TTDOTO 2.5

Past Arc – Recognition

“Ah…!”

Jae-rim, grimacing, rushed to the washing machine. He hit the pause button and lifted the lid. Clothes floated in the water-filled drum.

This was the second time today he’d stopped it. After soccer, he’d hung his sweaty T-shirt to dry (Jae-an’s nagging was endless if he tossed it wet into the basket) but forgot to add it to the wash. Now, he realized he’d forgotten something else.

‘Jae-an’s towel…’

Jae-an’s apartment, an older unit, wasn’t spacious but well-designed with three rooms and two bathrooms. Jae-rim, habitually washing only his own bathroom towel, belatedly remembered Jae-an’s.

He headed to the master bathroom. Light spilled through the closed door’s gap, signaling that Jae-an was inside. Jae-rim called out.

“Hyung, you got a used towel?”

“Yeah. Running the wash?”

“Yep.”

The door opened, and Jae-an stepped out. Fresh from a shower, steam trailed behind him. Naked, water dripped from his hair, tracing his protruding collarbone down his flat chest.

Jae-rim avoided looking lower. The edges of his vision caught glimpses of bare skin, a cascade of flesh surely below.

“Thanks.”

Jae-an, shaking his hair, handed over the wet towel. Fresh from the shower, his ears and cheeks glowed faint pink.

Jae-rim’s eyes lingered on his soft, dough-like earlobes before meeting his gaze. Wet hair, darker than its usual light brown, made Jae-an’s bright eyes stand out.

Throughout school, Jae-an had to prove his naturally light brown hair and irises weren’t dyed or contacts. His body was pale everywhere—skin untouched by sun, knees and ankles pink like spilled strawberry milk.

In gym class, Jae-rim had seen countless bodies, but none had nipples that color. Realizing he’d stared too long at the kitten-nose-like spot, he snatched the towel and turned away.

“I’ll hang the laundry.”

Jae-an, smiling brightly, dripped water from his half-dried hair. The droplets sounded oddly loud and clear.

“…Let’s do it together.”

With a curt reply, Jae-rim headed to the balcony. He tossed the damp towel into the floating laundry, closed the lid, and pressed start. Gripping the vibrating machine, he lowered his head, exhaling. His heart thudded uncomfortably.

The old top-loading washer’s rumble was drowned by his louder heartbeat. Dizzy and stifled, he flung open the balcony door. Cold air rushed in.

“What’re you doing?”

Jae-an entered, tossing a banana milk carton into the recycling bin. The thunk of it landing made Jae-rim look up.

Drinking banana milk post-shower was Jae-an’s habit. Smirking as the carton hit the plastic bin, Jae-an stood beside Jae-rim, raising an eyebrow at the open window.

“Why’s the window open?”

“It’s hot.”

“You’ll catch a cold standing in the breeze.”

Concerned, Jae-an quietly closed the window. In the cramped balcony, their bodies brushed close. Jae-rim, avoiding his eyes, stepped out first. Touching felt… forbidden.

“Brr, cold!”

Jae-an’s shivering steps, slippers dragging, grated on Jae-rim’s nerves.

At fourteen, Jae-rim towered over nineteen-year-old Jae-an, who’d stopped growing past 175 cm. Once, Jae-an seemed the biggest person in the world; now, so small and frail, Jae-rim worried. Was anyone bullying him? Touching or hugging him carelessly because he is small and cute? He wanted to watch over him.

Jae-an’s movements were subtle, never loud, but today they nagged at Jae-rim’s senses.

Turning to the living room, Jae-an flopped onto the sofa, grabbing the remote.

“Oh, it’s a rerun.”

Their usual variety show. Assuming Jae-rim would join, Jae-an pushed a cushion aside. But Jae-rim headed to his room instead.

“Gonna study.”

“Oh… Alright. Study hard.”

Jae-an’s disappointed look tugged at him. Avoiding his gaze probably seemed odd. But Jae-rim didn’t want to be close now.

Sighing, he sat at his desk, pulling out a workbook. Instead of a pencil, he tugged down his loose pants, muttering a curse before pulling them up. Crossing his legs to press the tight feeling didn’t help.

