We're Not
From Dongdaemun Market to luxury designer labels, the world of clothing is vast and endlessly varied.
Regardless of gender, countless designs are born, ride the waves of trends, and fade away. The industry is especially sensitive to whatever celebrities wear on television.
But even amid that constant churn, some clothes hold their ground year after year—the most basic pieces, the ones that never really go out of style no matter how the times change.
"I want this one."
A plain, patternless T-shirt. If it was something comfortable to wear, this was the best option. Preferably something I could throw on without fretting even if it got dirty.
"Get it in white, then."
"Black won't work?"
"White looks better on you."
Well, she would know her own body best. Especially if she used to put real thought into what she wore.
I'd always been fine in anything simple, so I'd never bothered. Song Haneul clearly didn't share that philosophy—his stance was firm.
I'd heard some women loved dressing up so much they studied it endlessly. Maybe he was that type.
"What size do you wear?"
"I used to wear M."
"M…"
Even with the stretchy fabric, it looked way smaller than I'd expected. Going down to S made it look like baby clothes. XS didn't even bear thinking about.
Did all women dress like this?
My flustered hands had nowhere to go. My eyes kept drifting toward the L rack, but I could feel him watching. Still—I was the one who'd be wearing it. Couldn't I at least pick my own size?
"Can't I go a little bigger? Not this kind of stuff—the clothes I usually wear. Just let me have that much."
"Fine. You're picking clothes you'll only wear at home, right?"
"Yeah, that's right."
He made it sound like he'd choose whatever I wore outside, but as long as I could be comfortable at home, that was enough. Going out at all still required mutual agreement anyway.
Permission arrived disguised as silence.
I grabbed something properly comfortable. With a chest this big, anything mid-sized just crushed it. Underwear alone was enough of a struggle—there was no reason to insist on clothes that were a pain to put on and take off. Especially when I wasn't dressing to be seen by anyone. That conviction only hardened.
"And this."
"Do we even need new pants?"
"Huh?"
"Just wear what's at home."
"You said to buy whatever I needed."
I asked, dumbfounded, but Song Haneul looked at me like I was the weird one.
"Weren't you only complaining about clothes because the sizes didn't fit?"
"Well, yeah."
"Pants don't matter. Nothing's digging into you. It's a waste of money."
So tops alone would do, then?
I fretted over the clothes I'd picked, turning them over in my hands. Blinking down at myself, I had the strange sense that a little of my body was showing—Haneul's body, to be precise.
"Hey… uh."
"What?"
"Aren't we getting new stuff for underneath?"
Song Haneul's eyes flew wide. When a guy glared like that, it was startling. Strictly speaking he wasn't a guy—or was he? Hard to define. Transplant a woman's habits straight into a man's body and you found out just how vicious the result could be. It almost made sense why women were women and men were men. Mix them halfway and you got something weird.
"No—I mean the one I'm wearing right now is a little tight, like it's choking me… I'm not saying this with any weird intentions, okay?"
Only after I made a point of how uncomfortable I was did he finally get it.
"Shit… so it's time to buy new ones already?"
He clicked his tongue like this wasn't the first or second time he'd been through it. Watching him chew on his nails made my own insides twist for no good reason.
Clothes I could wear loose without much thought. But underwear I had no choice but to wear looking like this? Unbearable. My chest already felt so constricted I could barely breathe—the idea of toughing it out for days or months in something like this was out of the question.
"Can you not bite your nails?"
"…Ah, sorry. Habit."
Haneul pulled his hand away at once and stared straight at me.
"I don't want to tell you my size."
"I don't want to know your size either."
"Then close your eyes and cover your ears."
"Who exactly are you planning to tell it to?"
"The staff, genius. You think you'd even understand if I told you?"
"How am I supposed to understand? Is it L?"
"You absolute lunatic."
I was the one who should've been speechless. He said I wouldn't get it, then refused to tell me. The only sizes I knew were XL, L, M—shove something else at me and of course I wouldn't have a clue. Just say it and they'd handle it for you, right?
"Ugh, this is so fucking embarrassing. People are staring. Hurry up and get out."
Oh. Right.
I'd been so buried in the clothes I hadn't noticed anyone around us. Realizing it late, I paid in a rush and got us out of the store.
In the murmuring atmosphere, with every gaze somehow clustering on us, my face burned for no reason. I couldn't even remember what I'd said in front of people—my mind had gone completely blank. I tried to dig up any slip-ups and found so many my mouth just sealed shut.
