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Ryuu’s eyes opened to the buzz of a message.
It was 11:42 AM.
He blinked at the light seeping through the blinds. His phone screen was still glowing.
“Hyung, you still alive? Lol.”
— Min-jun.
He stared at the message for a while.
Min-jun. His “best friend” since elementary school. The guy who used to lend him comics, sit with him at lunch, and trade secrets during boring homeroom classes.
The same guy who ghosted him when things got bad.
Ryuu didn’t reply.
He went to the bathroom and washed his face, though it didn’t help. The skin burned when it touched water. Under his chin, yellow scabs had cracked open again.
He wiped it with a towel and winced.
In the mirror, his face looked like someone had peeled layers of it off and just left it halfway done.
His lips were dry and bleeding slightly at the corners. Eyes swollen, with dark circles. His hair oily and stuck in clumps.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked him in the eyes without flinching.
He lay back on his bed. The ceiling had water stains.
His thoughts drifted, unwanted, back to middle school.
Back when he still believed people gave a damn.
It was the second year. Back when the condition had just started. It began small—just some dry skin near his eyebrows, a rash behind the ear.
He’d still show up to school. Still smile. Still hang out with Yuri, his childhood friend from the apartment across the street.
Yuri used to wait for him every morning at the corner.
“Yah, slowpoke! You’re gonna make us late again,” she’d shout, waving like she had all the energy in the world.
She was loud, tomboyish, always chewing gum she wasn’t supposed to have. She’d punch his arm when he was quiet too long and drag him into her dumb little missions—stealing extra snacks from the cafeteria or writing fake confessions for shy classmates.
For a while, she made the world feel manageable.
Then, things started changing.
First came the stares. Then came the jokes.
One day, in gym class, someone pulled down his mask while he was tying his shoes.
“Holy sh*t! What’s wrong with your face?!”
Laughter.
Even the coach pretended not to notice.
That same week, Yuri stopped waiting for him.
He asked her why during lunch.
She looked away, tapping her chopsticks nervously.
“It’s not that I don’t want to… It’s just… You know how people are.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, voice low.
“People talk, Ryuu. They say I hang out with you too much. They say you look—never mind.”
He didn’t say anything. Just waited.
She sighed. “You’re making this hard.”
He forced a smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your reputation.”
“That’s not what I said.”
But she didn’t deny it.
A week later, he heard from someone else that Yuri had said he “used to be normal” and “maybe something’s wrong in his head too.”
He didn’t ask her about it. There was no point.
They weren’t friends after that.
Back in his room now, Ryuu scrolled through his gallery. Old pictures. Old friends.
Group photo from class trip: him with a mask on, eyes crinkling into a fake smile. Min-jun flashing peace signs. Yuri’s arm around someone else.
He remembered the bus ride back.
Everyone sat in twos. Laughing, joking, passing chips around.
He had the window seat—alone.
Even the teacher didn’t say anything.
He got up, walked to his desk, and picked up a sticky note he’d kept from back then.
Yuri had written it during a boring English class in grade 6.
“You’re quiet, but you’re the kindest boy I know. Don’t ever let them change you. — Y”
He crumpled it and dropped it in the trash.
“That version of me died a long time ago,” he whispered.
He sat back at his desk, opened his laptop, and stared at the empty browser.
He wasn’t looking for anything anymore.
He just wanted to feel nothing.
But somehow, even that wasn’t working.
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