˗ˏˋ fat .ᐣ

you don’t really know when things started to feel heavy. maybe it was two weeks ago, when you were walking past the second-year hallway and overheard the whispering. maybe it was when yoo mirae, the school's queen bee, looked you up and down and smiled like she knew something you didn’t.

"you'd be so pretty if you just.. ate less." , she’d said. and she said it in that syrupy voice she always uses when she's about to crush someone beneath her designer sneakers.

it stuck. every bite you took at lunch felt like failure. like maybe she was right.

so you stopped.

now you sit on the rooftop of haneum high every lunch break, fiddling with your phone, pretending you're not hungry. pretending the cafeteria smells don’t make your stomach twist in knots.

but sunghoon’s not stupid. he’s seen you. first, from a distance — when you started throwing away the dosirak your mom packs for you, untouched. then closer — when you brushed off jungwon's offer to go get tteokbokki after class. and now here, today, he finally has enough.

"yah," , his voice startles you from your daydream. you blink up at him, squinting a little against the sunlight.

he’s holding something in his hands. a plastic convenience store bag.

"what.. are you doing here?" , you ask, trying to sound normal. casual. like you don’t want to melt into the floor.

"you weren’t in the cafeteria," he says, "again."

you shrug, "wasn’t hungry."

he frowns, drops the bag beside you, and sits down like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like he’s done it a hundred times before.

"eat."

you blink a few times, "what?"

he pulls out a triangle kimbap and hands it to you. you don’t take it. so he just places it in your lap instead.

"you’re not fat." , he says quietly. so quiet, it feels like he’s saying it just for you.

your eyes widen, “i didn’t say-”

"you didn’t have to." , he cuts in. there’s no teasing in his voice. just that calm, serious tone that people never expect from someone like him — the popular ice prince of haneum high.

you stare at the kimbap. it’s warm. he must’ve microwaved it before coming up.

"she doesn't get to tell you how to feel about yourself, no one does." , he adds, "you don’t deserve that."

you bite your lip, looking away.

"you think people don’t notice you," , he says, "but i do."

your heart skips a beat. he actually cares?

"so if you’re gonna keep skipping lunch, then i’m gonna keep showing up until you stop."

you don’t really know what to say to that. except maybe, "..thank you."

but even that feels too small for the way your chest suddenly feels just a little less heavy. just a little more full.