How did it come to this?
It all started with Kim Tae-yang. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now—not only cheated with this guy's girlfriend but had the audacity to send him a video of it.
Why?
Just yesterday, Tae-yang was the center of my world, but now? I felt nothing but a hollow ache. Part of me even thought I deserved whatever retaliation was coming my way. Anyone in my shoes would probably feel the same.
But Tae-yang's betrayal wasn't entirely his fault. I wasn't blameless either.
It started when I was seventeen, when I began dating and had my first intimate experience—not too early, not too late. That's when I realized something was off. I wasn't wired to feel sexual pleasure the way others seemed to. It wasn't that I felt nothing, but it was faint, muted, like a whisper where others heard a shout. My condition—congenital hypoesthesia—made physical intimacy a challenge. My lack of response often left my partners feeling inadequate, so I started avoiding it altogether. It seemed easier than disappointing someone.
I threw myself into exercise, hoping it might help. I'd read somewhere that physical activity could improve hypoesthesia, and I clung to that hope. But looking back, that choice set the stage for this mess. I became so consumed with working out that I neglected Tae-yang. Add to that my refusal to be physically intimate, and it's no wonder he went off the rails.
But cheating is one thing. Filming it and sending it to another guy? What kind of twisted game was he playing? The memories of me fiercely defending him on social media now felt like a humiliating stain. I'd spent so much energy convincing everyone he'd changed, that his past was behind him. What a joke.
And then there was the guilt. The man sitting across from me—Sunghan—had lost his girlfriend because of my boyfriend. The traces of her presence in his apartment hit me like a punch to the chest: a hair straightener on the counter, a comb tucked by the mirror, stockings draped over a chair. This couple must've been close, happy even, before Tae-yang bulldozed through their lives. I felt responsible, like I'd somehow let this happen.
So when Sunghan mentioned uploading the video to social media as revenge, I wondered if I even had the right to stop him. But I did anyway, my voice small and pathetic. "Please… don't do that…"
It was a selfish plea, and I knew it. I wasn't protecting Tae-yang—I was protecting myself. My career as a social media influencer, built from scratch in less than a year, was everything to me. I'd worked hard to amass followers, land sponsorships for cosmetics and sportswear, and carve out a space online. But Tae-yang was a liability. His rough edges and checkered past were a constant topic in my comment sections, with fans urging me to dump him. I'd lost followers defending him, and if that video went public, it wouldn't just ruin him—it'd torch my career too.
To my surprise, Sunghan didn't push back. Instead, he offered another way. A tit-for-tat. He'd give Tae-yang a taste of his own medicine. I'd already stopped his first plan, so how could I say no to this one? Besides, with my hypoesthesia, physical intimacy didn't hold the same weight for me as it did for others. It wasn't like my body would break from a little contact. And deep down, it felt like a way to atone for my role in this mess. The guilt that had been gnawing at me started to loosen its grip.
Plus, Sunghan promised he wouldn't go all the way—no penetration—unless I wanted it. As if I'd ever want that, I thought. My condition made that impossible.
"It's filming well," Sunghan said, adjusting his phone to capture us.
I swallowed hard, my eyes fixed ahead. I was used to taking photos and videos for social media, but this? This was different. Awkward, exposing, raw. He was going to send this to Tae-yang, wasn't he? What would his reaction be? He'd always put on a perfect "good guy" act in front of me. Would he be furious? Or would he just smirk, seeing my blank, hypoesthetic expression?
Sunghan finished setting up the phone and sat next to me on the cramped sofa. Our shoulders brushed, and I flinched, instinctively wanting to scoot away. But I stopped myself. What was the point? We were about to do far more than just sit close.
"Shall we start?" he asked, his voice tinged with nerves.
"…Yeah," I replied, my throat dry with tension. My body felt stiff, like it was creaking under the weight of what was coming.
Sunghan hesitated for a long moment before his hand settled on my thigh. It was a light touch, nothing intense, but my heart raced anyway—not from pleasure, but from the sheer strangeness of it all. His hand moved slowly, tracing up to my waist, then the nape of my neck, and finally hovering near my chest.
