Oasis (A KaiSoo Fanfic)

Chapter 4 | Killing the Sun

There were only two things that could piss me off: nuisances and frustrations. And since I scarcely spoke to anyone in the hospital, I had done quite a good job of avoiding those two things. But as time and days dragged on, my inner annoyances and frustrations with Kyungsoo only managed to expand and I was presented with a dilemma. It's not like he was doing anything out of the ordinary aside from his usual use of smiles and cringe-worthy honorifics, but it was mostly that feeling his presence gave me that resided in the pits of my stomach that was giving me issues. And it was one of those feelings that was hard to describe, too, so that didn't help at all. 

It wasn't like the cliché butterflies in my stomach and it wasn't like a powerful blow to the gut either. It was just this thing, this thing that my mind and heart couldn't seem to comprehend. And that wasn't even the most hindering part of it all. It was the fact that this thing, whatever it was, was only growing inside of me by the day, and sometimes, it felt like, even by the minute, building up like mildew in a shower. And he was the only one to blame for all this distress. I had gone a consecutive three years without liking anyone in that place, but then he showed up and messed up all my hard work, blocked the natural flow of what little life I had left. Just like a fucking band-aid.

Unfortunately, Ms. Choi wasn't kidding when she said she would check up on me to make sure I was working on my new assignment. I tried to skip it the day after she introduced it to me, but the rest of the staff was in on it, too, and practically locked me in the art room for an hour twice a week. (They didn't actually do that, but that's what it felt like.)

"I didn't know that you painted." The familiar, comforting sound of Kyungsoo's voice rang in my right ear, causing me to turn my head and see him standing in the doorway wearing that smile.

"I don't," I replied coldly as I put my eyes back on the blank, white easel in front of me. You're probably wondering, despite my cold personality toward humans and personal conflicts with him, why I still acted that way since he was the only person I had technically "befriended" in his that hellish place. Truthfully, I couldn't tell you the answer, even now as I sit here and tell you the story. I guess I found it easier to act cold to people so that I wouldn't disappoint them in some way later on. But I guess you already knew that.

"Right," he said in an elongated and slightly raspy voice as he walked over to me. "That would explain why you are sitting on a stool in front of an easel." Sluggishly, I turned my head toward him and gave him a small glare in return for his words, but he just widened his smile and laughed at me, patting the top of my head a couple of times before he pulled up a stool and sat next to me.

That was another odd change that had occurred between us. Quicker than me with him, he got comfortable around me to the point where he didn't have any reservations in touching me on certain occasions. Not in a sexual way for all you perverted minds out there, but just small actions like pats on the head or laying his hand on top of mine for only seconds. The truth was, though, I had grown accustomed to him, too, and didn't mind these minuscule gestures as much as I think I wanted to. It was beginning to feel like whenever I was around him, the whole world evaporated and it was just us. And somehow, I found comfort in that. 

"My therapist insists that painting will help me express my feelings," I said, looking at the blankness again with narrowed eyes.

"Does it?" he asked me, his eyes landing on me even though mine were turned away.

"Not at all," I deadpanned, making him laugh loudly again. "I mean, how is splashing a bunch of paint on paper supposed to make me get my feelings out?" He let out another string of laughs as I picked up the brush and moved it around on the paper. "I swear, my therapist sucks at her job."