━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
365 days Under His Skin
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
(Taeha's POV)
I sat at my desk, clutching my throbbing head, each heartbeat pounding like a drum against my skull. Then that heart-stopping thud sound.
A heavy hand slammed onto my desk, making me jump. When I turned, there stood Yohan with that famous deadpan look; only now his eyes burned hotter than I'd ever seen them.
"What kind of dialogue is this, Taekyung?" Even though he spoke calmly, I could hear the astonishment and anger in his voice.
I stared at him, then down at the printed script in his hand. "These lines sound like they were written by a teenager," he continued, leaning close enough that his breath grazed my ear. "Taekyung, I know this isn't you."
My breath had been knocked out of my lungs, and I looked at him with wide eyes as he smirked—a smirk I had never seen on his face before. Darker. More dangerous.
"Who are you? Who are you, Taekyung?"
Beep…beep…beep.
I gasped awake, my head splitting with pain. The worst part? It had all been a dream. A dream revealing the truth I'd been hiding. Groaning, I pressed my palms against my temples. "Ugh, what happened?"
Memories flooded back—
After leaving Taekyung's mother's apartment, I drove back to what was technically my apartment, guilt sitting heavy on my chest. I'd wanted—no, needed—something to numb my pain, to make me forget I was living another man's life.
"Try it. Just one shot of soju will fix everything."
Eunkyung's voice rang in my ears from the time when we'd bought soju to celebrate turning twenty. I'd never been a fan, so Eunkyung had drunk both bottles that night while I lost myself in writing a book chapter.
Maybe now was the time to try it. I knew alcohol wouldn't actually fix anything, but maybe it could distract me long enough to breathe. And that's how I ended up at the convenience store. And ended up seeing Yohan.
I remember crying in front of him—so embarrassing. The real Taekyung would never have done that. But me? I'd sobbed like a heartbroken second lead. And after that…everything went black.
I buried my face into the pillow and screamed, throwing my legs like a toddler throwing another tantrum. Taekyung's morning voice came out muffled against the pillow. "You crazy girl, what the hell have you done?!"
The absurdity hit me here. I was a twenty-two-year-old woman having a meltdown in a twenty-seven-year-old man's body. Not just any man's body, but Taekyung's, the human who is equal to a marble statue, who never shows weakness, and never breaks composure. And I'd shattered that perfect image in front of none other than Jung Yohan, the most observant director and friend in the entire production company.
My stomach dropped at the thought of facing him at the office. That judgmental stare of his would be ten times worse than usual. And what if the word somehow got to Siwoo and Junho? I could already imagine it—their endless prying, their forced concern, their attempts to "help" that would only make everything worse. Taekyung had spent years building walls around himself, and in one drunken night, he might have torn them all down.
Okay, okay, cool, take a breath in … and out…
The pep talk from yesterday echoed in my mind—this is your body now—but last night had shattered that fragile confidence. Meeting Taekyung's mother, breaking down in front of Yohan… Each moment chipped away at my resolve until I'd crumble completely.
But maybe… Just maybe that wasn't entirely bad either.
Taekyung's wall had already cracked. The perfect, impenetrable facade Yohan knew had broken when "he" cried last night. The mask had slipped, and strangely, that thought sent a flutter through my chest.
If the walls were already broken, then perhaps… I didn't need to rebuild them. Maybe I could let them fall completely, but brick by brick at a time. Because it's time to rebuild another version of himself, free of all the emotional barriers he's built.
With the hope I built up in my chest, I got out of bed. The floor was cool beneath bare feet that still didn't quite feel like mine. As I was near the doorway, I heard some low clanking sounds that were so low it was as if someone were trying to steal.
My breath hitched, and my hands found my chest, clutching the shirt, but it doesn't feel like the turtleneck from yesterday; the wool-like fabric doesn't feel like wool, and—wait, it's a T-shirt.
With trembling hands, I twisted the doorknob, swallowing the lump that stuck in my throat. As soon as a low gasp escaped from my lips before I could stop it—it's Yohan. Setting the bowls on the table carefully, not even noticing that there is a person that is staring at him like a ghost.
He wasn't in the same outfit as yesterday, and that inky charcoal knit polo clung perfectly to his frame, the sleeves rolled just enough to show off his forearms that were moving quietly while placing the bowls. Tucked neatly into high-waisted, wide-legged black trousers, the fabric moved like smooth water flow each time he moved.
