TTDOTO 1.2

Jae-an’s tightly shut eyes trembled faintly. His pupils, unable to focus, drifted dizzily, failing to register the unfamiliar space filling his vision. They were vacant, hollow.

“Hey, he’s awake.”

“What? Didn’t you dose him right?”

His senses were dulled as if submerged in water, yet he could distinctly feel the presence of several people surrounding him. He was already stripped down to nothing, even his underwear gone. Slowly, he realized he couldn’t breathe properly because that same underwear was stuffed in his mouth.

“Give him more, quick.”

“Hyung-nim, if we overdo it and Teacher dies, I’m fucked.”

Jang Han-seong’s voice—and the word Teacher—made Jae-an’s body shudder. He tried to recall his last memory, but his head spun, thoughts slipping away.

“He won’t die, you bastard. This ain’t our first time. Hey, he’s moving—grab him. Pull the panties out of his mouth, fucker.”

In that chaotic moment, his mouth was forced open, and harsh liquor poured down his throat. Instinctively, he tried to spit it out, shaking his head, but the burning sensation seared its way down as the alcohol was forced into him. Within moments, his consciousness began to blur, sinking as if plunged into a swamp.

If he stayed still, he’d die. Somehow, he dragged himself toward the bathroom. He took blows to his side and head along the way, but the alcohol—or what he thought was just alcohol—numbed the pain entirely.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the hard tile floor. The men who followed, bursting through the bathroom door, spat vicious curses as they struck and groped him.

Drunk on liquor and drugs, Jae-an was no match. The slimy tongues grazing his skin, the revolting flesh pressed into his hands—he couldn’t even scream properly, only pushing against the bathroom tiles with his toes.

Then, with a deafening crash, the door flew open, and police stormed in. Miraculously, they’d arrived just in time, and Jae-an was rushed to the hospital.

It took a full half-day of stomach pumping to fully regain consciousness. Transferred to a hospital room, the first thing Jae-an saw upon waking was Seo Jae-rim, seated in the guardian’s chair. The sight was so dizzying it briefly eclipsed the nausea and throbbing headache.

When the nurse asked for a guardian’s contact, he must’ve mumbled Jae-rim’s number in his haze.

Jae-rim, usually adorned with a foolishly bright smile, sat with a face so rigid it bordered on menacing. That alone told Jae-an how grave the situation was.

“What time did you go out for dinner?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Where exactly did they hit you?”

“Did they touch you, Hyung? Did you touch them?”

“Was it attempted sexual assault?”

As soon as Jae-an came to, Jae-rim interrogated him in his soft, measured tone, probing for every detail of that night. But not once did he ask if Jae-an was okay. It stung, though Jae-an couldn’t show it. The grim, hostile aura around Jae-rim felt so foreign it kept him on edge.

Throughout the sharp questions, Jae-rim’s gaze fixed on the kiss mark lingering on Jae-an’s pale neck. Glancing nervously at him, Jae-an tried to cover it with his palm.

Two hours later, a detective visited the room. Through their explanation, Jae-an learned the full story.

“This crew’s pretty notorious around here. They recruit high school delinquents into their gang as soon as they turn adult. Making them commit crimes like last night’s is their initiation ritual. Jang Han-seong started hanging with them after hitting a club earlier this year. Luckily, a part-time worker at the counter called it in, so we caught them in the act before it went further.”

Jang Han-seong hadn’t arranged the meeting out of any fondness for his former teacher. Jae-an, with no close family or friends, was an easy target for their ritual, lured in by Han-seong’s deception.

The detective’s long explanation about arrests and charges barely registered. Jae-an felt like a rag soaked in filth, body and mind.

Discharged that afternoon, Jae-an climbed into Jae-rim’s car. Before starting the engine, Jae-rim asked if he’d like to stay at his place for a few days. Jae-an shook his head. Even with Jae-rim, he couldn’t bear facing anyone right now. Thankfully, Jae-rim didn’t push, pulling up slowly in front of Jae-an’s apartment.

He informed the school briefly and took two weeks of sick leave. Then he shut himself in. Even after the bruises on his body faded, Jae-an barely left his bed. He wasn’t badly injured, but his mind was too loud.

His nerves were constantly on edge, hypersensitive. He couldn’t eat or sleep deeply. Most days, he sat on the sofa, legs trembling, or lay curled on his bed. Picking up a dropped toothbrush or emptying the overflowing trash felt insurmountable.

His carefully pieced-together routine crumbled like a sandcastle swept away by foam. It was as if he’d been thrown back four years, to when he learned his mother’s suicide was tied to his father’s long affair. That raw, unfamiliar feeling—stronger and more toxic than mere sadness—resurfaced.

The rage and betrayal of being deceived by someone close, the self-loathing for being so gullible, made his heartburn. He sighed deeply or clutched his head in pain multiple times a day.

The thought of facing students again tightened his chest. It wasn’t just students—he’d likely distrust every kindness moving forward. Alone, Jae-an spiraled through consuming thoughts, anger, and despair.

Two weeks passed quickly. He considered extending his leave with another diagnosis but gave up. He knew he wasn’t okay, but he had no desire to broadcast his broken state to doctors or superiors, making things worse.

Preparing to return to work, Jae-an steeled himself. Schools were rumor mills, and the pressure to act normal in front of others was immense. Before entering the staff room, he practiced smiling several times, then cautiously opened the door.

“Hello.”

Bowing and looking up, Jae-an caught the strange glances from behind partitions. An odd unease settled over him.

