the mark. Only then did Seungjae, without any embarrassment, calmly pull up his turtleneck.

“Oh, I see. You’re supposed to pretend you didn’t see things like this.”

The mark was no longer visible, but Beomchan was even more annoyed by Seungjae’s nonchalant attitude.

“I keep seeing it. I don’t want to, but I do.”

It was only after I blurted out my annoyance that I vaguely understood why I was upset. I didn’t want to see it—the undeniable evidence that he had been with someone.

Beomchan had mustered up some courage. He had said he didn’t want to see it, but why was Seungjae making him? If Seungjae had asked why he disliked it so much, he might have used that as an excuse to spill out his bubbling feelings.

“Okay, my bad.”

But Seungjae didn’t act as I had hoped. He probably thought it was just the discomfort of a high schooler, sensitive to such things. Even though I knew it wasn’t the kind of apology I wanted, I took comfort in Seungjae’s words. Yeah. It was wrong, I thought.

One day, I mischievously released pheromones. Looking back, it was a crazy thing to do—enough to get reported—but at the time, my emotions were that out of control.

It was a space filled with things I had touched. It didn’t take long to fill the small room with my scent. I had only intended to play a little prank, but even as the concentration gradually thickened, Seungjae’s expression didn’t change. That made me even more stubborn.

By the end of the lesson, the pheromones I had slowly released had left traces all over Seungjae’s body. If he walked around like that, anyone would think he had a possessive lover.

That wasn’t what I had intended. I was just resentful that Seungjae only saw me as a kid, hoping he’d be a little more conscious of me. But Seungjae finished the lesson as usual, his expression indifferent.

The next lesson day arrived. That morning, a message from Seungjae appeared on my phone. It was rare.

[Beomchan, I’m sorry, but can we postpone today’s lesson to next week?] 7:32 AM

At the time, I was just a guy who only looked forward to the days I could meet Seungjae.

Why? Is it something important? What’s going on?

Like a kid whose chocolate had been taken away, I persistently asked for the reason. It didn’t seem like something worth postponing the lesson over, as he eventually decided to proceed with the lesson as planned.

I was satisfied. I got my chocolate back. But I couldn’t have imagined what I would see as a result.

The lesson time arrived. As usual, I was the only one at home, my workbooks and stationery already spread out as I waited for Seungjae to arrive. Finally, the intercom rang. Since Seungjae was the only one who would come at this time, Beomchan rushed to the door without even checking the intercom screen.

“You’re here….”

The door opened immediately. But as soon as Beomchan saw Seungjae’s face, his expression turned pale.

Standing at the door was Seungjae, with a split lip and a bruise on his cheek, awkwardly smiling.

“…What happened to your face?”

Seungjae casually walked past the stunned Beomchan. Entering the house, he spoke nonchalantly.

“Is it that noticeable? I tried hard to ice it.”

Despite his appearance, he laughed playfully, as if something was amusing. His face grimaced in pain. Seeing this, Beomchan’s expression twisted even more fiercely. Was this why he wanted to postpone the lesson?

“Why are you like this! Did someone hit you? Who was it?”

Beomchan followed closely behind Seungjae, who was naturally heading to his room, and snapped fiercely.

“Hmm, I guess he’s my ex now.”

“What?”

Beomchan raised his voice.

He got hit by his ex.

Beomchan suddenly recalled the first day of lessons with Seungjae. Was it the guy who had chased him to the tutoring place after a breakup? Or the one who had left marks on Seungjae’s neck? Or were they all the same guy?

Why did he meet someone like that? It was so upsetting that he felt like crying. He wanted to believe it was just a fight with a stranger.

“I showed you something unpleasant. I should have postponed the lesson, right?”

Seungjae, who had placed his bag on the desk, turned to Beomchan—and froze in surprise.

Beomchan looked like he was about to cry. His eyes were red and moist. His tightly closed lips trembled as if he were holding something back. His clenched fists and quickened breathing revealed his agitation.

Seungjae, visibly flustered by the unexpected reaction, silently stared at Beomchan.

He knew. There was no reason for Seungjae to tell him what had happened. He was just a student being taught, not a friend or anything more. But he was angry at Seungjae’s attitude—at the way he tried to brush it off lightly.

It wasn’t a trivial matter.

“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“Did you cheat on him? Is that why he hit you?”

“What?”

His voice, mixed with sobs, wasn’t pleasant to hear, but Beomchan didn’t stop.

“Why do you keep laughing! It’s not something to laugh about, right? It’s serious!”

“I’m really okay. You just didn’t see his face, I hit him ten times harder.”

Yeah, right. With those pale hands, how hard could he have hit?

Even in this situation, Seungjae was still trying to comfort him with lies.

“You were surprised.”

Then, Seungjae stepped closer. He opened his arms and wrapped them around Beomchan’s shoulders.

Beomchan, forgetting his anger, widened his eyes and quietly accepted the hug. His wavering gaze lowered slightly. Seungjae’s head was awkwardly tilted upward. Without a word, Beomchan bent at the waist.

“Thanks for crying for me.”

At those words, the tears he had been holding back finally spilled down his cheeks.

Suddenly, he thought of the kids at the taekwondo dojo—the ones who would cry even harder when hugged while they were sobbing.

To Seungjae, he might be just a child who needed to be embraced and comforted, just like those kids were to him.