His soft black hair fell across his forehead, just like the first day in the hospital, when he looked at me with those dark brown eyes that held a lot of words I couldn't understand. Only now, in the morning light that filtered through the curtains, did they appear softer and warmer. The kind of brown with flecks of amber when the sun kissed it just right.
I had never noticed his nose's slightly prominent shape or how his lips were uneven in the most fascinating way—the top one thin like a Cupid's bow upper lip and the lower plump with a lower lip curve. The way they curled up now could have been a smile, or perhaps just a trick of the light playing on my sleepy brain.
Was he always this distractingly handsome, or was I only noticing it now that my world had been turned upside down?
My heart skipped a beat when he looked up through those lashes before setting the final bowl. "Oh, you're up?" He said it as if we were close—wait, they are close, right? Taekyung and Yohan.
The familiarity raised questions, such as how much Yohan knew. How close are they? How often had he come here before? The real Taekyung would know exactly how to respond and what tone to use. But me? I stood frozen in the doorway, painfully aware of my rumpled t-shirt and morning breath, torn between continuing the act and the terrifying realization that this man could see right through me.
"Just now," I managed to reply, my voice cracked, still rough with sleep and last night's crying session. I cleared my throat, as if to get rid of that roughness.
Yohan's chopsticks paused in midair, only for a brief second. Just long enough for his dark eyes to flash over me with a worried expression before returning to the table setting. As far as I can tell, they're only looking for Taekyung. Because the first time I saw the same look in his eyes and also in Taekyung's memories, but I wasn't able to name it back then.
"If you are done staring, go get cleaned up." Yohan's voice cut through my running thoughts like a red signal on the streets. I quickly looked away, and without a word, I went back to my room.
I shut the door behind me, leaning against it with a quiet thud. My heart was still racing like I'd run a marathon, and my cheeks were warm from embarrassment, or was it something else? No, no, it is eembarrassing it should be.
"Get it together," I whispered to the room, pacing once or twice, trying to shake off the ridiculous heat that crawled up my neck. It was just him setting the table. That's all. Sure, he looks like he belongs on a magazine cover, sleeves rolled, those soft dark locks falling over just enough to look more handsome—but so what?
I wasn't swooning. I was just…noticing. Observing. That's it. Completely normal. Right? Yes, it's right. I stood straight, walked to the bathroom, and turned on the cold water, splashing it onto my face like it could knock the rest of the thoughts away.
Staring at the water dripping from my chin, I muttered to my aka, Taekyung's reflection, "You're not Taeha anymore. You're Taekyung." I forced my shoulders back and tried to stare with that same cold gaze I always had.
But then the words I told myself echoed again. Yes, I need not act like him again; I just need to rebuild an open-space-free version of him rather than the older closed walls.
I looked at the reflection that was staring back at me as if waiting for what decision I made so that it could act as I made it too. My eye lingered on Taekyung's skin in the mirror, unsure and hesitant. I exhaled heavily, my chest rising and falling with the weight of decisions that were pressing against my ribs.
The steam clung to the air like a soft veil, fogging up the edges of the glass. After the shower, I stood still for a moment, letting the warmth fade from my skin while the damp towel wrapped around my hips. Still not able to bathe without it. My fingers absentmindedly trailed across the droplets on the mirror, clearing a small circle in the mist.
I turned away, walking towards the closet.
I stared at it longer than I expected to—just like every day, I kept staring at the turtlenecks and other shirts hanging in muted tones, like his emotions that always smelled like mine. My long fingers brushed past the rows of the hangers until I stopped and pulled out what felt most like him.
I slipped into a soft, olive green knit pullover, the quarter-zip collar slightly open, revealing the white tee I wore underneath. The color just looked more like him than being me, so muted. Then came the light beige pleated trousers, wide-legged and loose, just adding the muteness with some elegance and perfectness. I tugged them on and adjusted the waistband, the fabric draping smoothly over his long legs.
To finish, I reached for his long camel overcoat with neat yet oversized lapels that felt like a protective shield from the cold January. I slid my arms through the sleeves and let it fall naturally over the rest of the outfit. As I stood there fully dressed in those clothes, the reflection in the mirror now looked more satisfied, as if accepting it was the Taekyung.