“Oh, you’re back?”

Some returned his greeting awkwardly; others averted their eyes. But the pity he’d dreaded was nowhere to be found.

An indefinable discomfort lingered around him. Jae-an endured the stifling tension, focusing solely on work. He tried to review piled-up documents, but not a single word sank in.

No one spoke to him, nor did they look at him with sympathy. A strange mix of emotions, like a foul stench, clung to his skin.

The moment work ended, Jae-an fled the school, climbing into his car and breathing raggedly. His face in the rearview mirror was ghostly pale, his hands gripping the wheel slick with cold sweat.

Half-dazed, he reached home and flung open the door. Nausea surged as if he’d vomit any second, his hand clamping his mouth. The apartment reeked of doenjang jjigae ¹Doenjang jjigae (된장찌개): A Korean stew made with fermented soybean paste, a staple comfort food in Korean households..

“You’re back early.”

“….”

“First day back in a while. How was it?”

“….”

“Was gonna time it for when you got home. Just wait a bit.”

A broad, muscular figure stood at the stove. Jae-an dropped his work bag and shuffled to the kitchen.

“Why’d you come without saying anything?”

Seo Jae-rim often stopped by to cook for him. Having lived together for thirteen years, they treated each other’s homes like their own, even after Jae-rim moved out. During Jae-an’s two-week leave, Jae-rim had come nearly daily, cooking and cleaning up the neglected mess.

“Huh?”

“Who said I was hungry? Why do shit I didn’t ask for?”

Jae-rim showing up unannounced wasn’t unusual. But for some reason, it pissed Jae-an off. Why cook smelly doenjang jjigae out of nowhere? I’m falling apart, and all you care about is food?

Irrational anger surged, and he grabbed Jae-rim’s veined forearm, yanking it. Jae-rim turned, meeting his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

But instead of the burning questions in his head, a trembling, sorrowful voice spilled out first.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

The question had haunted him all day. Jae-an wiped his cheek, biting his lip hard. It felt like the world was filming him for a hidden camera prank. A dream. A relentless, vile nightmare that repeated even after waking.

“What happened?”

Jae-rim turned back to the simmering pot, his voice as calm as ever. Today, that calmness grated on Jae-an.

“Something’s off. Everyone’s whispering, looking at me… like I did something wrong…”

Jae-rim, stirring the jjigae, slowly turned to face him. Their eyes met, and a long silence followed.

It was strange, now that he thought about it. Jae-rim, always kind, always on his side, hadn’t once said the words Jae-an needed to hear.

Those amber eyes, staring at him now, held no warmth. They felt almost menacing. Jae-an’s lips twisted in despair.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Just say it’s not my fault. That’s all I need… But if no one—not even Jae-rim—could say it… Grief welled up, his mind reeling.

“You think so too, don’t you? That it’s my fault for drinking with him?”

“….”

“That I’m some filthy gay bastard, high on drugs, who took care of him because I was horny?”

Jae-rim, who’d been staring coldly, raised the corner of his mouth a beat late.

“No way.”

His voice was flat, deflated. Erasing the faint smile, Jae-rim let out a cold sigh.

“I just wish you’d stop thinking about that worthless piece of shit…”

“….”

“Fucking stop it already.”

Vulgar words poured from lips that rarely cursed. Jae-an’s eyes trembled.

Jae-rim turned back to his cooking, leaving Jae-an stunned by the off-kilter response and biting profanity. Frozen, Jae-an glared at his broad back.

“Go home.”

He knew it was pathetic to let this consume him, to snap at Jae-rim over nothing. But Jae-rim’s coldness, his refusal to say it wasn’t Jae-an’s fault, hurt.

Spitting out the petty dismissal, Jae-an stormed to his room, locked the door, and sank to the floor.

“Hyung.”

“….”

“Open the door.”

Knocks echoed, but Jae-an didn’t budge. The doenjang jjigae sat abandoned on the table, growing cold. Somehow, Jae-rim picked the lock and crouched before him.

Tilting his head to meet Jae-an’s eyes, buried in his knees, Jae-rim wrapped a hand around his arm.

“Sorry for cursing. It wasn’t aimed at you.”

“….”

“Stop crying and eat.”

At the soothing tone, Jae-an lifted his face. The anger in his eyes had faded, replaced by dim sorrow.

“If I’d…”

“….”

“If I’d gone to your place that night, would this have happened?”

That evening, Jae-rim had invited him over to play a new game he’d bought. Jae-an declined his meeting with Han-seong, telling Jae-rim he just wanted to rest. A necessary lie—Jae-rim always got quietly moody when Jae-an made plans with others. He hadn’t wanted to upset him.

But if he’d skipped Han-seong and spent the night with Jae-rim, killing time like usual, would his life have been dragged into this gutter?

The deed was done, and dwelling on what-ifs was foolish, he knew. But with the future and present so heavy, the past was all Jae-an could cling to.

“I’m so tired…”

His bloodshot eyes welled up. Exhausted, he leaned his forehead against Jae-rim’s solid chest. The thin t-shirt grew damp with lukewarm tears.

A large hand gently stroked his trembling back. Amid soft sobs, Jae-rim’s calm voice slipped through.

“Maybe if you hadn’t gotten attached to every dark-haired bastard, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“….”

“So just don’t do it again.”

The hand was tender, but the voice felt colder than usual.

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  Doenjang jjigae (된장찌개): A Korean stew made with fermented soybean paste, a staple comfort food in Korean households.