So makeup hadn’t been the best of my ideas, I learned that at the supposedly innocent age of ten. Instead of playing outside with the other kids my age, I had been in my parents’ restroom, trying to make myself look nice for that one boy everyone gave damn about.

When Himchan had found me, a sobbing mess of a clown, he wiped my face of the disgusting material, cooing softly at me as he brushed away my tears. As each layer slowly peeled off, I could feel myself slowly reverting back to the chubby cheeked boy I normally was.

But the thing is, from the moment I had found my mother’s makeup box, I would never be the same as normal. It just wasn’t possible.

The makeup, washing off, had torn off a part of me as well.

Himchan patched me up that night, pulling me gently into his arms and letting me sleep with him in his bed. It was a Friday night, I still remember; and when I woke up, it was to my mother yelling at Himchan.

I didn’t know back then that it was because of the wasted makeup. I’d only thought that Himchan had messed up on test again or something. I didn’t know it was because of me; if I’d known, I don’t know if I would have been able to ever face Himchan again. I only ever brought him misery.

When he came back into his room, he instantly wiped off his tears to smile at me, tugging down his shorts to hide the red stripes left by our mother’s lecture. He never told me anything about it, and I didn’t bother ask.

I was the worst brother in the history of the world.

It wasn’t until I was fourteen, the age Himchan had been when I first had my makeup spree, that I got my next brilliant idea.

Coming to school early, I had overheard the girls in my class squealing about idols (or, the hoohas, as my dad so kindly liked to put) and how their oppas were the most handsomest being in the world. I’d thought it was because the girls liked them so much, that we thought they were pretty. But I was wrong.

Plastic surgery.

It didn’t seem like a bad idea. It rubbed away the bad parts of me (a nicer way of saying everything) and put in place something so much better. With enough work, I could look good enough for JB to like me. Maybe.

Even a loser like me could have hope.

I had high hopes for myself as I waited for Himchan’s classes to end. My legs hanging under me, I’d seated myself at the bench nearby the front gates of our schools (luckily enough for me, our schools were within the same gates, rumors of my being Himchan’s younger brother protecting me from possible bullies). It was a hot, sticky day, and my glasses kept slipping from the bridge of my nose, slicked by the sweat from the afternoon sun. I was a sweating, fat mess; needless to say, it wasn’t an attractive sight. Some of the girls from my class near hissed at me as they walked by.

I’d say I deserved as much.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Himchan was my older brother, they would have probably shoved me down the toilet.

“Jaejae,” it was Himchan’s voice that shook me from my revere as he practically skipped to my side with his friends following behind, “you waited for me!”

I would never get why Himchan was always so excited to see me. I was nothing; nothing but a waste of space.

Often times, adults would look over at me, shaking their heads, their tongues clicking pitifully against the roof of their mouth at me. “It’s sad,” they’d say, “that Youngjae doesn’t look more like Himchan.” To them, it didn’t matter that I was standing just a little ways away. It didn’t matter that I could hear everything they were saying. “He’s such a failure compared to his brother.” My feelings had never meant anything to them anyways. I was too ugly to matter.

“Himchan, I want a job.”

I don’t know what exactly was it that gave me the idea that telling Himchan that I wanted to remake my face was smart. Somehow, I guess, deep inside, I wanted Himchan to stop me, to tell me that I was pretty as I was. That I’d one day be as pretty as he was.

I guess deep inside, I’d thought that I was just a waiting caterpillar, waiting to turn into a butterfly.

I’d wanted a fairy tale ending like the ugly duckling.

“What for? You know you can just ask hyung; I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“I want plastic surgery.”