"Have you gained weight?" 

"You look very... healthy." 

"Are you sure you should be eating that?" 

"How much have you eaten today?" 

"Maybe you should try those diet pills." 

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Minseok fisted handfuls of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. Why won't these voices go away? Why can't they leave him alone? 

You're fat, they tell him. Stop eating, they tell him. You're ugly, they tell him. 

He doesn't want to believe them, he doesn't want to fall into their sick trap. But he does anyways, he always does. He told himself he would never stoop as low as the others, would never harm his body to just be 'skinnier'.

The ahjummas called him healthy, but he knew what they really meant. He's fat, they say. His friends said they like him the way he is, but he knew they were just being nice. They didn't have the heart to tell him he's ugly. You're ugly, their voices taunt. His mother tells him to eat more, but he notices the addition of extra greens and fruits to his meals, his bowl filled halfway with rice instead of to the brim. Stop eating, she orders. Stop getting fatter!

Minseok snaps out of his daze, his eyes zooming on the clock. It's eight in the evening. His friends arrived half an hour ago. His skinny, model-like friends who lied and claimed he was the most handsome. Dinner should be ready by now. His stomach growled at the thought, but he slapped his hand over it, hushing it.

Right on cue, his door swung open, revealing Luhan, a foreign exchange student he befriended on the first day of high school. "Your mom says dinner's ready. Coming down?" They were used to him skipping meals, yet they chose not to say anything. Minseok knew they encouraged it, encouraged him losing weight, and so he shook his head, using the excuse of homework (which really wasn't an excuse if you looked at the empty worksheets laid out on his desk).

Luhan continued to look at him, and Minseok could never figure out what kind of look it was because he just seemed to stare at him. Those doe eyes narrowed a fraction, then relaxed. Lower lip jutted out not quite fully. Minseok refused to believe it was sympathy. The former nodded and left without a word, door clicking softly after him. 

Minseok waited until the foot steps faded down the stairs before he stood up to approach the full body mirror in the corner of the room. He looked at his plain face, cheeks round with baby fat. His neck was wide, and his collarbones didn't stick out like Luhan's. Minseok remembers seeing them clearly earlier, when Luhan's hand was on the doorknob and his shirt slipped over his shoulder. 

He pulled up his shirt, grimacing at his stomach, which wasn't as flat as Luhan's. He's seen Luhan's before, in the changing room during PE. It was flat and smooth, abdominal muscles carved into the milk-white skin. Minseok inhaled, in his belly. The tips of his ribs poked from his skin, but he wanted to be able to see each rib, feel each ring with his fingertips. 

He let go of his shirt, successfully covering his disgusting torso. Next came his pants. The rough material pooled at his ankles. Minseok studied the reflection of his thighs, massive muscles cowering over his knees. They touched when he placed his feet together. Even his calves touched, toned from soccer. But soccer increased their size, instead of cutting off fat. He remembered Luhan's mile-long legs, thin as poles, yet defined with muscles from sports. His thighs never touched and his calves were well proportioned.

Why can't I look like Luhan?

Minseok pulled his pants back up. He pounded his eyes with his fists, forcing the tears to not fall. He was stronger than this! He wasn't weak, he wasn't going to cry like a little girl! Quickly, the mirror was turned over. 

Minseok slipped out of his room and into the hallway restroom to shut himself out from reality. 

No one knows what happens behind those closed doors, but when Minseok comes out, he's smiling.