Beige and White (1)
Late at night.
Time to shed Seo Jia’s skin for a moment and slip back into Seo Yeeun, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt.
Honestly, I have no idea how many more years of this life lie ahead. A position I can only cling to by sweating long after the sun has gone down. It won’t vanish like foam in a single morning, but sometimes I feel like a bird gliding on outstretched wings—everyone else simply isn’t flapping hard enough. No one seems to be aiming any higher.
Alcohol, cigarettes, men… and sex. The passion they all carried at debut was abandoned in the old dorm long ago. Hinami, the slickest of us, actually looks the most put-together by comparison.
“Ha.”
The ridiculous part is that we’re hundreds of times more popular now than we were back then. Hats and masks are mandatory the second I step outside. The schedule is so brutal I barely have time to be alone, which might be a mercy. Still, even in the middle of that chaos, everyone’s meeting someone. …And that one has been acting strange lately.
I just wish she would date normally. I’ve known since childhood that the entertainment world is an animal kingdom, but I hate watching the people around me actually living it. The wider the web of relationships, the more dangerous it becomes.
“…”
Being polite to people I despise. Quietly discarding those who offer nothing. This is a seat I clawed my way into, an opportunity I seized with my own hands. Are they all less responsible than a twenty-year-old like me? Sometimes when people call me “senior,” the pointless pressure almost makes me laugh.
It’s nice not to be envied by my peers for my popularity, but lately I think I’d rather they envied me if it meant they would just do their jobs properly. I don’t buy the fans’ endless talk of growth, effort, and idol dreams, but at the very least they should keep pace with me.
“…Ah.”
I rake a hand through my tangled hair, lie down on the bed, and stare at the ceiling. The floor above belongs to people I’ve never met, but they’re undoubtedly living lives similar to mine. I roll over and bury my face in the mattress.
Directly beneath this darkness is the unit right below me. …A world completely different from mine. The place where my older sister and that strange man live.
We ran into each other just earlier. Her clothes had been borderline indecent. I’d never seen her wear a choker in her life, yet ever since she let that man move in she wears one every single day.
And…
“…Again. Again.”
The noise that starts the moment night falls. This vibration. It isn’t loud enough to be truly irritating or to let me hear actual voices. I simply know what’s happening down there, so even the faintest tremor translates itself in my mind.
…Really. I’ve never even seen a couple dating before, yet somehow my sister fell for a man like that. His body is impressive, I’ll admit. But she never struck me as someone with those tastes.
“Ugh, annoying…”
It’s so faint I have to strain to catch it. That ambiguous something I can barely call a sound has become unbearable stress. Of course it has. Even a middle-schooler who hasn’t discovered lust yet would understand what those noises mean.
I know exactly what my own sister sounds like when she’s panting. The terrifying man’s body I saw that day, the way my sister trembled as she was pinned to the bed—those images refuse to fade. If trauma disappeared that easily it wouldn’t be trauma, would it?
If I could at least drive that man out, the discomfort might lessen, but his smug face makes it clear he has no intention of leaving.
“How on earth did she…”
Get tangled up with a bastard like that? His body might be good, but I doubt his skills are anything special. His face… I honestly can’t say, but since no one’s complaining I’ll assume it suits her taste. What I cannot understand is that brazen attitude. To anyone watching, their dynamic looks far less like lovers and far more like a power relationship.
I don’t particularly treasure my sister, but wrong is wrong. If the sister who leeches off me found a decent man and finally became independent, I would cheer with both hands in the air. The problem is… I don’t trust that man at all.
He supposedly quit baseball to become a fitness trainer. That’s hardly a stable career….
“…Ha. Seriously.”
This time I really heard it. How loudly must she be screaming? How violently must their bodies be colliding for the sound to carry all the way up to me? It had never been this bad before. I don’t even want to imagine her lost in pleasure, forgetting the bare minimum of decency.
What is it about that kind of thing that turns everyone around me into this mess? They were pure, kind seniors when we debuted. How have they all started resembling my sister? Or maybe my sister is the one resembling them. …Perhaps even Hinami is changing. Even that clever girl who pretends to be dumb.
“I feel sick.”
An unpleasant pressure. The strange nausea that hits when I’m exhausted from work or facing something important. It’s been happening more often lately. Maybe because of the memory of that day that keeps drifting through my mind. Maybe because of the sounds echoing in my ears right now. Or maybe because of the search results for my own name I looked up earlier.
