"I'm engaged"
"And I'm in love with you"
In a world of forbidden desires, Taehyung, an engaged omega, meets Jeongguk, an alpha who challenges everything he's ever known. With their hearts entwined and their passion ignited, they defy conventions an...
If you made it here, you have my heartiest gratitude. Let's finish this up.
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04/03/2021
The monotonous hum of fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over the small, stark room. The boy sat on the edge of a narrow, metal-framed bed, staring at the beige wall in front of him. His bleached-out chocolate eyes– that once used to sparkle at the smallest things, now looked dead. He had his knees to his chest, feet flat on the white sheets of what the people here called a bed.
The boy called it a slab– not that he had ever voiced it out. Not once in the three weeks he was in this... asylum.
The slab was bolted to the wall in the room and a barred window offered a sliver of daylight that felt foreign and unattainable. The space was lit up by a single bulb, its harsh light carving sharp shadows across the room.
It felt empty, desolate. A void where time seemed to stretch endlessly, yet remain frozen. The boy's fingers traced the worn edges of a photograph he kept hidden under his pillow – a snapshot of a life that now felt like a distant dream.
The boy wondered if the photograph had started fading, the faces in it not as clear as he remembered them being. A sharp pang in his chest had the photograph slipping through his nimble fingers. He took a sharp breath, mouth slightly parting open as a wave of pain took over his body. His eyebrows knitted together, his wrist coming to clutch the cotton shirt he wore, right over his chest.
"Fuck" He whispered. It's coming back.
The panic... or rather the anxiety, as some people called it, was a disgusting feeling that swallowed his body whole. The smallest trigger had him gasping for air, mind raging into a catastrophic blur and...
And the voices.
They always found ways to creep in.
With trembling hands, he picked up the photograph and pushed it under his pillow. His hands found their way to his hair, thick and no longer soft as it used to be. He rummaged his hands through the faded red strands, black on the roots. It has been almost a year since he dyed his hair red. With–
The boy gasped, tears springing into his eyes. Bruised hands clutched his chest and he swayed on the bed.
He wanted everything to stop.
But nothing ever did.
The same repetitive days that blended into each other, the dismal reality he woke up to every morning, the unchanging routine. His body moved mechanically, going through the motions without feeling. He existed for the sake of existing.
He lived because he couldn't die. They just won't let him.
It was an empty life. Was there any purpose of this at all?
The boy dragged himself out of the slab, feet meeting the cold tiled floor. He moved his heavy feet to the small bathroom. Every step felt like he was trying to drag himself from the grips of death. As if a ton of rocks were attached to his ankles, preventing him from moving.
