forever won't wait

so lost in dreams

He was cold, so very cold. Damp sheets and clothes stuck to his sweaty body, and the room spun beneath him. His surroundings were oddly familiar, and yet he couldn't quite place the feeling. A scratchy blanket, soft beeping, harsh light, tubes in his left arm...ah. The hospital.
It didn't really come as a surprise. He knew he had to be careful about the amount that he took, and yet here he was. He was spiralling out of control, and this was the pinnacle of it all.

Of course, it wasn't always like this. A pill or two every few weeks; just enough to make him not care quite so much for a while. Every few weeks turned into every week, and then every day, until he was here.

Three years ago, he wouldn't have thought that this could happen. He had been the great Jung Hoseok, one of the best dancers in the world. Everyone either wanted him or wanted to be him, more often than not they wanted both. He was at the very top, but all that meant was that he had that much harder to fall.
The door clicked open and he opened his eyes to see a thin, prim nurse bustling in. She set a paper cup of water on the bedside table and checked the beeping machines; once she finally turned towards Hoseok he had shut them again.

"Sir? It's time for breakfast, if you feel up to going. I could also bring your food in here, if you'd prefer that." She paused, waiting for an answer. "Mr. Jung, I know that you're awake. If you don't answer me, I'll assume the latter."

"I don't want to eat." Hoseok's voice was thin and scratchy; he hadn't realized how much his throat hurt until now. Sitting up, he reached for the paper cup with shaky hands. The nurse pressed it into his hand, wrapping hers around his to help steady him. Hoseok cleared his throat and tried speaking again. "I'm not hungry, don't go through the trouble of bringing food in here."

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Look, I have to bring you food. Whether or not you eat it is none of my business." With that, she turned on her heel and left. Hoseok laid back down, his head spinning again.

The next four days were spent in absolute hell. He was shaking almost constantly, he had sweat enough to make himself constantly dehydrated, to the point where he had to be on an IV drip. His arms and legs ached, he hadn't been able to keep food down, not that he was hungry at all. He spent any lucid moments either crying or in irrational fear and paranoia, often having to be restrained.

And then, miraculously, it was over. He had lost at least twenty five pounds, and his head still spun in the mornings. He still craved that dullness, but it was less of an itchy need now. They would let him go, wouldn't they?

"I'm sorry, when we contacted your family, they insisted that you be put into the psychiatric ward, to be treated for addiction and anxiety, among other things."
Hoseok stared at the head doctor, his mouth slightly agape. The doctor stared back at him through the little round glasses precariously perched on his small nose.

"So I can't leave? I'm an adult, I can check myself out. You can't make me stay."

"Yes, Mr. Jung, we can. Now, if you'll just sign these papers..."

Hoseok stood up, shoving the plastic chair back so hard that it hit the wall behind him. Anger blazed behind his eyes and in his clenched fists. He was shouting and punching the walls, throwing chairs around and being restrained, all at once. He barely had time to register a pinch before everything faded out to black.

Jimin's eyes opened at eight a.m. on the dot, just as his favorite nurse was opening his curtains. Soft yellow light streamed in, brightening up the sterile white ever so slightly.

The nurse glanced at him. "Still keeping up the silent treatment? I'm starting to feel a little bummed, Jimin. I thought I would have been rid of you by now." She cracked a small smile, and Jimin couldn't help but grin as well. He sat up, running his hands through his bedhead and yawning. As he went to stand up, he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him and grabbed onto the bed rail as the nurse rushed over to help him into his wheelchair.

"If you would just try a little harder to eat..." She shook her head. "It's pointless, you won't listen anyway. If you have any hope of getting out of here..." She trailed off, and started pushing the wheelchair to the dining hall.

The truth was, Jimin did want to leave. The ward was soul-sucking, but he couldn't bring himself to do what they wanted. He couldn't tell them why he was this way. He couldn't bring himself to eat as much as they wanted him to. He was stuck in limbo, not fully willing to live, but not really wanting to die either.
He picked at the bowl of bland oatmeal that sat in front of him, eating a few spoonfuls here and there. He had learned the hard way that you'd basically be giving yourself another hour of group therapy with every meal left untouched.

He set his spoon down and looked around the dining hall. Little groups sat together, talking and laughing amongst themselves. He was almost jealous of them, but they came and went, each never spending more than a few weeks here at a time. Some would leave and come back, others would presumably be fixed and be free of this place. He was easily the only true long term patient here, and it felt like he'd continue to be so for quite awhile.

Breakfast was over promptly at nine. As he was wheeled out into the hall, he thought about how nice it would be to be able to walk properly again. He was too weak to stand for more than a few seconds at a time, and walking was totally out of the question. They always told him that he was much, much smaller than he thought, but he hadn't truly seen it until he was forced to watch his once strong legs deteriorate into what they were today.

A commotion at the end of the hall broke his thoughts. As people pushed to get a view of the scene, Jimin was left behind, unable to see over everyone. It was probably just a new patient, that always caused a bit of a flurry, especially if they were violent. Jimin had seen it many times before, and couldn't care less by now. As the fuss died down and he was headed back towards the group therapy room, Jimin kept his head down, staring at the floor. He almost missed the former dancer passing by, quickly being shuffled off into a room. He blinked for a second, and shook the encounter off. It couldn't be him, not here, not now.