My face. The line of my neck. The curve flowing down from my hair. Shoulders I expose too often. Collarbones that show clearly when I wear a dress. Breasts I prefer to hide. A waist cinched tight by constant dieting. Hips and thighs that refuse to shrink no matter how hard I try. The ass, calves, and ankles that flood the internet in endless photos.
Being looked at with sexual eyes doesn’t bother me. But when people insert me into their sexual fantasies, nausea rises in my throat. It’s not exactly disgust. “Revolting.”
I don’t find people who chase pleasure revolting. People steeped in it aren’t revolting either—just pathetic. But the thought of becoming the same as them feels utterly revolting. Smiling on stage as if I know nothing, hiding my blackened insides without a flicker of shame, sweating and grinning… the image alone makes me want to vomit.
When I imagine turning into the same filth as the vile comments strangers sometimes spit at me… honestly, it terrifies me.
“…It really does.”
It’s frightening. Even this new manager… ahjussi who’s overly kind to me. He seems decent on the surface. But sometimes he looks at me with a lewd glint in his eye. He hides it quickly, yet that only makes it scarier—that even a man like him harbors dark desires toward me.
And the fact that I feel not the slightest attraction to someone so kind and diligent, that I sometimes even find him disgusting… I hate that about myself. It makes me feel like I’m no different from my sister, who never cares about what’s inside a person.
Is it morning? Or maybe night with the lights still on? My head hurts too much to remember clearly.
What I do know is that the traces left on my body remember last night perfectly.
“Ugh…”
Completely naked, not a stitch of clothing. The choker I’d been wearing until my last clear memory had vanished at some point. My waist and lower belly ached with a dull throb. Inside me, his semen still clung, sticky and warm. And beside me, Kang Juhyuk slept as peacefully as if the world belonged to him.
“…Asleep?”
I poked his shoulder—also bare—but he didn’t stir. When I tugged the blanket, I saw he wasn’t wearing anything either. Not even underwear. The sight of his cock, now soft and noticeably smaller, brought the memories of yesterday flooding back.
Ah, what do I do about this? The bed and sheets must be soaked in our scent. We used to be careful—always laying down a towel, washing immediately even after he came inside. We’d kept things relatively clean… though he was always the one who cleaned up afterward.
“…”
Maybe it was the lingering sleepiness. Or maybe because yesterday had drained me emotionally and physically beyond anything I’d experienced before. I didn’t want to get up. I wanted to stay right here, pillowed on his arm, nestled in his embrace, eyes closed until he woke. He would take care of everything if he woke first.
And more than anything, I still didn’t know what to say to Kang Juhyuk when he did.
“…I really am crazy.”
Yesterday… yes, I’ll admit it honestly. I was blinded by jealousy and went too far. I wasn’t in my right mind. I called him Master with my own mouth when he hadn’t even ordered me to. I begged him to come inside me while he squeezed my breasts. I pleaded for kisses. Having sex outside—when I think about it now, it was insane.
…What the hell was I doing? He wouldn’t have thrown me away even if I hadn’t gone that far.
“…”
As long as this man has that huge thing between his legs, and as long as I have these large breasts, he can’t help but be obsessed with me. So there was no need to go that far…
“…Hey.”
“Ah… you’re awake?”
I didn’t have to say anything. Kang Juhyuk turned over and gazed at me with heavy, sleepy eyes.
“What are you doing so early?”
“…What did I do?”
He caught the hand that had unconsciously wandered to his body, pinned it beside my head, and rolled on top of me.
“Why are you touching a sleeping man? …Wasn’t yesterday enough for you?”
“No, that’s not—”
“How many loads do I have to pump into you before you’re satisfied, Haeun?”
“…”
Unlike yesterday, my mind was completely clear. Yet once again, his hand gently cupped my breast and I was covered by him.
“…Do you want to wash first, or wash after?”
“…Either one.”
“Then get up. We’ll do it in the shower.”
Even though he was clearly exhausted, hair a mess, voice hoarse, my heart still fluttered at the sight of him.
“Ah, but Juhyuk… the sheets…”
“We’ll wash them. Who cares if the sheets are dirty? Are you and I dirty?”
“…”
Now I didn’t feel the slightest revulsion at the thought of his fluids on me.
“…Let’s brush our teeth first. We passed out right after yesterday.”
“…Okay.”
I pressed myself against him as his hand kneaded my breast, matching his steps as we walked into the bathroom. The same bathroom where he had first taken me. The place where I would continue to be ravished, over and over, from now on.