[ Joon-gi drew back and rubbed at one red-rimmed eye with the heel of his hand. He nodded minutely, keenly aware of the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. A little food would probably do him a world of wonders for improving his mood.
Zhao pushed the plate toward him, and Joon-gi hesitated briefly while he stared down at the plate of half-eaten karaage wrapped in crisp cabbage leaves. Gingerly, he picked up one of the wraps and took a breath before biting into it. He chewed thoughtfully, allowing himself a moment to savor the crunchy breading and array of spices, and swallowed with difficulty.
His vision blurred as fresh tears welled up. It reminded him of those bygone days in his childhood home. He remembered his mother standing at the stove in her embroidered apron while Joon-gi (no, he had been called Yeonsu back then) sat at the kitchen table doing his homework. His mother always made karaage whenever he brought home good grades. He looked forward to those nights because his mother would always give him extra from her plate, saying that she made too much.
He never realized until much later that his mother was depriving herself so that he could eat well. He'd been too young to understand why they couldn't afford to buy the name brand food, or why his mother was always bringing home bags of discounted, slightly bruised produce. He didn't know why the recycling was always full of beer bottles or how it was connected to his father's violent moods. He remembered hiding in his room while his father screamed at his mother, demanding to know why the fridge was empty.
Joon-gi continued to eat even as the tears rolled thick and heavy down his cheeks. He choked down his food between heaving breaths, and when his plate was empty, he licked the glaze clean from his fingers. He knew it was disgusting and unseemly to eat in such a manner, but he couldn't help himself.
He was hungry and he wanted to eat. The meager portion wasn't enough to fill the gaping hole inside of him, where it felt like his stomach was gnawing itself.
For as long as he could remember, Joon-gi had always contented himself with scraps. He never asked for more than he was given, and told himself to be satisfied.
But now, he looked at Zhao with tearful eyes, softened by the lack of thick eyeliner, and sniffed loudly.
And, for the first time ever, he asked: ] Can I... Can I please have some more?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-09-30 02:16 am (UTC)Zhao pushed the plate toward him, and Joon-gi hesitated briefly while he stared down at the plate of half-eaten karaage wrapped in crisp cabbage leaves. Gingerly, he picked up one of the wraps and took a breath before biting into it. He chewed thoughtfully, allowing himself a moment to savor the crunchy breading and array of spices, and swallowed with difficulty.
His vision blurred as fresh tears welled up. It reminded him of those bygone days in his childhood home. He remembered his mother standing at the stove in her embroidered apron while Joon-gi (no, he had been called Yeonsu back then) sat at the kitchen table doing his homework. His mother always made karaage whenever he brought home good grades. He looked forward to those nights because his mother would always give him extra from her plate, saying that she made too much.
He never realized until much later that his mother was depriving herself so that he could eat well. He'd been too young to understand why they couldn't afford to buy the name brand food, or why his mother was always bringing home bags of discounted, slightly bruised produce. He didn't know why the recycling was always full of beer bottles or how it was connected to his father's violent moods. He remembered hiding in his room while his father screamed at his mother, demanding to know why the fridge was empty.
Joon-gi continued to eat even as the tears rolled thick and heavy down his cheeks. He choked down his food between heaving breaths, and when his plate was empty, he licked the glaze clean from his fingers. He knew it was disgusting and unseemly to eat in such a manner, but he couldn't help himself.
He was hungry and he wanted to eat. The meager portion wasn't enough to fill the gaping hole inside of him, where it felt like his stomach was gnawing itself.
For as long as he could remember, Joon-gi had always contented himself with scraps. He never asked for more than he was given, and told himself to be satisfied.
But now, he looked at Zhao with tearful eyes, softened by the lack of thick eyeliner, and sniffed loudly.
And, for the first time ever, he asked: ] Can I... Can I please have some more?