You are quite like a wilted flower,
neglected,
dried out,
and crumbled into pieces.
But, why did you still catch my attention with that beyond-belief beauty of yours?
All you need is a little love to bloom,
a little care to grow colorful,
and a litt...
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XV: Wilted Flower
Smoke and Mirrors | The literal smoking and the metaphorical 'mirrors' of the characters' emotional states.
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The steady beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing Minho heard as he slowly drifted back to consciousness.
His eyes fluttered open to reveal a sterile room bathed in harsh, artificial light.
The walls were stark white, their emptiness echoing the bleakness he felt inside.
His body was wrapped in layers of bandages, a patchwork of white cloth covering every part of him that had been harmed.
The reality of his situation slowly seeped into his groggy mind. The pain was dulled by medication, but the emotional weight remained as heavy as ever.
As Minho tried to sit up, a figure appeared in the doorway, Riki.
Riki stepped inside, his face a mask of restrained sorrow. His eyes, usually so full of warmth and humor, were now darkened with an emotion Minho could not quite decipher.
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as Riki approached the bed.
Minho wanted to say something, to bridge the chasm that had formed between them, but the words wouldn't come.
The tension in the room was palpable, a thick fog that neither of them seemed able to clear.
Finally, Riki broke the silence. His voice was colder than Minho had ever heard it, each word carefully measured.
"The orphanage administration has given you an ultimatum," Riki said, his gaze fixed on a spot just above Minho's head. "If you don't stop this shit... they're considering sending you to a mental hospital."
The words hit Minho like a physical blow. He had feared the consequences, but hearing them laid out so plainly made the reality feel even harsher.
His heart sank further as he tried to grasp the full impact of Riki's words.