Jae-an’s shower exit replayed—dripping hair, sunken collarbone, soft earlobes, kitten nose.

Closing his eyes tightly, he tilted his head back.

“Get it together.”

With a rough gesture, he opened the math workbook, a gift from Jae-an. Jae-an always assigned him math homework, meddling despite his own busy college prep.

Jae-an excelled at math, likely inherited from his math-teacher father. Jae-rim, having lived abroad intermittently, found English easy but struggled with math. He managed in elementary school, but middle school problems stumped him.

On his first middle school midterm report day, he handed Jae-an the grade sheet for a guardian’s signature. Jae-an’s bright brown eyes scanned it, curiosity mixed with tension, reading scores from Korean to music. His brow furrowed at math.

“Jae-rim’s bad at math, huh.”

Just a murmur, but being called lacking by Jae-an stung his pride.

It wasn’t wrong. His overall average ranked him in the top ten, but math was near the bottom. Jae-an, seriously, signed the guardian section. Jae-rim stared at “Lee Jae-an” overlapping “Guardian” for a long time.

Days later, Jae-an entered his room, holding out a workbook.

“Busy?”

“Nope.”

“Solve up to the marked pages. I’ll check.”

“What’s this?”

“Homework. Miss math in middle school, and you’ll never catch up.”

Jae-an’s unusually firm tone made Jae-rim nod. The workload wasn’t too much or too little.

‘Homework…’

Friends despised homework, cursing during breaks, or tearing pages to trash. But getting homework from Jae-an, a first, was oddly thrilling for Jae-rim.

Jae-an was his guardian, signing his report card. He wanted to finish it quickly and get checked. Friends or teachers bossing him around made him want to punch them, but Jae-an was different.

He solved problems eagerly. The first few were easy, but the later ones grew long and baffling. Checking the back, he found the answer key neatly cut out. Chuckling, he left the unknowns blank.

Jae-an would explain. Imagining Jae-an’s black mechanical pencil gliding over his workbook made his chest swell.

Since then, Jae-an made time for unofficial math tutoring, continuing over a year.

With a troubled look, Jae-rim opened the workbook, ignoring the heat in his lower belly. Flipping to the last assigned page, he saw a red star, drawn with Jae-an’s precision.

It conjured Jae-an’s hand holding a colored pencil.

Jae-an’s hands were pale, soft. He’d only held them closely as a child, but their thin skin, blue veins visible, surely stayed soft. Jae-rim gripped pencils messily, but Jae-an held them with textbook-perfect—slender fingers, red knuckles, neatly trimmed nails.

“…Hoo.”

Thoughts muddled, numbers blurred. Writing formulas, he covered his face. Focusing on math was supposed to calm him, but now even workbook lines evoked Jae-an.

“This is driving me crazy.”

He didn’t want to admit his excitement over Jae-an. Worse was Jae-an’s nonchalance, stripping freely before him.

It didn’t make sense. Jae-rim had stopped going to bathhouses with him, embarrassed even as a kid. Why was nineteen-year-old Jae-an so unbothered by showing his naked body? His casualness made Jae-an the weird one, not him.

Rationalizing, he found calm. Finishing the assigned problems, he collapsed onto his bed, exhausted.

The next morning, waking as usual, a sticky feeling jolted him upright. Lifting the blanket, ignoring the chill down his spine, he checked his underwear—sopping wet.

“…Fuck.”

His first wet dream. Occasional lewd thoughts or urges faded with soccer or pull-ups on the bar Jae-an installed (used only once for its purpose, now a shirt-drying rack).

The timing irked him. That it happened after seeing Jae-an naked felt unfair. Showering and washing his underwear, he stared into the mirror, slowly saying the name lingering since yesterday.

“…Lee Jae-an.”

His eyes narrowed. The name, called for four years, felt subtly different on his tongue.

Lee Jae-an, Lee Jae-an. Repeating it, his lips hardened. Glaring at his reflection, he finally looked away.

Was it okay to think this way about angelic Jae-an? His yellow eyes darkened, sinking into thought.