Madness and Desire || Soonhoon

Two

Woozi awoke the next morning to the sterile light of the overhead fixture flickering, its hum a constant reminder of his confinement. The room was as white and empty as the day before, a blank canvas waiting to be painted with his thoughts. He stretched languidly, feeling the tension unwind from his muscles as he sat up. He moved to the small sink in the corner of the room, a tiny concession to hygiene in this bleak place, and began his morning routine.

He brushed his teeth with deliberate care, each motion slow and measured, as if he had all the time in the world. His eyes flickered to the mirror above the sink, catching a glimpse of his reflection. His blonde hair, with its pink and blue tips, was disheveled from sleep, his pale skin glowing under the harsh light. The star tattoo beneath his eye stood out starkly, a symbol of the darkness that lay beneath his angelic exterior.

When he finished brushing his teeth, Woozi washed his face, feeling the cold water shock his senses awake. He combed his fingers through his hair, taming it into some semblance of order, and then turned away from the mirror. Just as he was about to sit back on the bed, the door to his room swung open with a loud clank.

A guard entered, his expression a mixture of boredom and irritation. Woozi recognized him from the day before, the same grizzled veteran with lines of weariness etched into his face. Without a word, the guard grabbed Woozi by the arm, his grip rough and unyielding. Woozi sighed, a soft, exasperated sound, but he didn’t resist. Instead, he allowed himself to be pulled along, his movements relaxed, almost lazy.

The guard was walking fast, his boots clacking against the linoleum floor of the hallway. Woozi’s shorter legs struggled to keep up, and he had to quicken his pace, nearly running to match the guard’s long strides. His footsteps echoed alongside the guard's, creating a rhythm that filled the silence of the corridor.

They passed closed doors, each identical to the next, each hiding its own secrets. Woozi’s eyes flickered over them, curiosity simmering beneath his calm exterior. He wondered what lay behind those doors, what kind of minds were locked away in this place. Were they as broken as his? Or perhaps even more so?

Finally, the guard came to a halt in front of a door that looked no different from the others. He pushed it open and shoved Woozi inside, not bothering with pleasantries. Woozi stumbled slightly but caught himself, his lips curling into a snicker. He straightened and took in the room. It was larger than his own cell, with a desk, two chairs, and a small bookshelf filled with volumes that spoke of psychology, the human mind, and the intricacies of insanity.

Woozi’s eyes darted to the other side of the room as the door behind him closed with a heavy thud. A figure stepped in, closing the door gently behind him. He was a young man, shorter than the guard but with an air of authority that made him seem taller. His face was soft, almost boyish, with a roundness that reminded Woozi of a hamster. His eyes were dark and bright, sparkling with an intelligence that caught Woozi’s attention immediately.

The man wore a white coat, the standard attire of the medical professionals in this place, and his hair was a rich brown, styled in a way that seemed both careless and carefully maintained. He had a pleasant face, attractive in a subtle, almost disarming way. Woozi’s gaze swept over him, taking in every detail, assessing and cataloguing with the sharpness of a predator.

The man smiled, his expression warm and friendly, as he approached Woozi. He extended a hand, his movements relaxed and unthreatening. “Hey, I’m Kwon Soonyoung,” he said, his voice light and cheerful, a stark contrast to the grimness of the surroundings. “I’m your psychiatrist.”

Woozi didn’t take his hand. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Soonyoung. He ignored the outstretched hand, choosing instead to lean back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “A psychiatrist?” Woozi echoed, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “Is that what you are, or is that just what they tell you?”