The one silver lining: I'd been spouting nonsense in Song Haneul's body.
"We'll look at home."
"Save me."
"Fuck off."
"There's nothing to fuck. Save me."
"Aargh."
Haneul's fuming strides headed somewhere other than home.
"Whoa… whoa."
A section that drew an involuntary gasp. The women's lingerie shop I'd never dared look at too long for fear of being taken for a pervert. I stood there with my mouth hanging open, hesitating to go in.
"What are you doing? Get in already."
Whether Haneul still thought of himself as a woman or not, he strode right in and hurried me along. There I was, too embarrassed to enter, and he just walked in on his own—bold, I guess. Though assigning that kind of logic to what was basically habit was pretty ridiculous in itself.
"Welcome."
A staff member approached with both hands politely clasped.
"Is there any lingerie you're looking for?"
"We need to get measured first. Says it's too tight."
"I see. Shall we measure, then?"
Haneul answered for me, and the employee pulled out a measuring tape. A light touch on my back guided me toward a fitting room. Half-pushed along, I ended up sharing the space with the staff member.
"What size bra are you wearing right now?"
"…I, uh, don't know."
"Pardon?"
"I have to ask."
How was I supposed to know? I'd just put on whatever I was told to wear. I couldn't say that outright, so I called for help from Haneul outside. The employee only tilted her head, looking like she couldn't make sense of any of it.
"Well then… I'll take the bra off first. We need to determine the size."
"Ah, yes. Mm. Uuugh… ah, could you help me with that?"
I knew there was a hook in the back, but when I actually tried to undo it my hands wouldn't cooperate. The employee stepped behind me and slipped her hands under my clothes. The slight coolness of her touch made me flinch. A soft click, and my chest sprang free; the loosened bra settled limply against me.
She eyed the underwear as it slid out from under the shirt and tilted her head.
"It's a 70E. You said it felt tight?"
"Yes. That's right."
"One moment, then…"
She drew out the tape and measured my chest—no, under the bust, around the ribs.
Why measure there?
"About 72. You've been wearing it a bit snug. A roomier 75 should be fine."
"Is that so?"
Ah. So the number in front was the circumference.
"Then…"
I thought we were done, but she wrapped the tape firmly around my chest over the clothes. It dug in as if it meant to sink into the flesh.
Wait—that was a little too direct, wasn't it?
My eyes went round at how blatant it was. I knew body measurements had to be clinical, but knowing this was Song Haneul's body made me feel guilty.
Now I understood why he'd acted the way he had.
Sorry.
I tossed the apology inward in advance. It wouldn't reach him, but I'd probably have to say it again anyway—I'd just effectively learned the size he hadn't wanted to share.
"96.5, so I'll bring you a clean 75F. No wonder you said you couldn't breathe."
Bra confiscated, I was left alone in the fitting room. Standing around awkwardly felt stupid, so I cracked the curtain and peeked out.
My eyes met Song Haneul's sour expression.
"Sorry."
I spat out the word I'd been holding in earlier.
"Yeah."
Those smoldering eyes left me with nothing to say, so I forced my mouth open just to break the mood.
"Hey. Congrats. Looks like they got bigger."
"Yeah. Thanks."
I'd only made him angrier. Maybe I was the type who earned a beating every time I opened my mouth. Realizing that might already put me in the upper ranks of self-awareness.
"What'd she say?"
"She said a 75F should work?"
"The measurements."
"The measurements… 72 and 97?"
Something around there, I thought. I hadn't been listening carefully, so I was a little fuzzy. Numbers I'd assumed had nothing to do with me—never figured I'd end up knowing them like this. I'd even forgotten cup size was counted in letters.
"Wow. Next you'll know the full three sizes."
"Want me to ask her to measure those too?"
"You planning to get hit once for every number that comes up?"
"No. Not asking."
"I'm picking the designs, so you keep your mouth shut."
"Yeah. Okay."
Out of things to say, I just went along with it. Even if he'd told me to choose, I didn't know the first thing about bra designs. And once things went back to normal, he could keep using them anyway.
"Oh—are you two a couple?"
The employee, standing awkwardly with two bras in hand, asked the question.
At that, we both whipped our heads around in something close to a seizure and answered in perfect unison.
"We're not?"
"We're not."
Me? With this guy?
Insane.
He was probably thinking the exact same thing.