I exhaled quietly, relieved. Just as I thought. I felt nothing. Just the pressure of his large, calloused hand. No spark, no heat. For a fleeting moment, I'd worried—what if I did feel something? What if, with a man who wasn't my boyfriend, I suddenly wanted more? But my hypoesthesia held firm, keeping me safely numb.
Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, gently cradling my head. He turned to face me, his intent clear. A kiss was coming.
I frowned without meaning to. I hated kissing. Not because of some romantic notion about saving it for Tae-yang, but because it was suffocating, messy, sometimes even gross. I'd smelled cigarettes or stale breath from past partners, and there was no payoff—no thrill, no joy in their reactions. It was just something to endure.
With no other choice, I closed my eyes, bracing myself and hoping it'd be over quickly. Darkness enveloped me as his face drew closer. Our lips met.
As expected, I felt nothing. Just the pressure of his mouth on mine.
Until something changed.
Something warm and thick slipped between my lips, slow and deliberate. My eyes snapped open, and I shoved him back, my heart pounding. "W-What was that?"
"Huh?" Sunghan looked confused, caught off guard by my reaction.
I couldn't even form words properly, my mind reeling. It was just a kiss. But I'd felt something—a strange, unfamiliar warmth that made my head fuzzy and my waist tremble. For a split second, it felt good. Impossible.
"No… it's nothing," I stammered, trying to regain control. "Let's keep going."
When he leaned in again, I moved first, almost instinctively. Not because I was eager, but because I needed to know—had I imagined it? Was that feeling real? Our lips met again, mouths already half-open, tongues brushing almost immediately.
"Ugh… haa…" A wet, squelching sound filled the air—I couldn't tell if it came from me or him. I swirled my tongue inside his mouth, sometimes sucking on his like it was a piece of candy. Without thinking, I tilted my head, pressing closer, chasing a deeper connection. That fuzzy feeling returned, stronger now, my heart racing, my body tingling where his rough hands grazed my skin. His scent, his movements—things that should've been ordinary—suddenly felt intoxicating. Even the suffocating closeness of the kiss didn't bother me. I didn't want to pull away. We breathed each other in, our exhales mingling.
At first, he'd been the one guiding me, his hand supporting my head. Now, my hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, almost clinging to him. To anyone watching, it probably looked like I was the one desperate for him.
That's how much this feeling shook me.
"Ah…" A small, involuntary sigh escaped when he gently pushed me back, breaking the kiss. I wanted to pull him in again, to chase that sensation.
"We can't just film kissing the whole time," he said, his voice low.
His hand returned to my thigh, tracing the same path as before. But this time, my body reacted. A soft "Heut…" slipped out, and I clapped a hand over my mouth, shocked. What? Why?
It was just my thigh, but every touch sent a jolt through me. When he squeezed the toned muscle, a result of my endless gym sessions, my lips parted on their own. His hand moved to my shoulder, my neck, and each touch drew a hot, involuntary sigh. By the time his fingers brushed near my chest, my eyes were glazing over, my body subtly shifting to make it easier for him to touch me.
As if sensing my invitation, his hand finally grazed my chest.
"W-Wait, hold on… ah… nngh…" My voice trembled, caught between protest and something else.
"You okay?" he asked, pausing.
"I'm…" I couldn't finish. "It's not… too much."
But my body was betraying me. I could feel it—sitting there, I was wet. Undeniably, unmistakably wet. A man who wasn't my boyfriend was touching me, and despite my hypoesthesia, my body was responding in ways I didn't understand. Guilt and pleasure twisted together, creating a confusing, intoxicating mix.
Is this why Tae-yang cheated? The thought slipped into my mind, unbidden and shameful. I shook it off. No, what am I thinking? This was about revenge—for what Tae-yang did to Sunghan's relationship, for what he did to me. And maybe, just a tiny bit, it was about my own curiosity.
The mix of emotions pushed me to speak before I could second-guess myself. "C-Could you… maybe go all the way?"
The next day, Kim Tae-yang received a video from his girlfriend.