I stepped out of my room and softly closed the door behind me. My gaze fell on Yohan, who was browsing through his phone. I expected him to start eating already, but he stayed. For me? What? For Taekyung?
His brows furrowed together as if sensing my gaze on him. Without lifting his head, he glanced up through his lashes. Then, with a sigh, he closed the screen as it faded to black, and he looked up, raising his head entirely.
"You took your time," he said, eyes scanning me in one slow sweep. Not cold. Not soft either. Just…observing, like usual. I walked closer, the muted sound of my steps brushing against the floor like a second heartbeat in the silence between us.
"You waited?" I asked, unable to keep surprise from slipping out.
Yohan didn't answer right away. But the next thing he said made my jaw almost drop. "I didn't feel like eating alone," he said simply, like it was a fact. Not an offer. Not an excuse. Just like that, he said it.
I nodded, the words sticking to the roof of my mouth. The chair let out the softest sound as I pulled it out and sat across from him. He pushed the bowl slightly toward me—warm miso soup, rice, and a few side dishes arranged with the kind of care I didn't expect from someone like him. Someone who always looked so…put together. Untouchable.
Well, not every emotionally constipated one will be like Taekyung, I thought with a small huff-like laugh, shaking my head. But still—"I didn't think you'd wait," I said again, more like thinking out loud.
Yohan didn't look up right away. He reached for his chopsticks, then paused again exactly like earlier. That same flicker of hesitation that only lasted a heartbeat, but still felt loud. "I used to," he murmured.
I blinked, unsure if I had heard him right. "Used to what?" His gaze finally met mine, and for a split second, it stripped away the space between us.
"Wait," he said, holding his eyes on mine. "Every time," he said as if the words slipped out of him.
Yohan POV:
The chopstick in his hand paused in midair as the words that I blurted out so easily, like a normal conversation. The words sat between us like steam from the soup.
I used to. Wait. Every time.
Why did I say that? I wasn't sure if he caught the low tone change in my voice. Maybe he did. Maybe he was pretending not to. Taekyung's eyes flickered, too fast for me to read fully. But something in his eyes wasn't the same as before. Not exactly.
But I knew what it wasn't: it wasn't that modest or impenetrable wall he always used to wear like a second skin. The wall he built was so strong that even Junho could barely peek through the cracks.
I may not have been his best friend like Junho or loud like Siwoo, but still…every time we had spoken, it felt like I was speaking through glass. No matter what I said, it barely reached him. No reaction. No warmth. Just those clipped, polite answers. Always cautious and calculated.
But now… Now he looked up at me like he was actually listening. Like my words mattered enough to pause over. Not to correct. Not to deflect. Not to ignore. Just… Listen. And that laugh from earlier? That tiny huff under his breath? That wasn't him. Not the old him, anyway.
I picked up my chopsticks again and stirred the soup just to have something to do with my hands. My mouth felt dry. "Eat before it gets cold," I muttered. Not because I was annoyed. Just because I need to break the silence again. I didn't know what was more unsettling: the fact he was looking at me differently… or the fact that I kind of liked it.
When I glanced at him again, he was already eating, quietly, like we'd done this a hundred times before. But we hadn't. I didn't know this version of him. This quite that wasn't cold. The silence that didn't push me out. And more than that, I didn't want to bring up last night.
The way he cried… It wasn't loud or messy, but he was kind of crying because he was finally ready to crack up. Like a child who didn't cry when he fell and only held it in, held it in until the world turned too quiet and then finally broke. The kind of pain, the only kind that makes your throat burn before the tears ever reach your eyes.
I had only seen Taekyung keep himself in check, buttoned up to the bone. But last night, I saw the seams. The one no one saw. He looked like he didn't know where he was. Or he was supposed to be.
And now, here he was across from me, dressed perfectly, sitting tall, eating quietly. Like nothing happened, like the night didn't exist. I didn't break the silence. Not because I didn't want to talk. But because I don't want him to shut me out again. So, I let the moment sit. With the clicks of chopsticks and the soft sound of stirring soup. His shoulder lifted slightly when he reached for a side dish. The kind stillness felt almost scary.
Scary because if he were to again start building the wall that fell yesterday, and I hope won't try to rebuild it again… Will he?
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Thanks for reading. See you in the next chapter.
If you like this chapter, do vote and comment.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━