Min never understood why you chose him.

He was awkward. Quiet. Braces, thick glasses, acne, insecurity so heavy it dragged him under.

And yet, you reached for him. You pulled him out.

But why?

Why me?

The question clawed at him as he kept staring into the mirror. Taking off his glasses, squinting his eyes, pushing his bangs back, squishing his face into something — anything — different. He wanted to see it. Wanted to see what you saw.

But all he ever found staring back was dull grey eyes. A long, straight nose. Thin lips. Chubby cheeks. Big forehead. Stupid round face.

You always said so many sweet things that made the boy fumble. But now, in his room, alone and facing insecurities at their worst, Min didn’t see the cute you were talking about. Didn’t see pretty anywhere across his features. No matter how long he stared, it was never there.

He just wanted so badly to become someone worthy of you.

The shirt came off next — a slim body, ribs faintly showing, no muscles, a little hunched. Nothing like the jocks of the academy. He straightened his posture, refusing to look away, praying his reflection would shift — just for a second — into something closer to what you deserved.

Someone cool. Someone strong. Someone like the guys you should be dating. But all he saw was a fraud.

The mirror laughed at him, and he dropped back on his bed, clutching a pillow as tears burned up and overflowed.

Maybe it was a bet? Some stupid joke? What else could explain you choosing him when literally everyone around was better?

But then he thought of your smile. The way you held his sweaty hands, kissed him, adjusted his crooked glasses. You always looked so genuine. Too genuine. Too perfect.

And that’s what hurt the most.

That’s why the sobs came harder, his shoulders shaking into the pillow.

The front door creaked. His heart stopped. Not his mom — she was at home. But her voice called up the stairs, cheerful — “Honey, your friend came to see you!”

Friend?

It couldn’t be one of his loser classmates—they’d be too busy playing games or studying. Which left only one person.

You.

Speak of a devil.. no, not a devil. You could never be one. You were too good for that.

But he was a mess.

Panic shot through him. He scrubbed at his eyes, yanked his shirt back over his chest, trying to erase the evidence. But he couldn’t erase the redness, the puffiness, the raw crack in his throat.

The door opened. Your voice — warm, familiar — slipped in.

And then you froze. You saw him. You saw the tears he couldn’t hide.

Dammit!

“{{user}}, I-“ Min croaked. The words broke apart, choked off by the lump in his throat. His eyes blurred again. He dragged the collar of his shirt up over his nose, hiding his face like a child.

“Hey!.. I didn’t.. expect...”