I was just a kid
1098 Words
Jeon slammed the bathroom door shut, peeled off the wet shirt, and tossed it onto the sink. His hands moved on their own as he reached for the dry one Tae had thrown at him.
“Jealous bastard,” he muttered, dragging the clean fabric over his head. “You think I don’t know why you did that? f*****g idiot.”
He didn’t need to ask. He knew. Tae was annoyed by that stupid scent. And instead of saying it like a normal person, he dumped water over his head in the middle of the corridor like a lunatic.
Jeon stepped out, jaw tight, and found Tae leaning against the wall, sipping from a can, acting like nothing ever happened. As soon as he spotted Jeon, Tae tossed him another drink without a word.
Jeon caught it. Didn’t say thank you. Just opened it and drank.
He didn’t owe Tae anything.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
“Let’s go,” he said coldly. “I’m already late because of you.”
Tae grinned, all smug, and threw an arm around Jeon’s shoulder. “Let’s go, my sweet doll.”
“Don’t call me that,” Jeon snapped, elbowing him off without much force.
---
The classroom felt colder than usual.
Jeon stared at the board, even he tried he couldn't concentrate in the class, his eyes turn to see Tae writing notes
he sighs as he didnt want but still the build up emotions , past memories are rewinding in his mind.
He had no memory of a time when people didn’t look at him like he was something wrong.
He was just a kid—barely four—when he first came to this pack.
Alone, too young to understand anything except the feeling of being unwanted.
He remembered the looks.
Not pity.
Not curiosity.
Just disgust.
That day, when he was starving and desperate for food, he had no one beside him. No one cared. When he asked for something to eat, they shoved him away, threw him out like he was a monster.
Something inside him began to rot. Slowly. Quietly.
As if the world had already decided what he was before he could even speak for himself.
They hated him.
He never understood why, but the weight of that hatred pressed into his chest every single day.
It hardened something inside him. Turned pain into silence. Silence into anger.
By the time he was six, his eyes didn’t water anymore. By eight, he had learned to ignore every voice. By ten, anger was the only thing that made him feel alive.
They never called him names. Never said anything to his face. But the silence? The avoidance? The way they made sure he never had enough food, never had a bed close to anyone, never even had work—as if even that was a privilege?
That said more than words ever could.
He stopped asking questions early on. Stopped trying to understand.
Instead, he built a wall. Thick and high. Emotions were replaced with indifference. Kindness turned to irritation. Loneliness into anger.
---
And then... there was Tae.
Loud. Annoying. Clingy.
But different.
He didn’t look away when Jeon entered the classroom. He didn’t avoid sitting next to him. He never flinched at his presence.
He just—showed up.
With breakfast. With lunch. With dinner. With dumb jokes and stupid grins.
Even when his own parents disapproved.
Even when everyone whispered.
Tae didn’t stop.
And somewhere in the quiet between those moments, Jeon stopped pushing him away.
He didn’t know what it was about Tae. Maybe it was the eyes that mirrored his own loneliness.
It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t love. It was just... something.
Something that made the world feel a little less heavy.
Something that made him forget—just for a second—that he was alone.
He didn’t want to admit it, but—
The thought of losing Tae?
That scared him more than anything else.
Avoiding Tae hurt. But not as much as the thought of being left behind again.
Even though he pretended not to care, deep down he knew.
He was hurting himself.
But he was trying. Preparing himself for the day Tae would be gone.
Because it was inevitable.
Tae was the heir. He would have a mate. Pups. A pack to lead. A future carved out in duty and tradition.
Even if Tae disagreed—even if he rejected every choice placed on him—his family, this pack, the elders… they would never let him walk away.
They would force him.
It was only a matter of time.
So Jeon tried to stay away. Tried to build walls again. Tried to get used to being alone.
Because that’s how it would end. That’s how it always ended.
Tae’s hand rested gently on Jeon’s shoulder, grounding him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
Jeon blinked, snapped out of his thoughts, and shook his head. “Nothing.”
But Tae knew better. He could read Jeon like an open book.
"I know this i***t is still stressing about the mate thing,” he muttered under his breath.
Ever since Junhee noona had brought up the topic, things had changed between them. The space that used to feel like comfort had started to stretch, pulling them apart inch by inch.
And no matter how many times Tae asked, Jeon never gave him a real answer.
Just the same tired words.
“I’m fine.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re imagining things.”
But they both knew it wasn’t true.
Jeon was slipping—becoming colder, more irritable. Distant in a way that felt... scary.
It worried Tae. And the silence was eating both of them alive.
Tae tried everything—small talks, dumb jokes, clinging to him, annoying him on purpose—but Jeon kept pushing him away. And with every unanswered message, every cold shoulder, it felt like Tae was losing him a little more.
And Tae’s birthday was getting closer.
A day that once meant celebration now loomed like a storm cloud.
Because they both knew what came next—talks of mates, responsibilities, expectations.
Tae didn’t want it.
He didn’t care about the ceremony, the matchmaking, or the future everyone had planned for him.
All he wanted was for things to stay the same—for Jeon to look at him like he used to.
But Jeon was already preparing for goodbye.
And Tae...
Tae was terrified that this time, he wouldn’t be able to pull him back.
- Writer
