What if...? || Markhyuck

-x-

[2 years earlier]

[minhyung]

I slowly bettered the outlines of Luke's character, enjoying the opportunity to continue one of my hidden passions at the center. All manifestations of artistry or self-fulfillment were usually suppressed and forbidden here, however, drawing as a carrier of a certain element of something therapeutically desired was extremely welcome. Therefore, without embarrassment, I brought ream and a pencil to the room, although in theory, I could harm both myself and brunet with such stationery.

"Why did your parents put you here?" the boy asked suddenly, breaking the long silence that came between us.

"They think I'm sick and should receive adequate treatment," I replied calmly, improving the mask's details.

"And you don't think so?" he was surprised.

"Apart from the lack of emotion and an attempt to kill my brother, I don't feel that bad," I said. " I'm not some kind of terrible madman."

"Everyone here says so" he laughed flatly. I didn't comment on this.

Luke had an interesting personality. He was an incredibly complex man who seemed to have many different faces. He created himself for the needs of the moment, so I had no idea when he was honest in his behavior, when he revealed his real self and whether he ever did it. He had a full range of situational masks and one material, which was the tangible evidence of his persona. The boy showed incredible social flexibility. He knew the answer to any unexpected event and was able to get out of the problem when he was boxed into a corner. That is why he continued to fascinate me. Because he was simply unusual and different.

"When did you learn to draw?" he asked after a while after long silence.

"I went to drawing courses since elementary school," I replied thoughtfully. "I didn't like it at first but eventually I began to spend every spare moment on a piece of paper."

"A small, lonely artist with passion," he said after a moment, removing the mask from his face.

I watched carefully how he bettered hair with a neat hand gesture, staring at the bars that prevented us from fully seeing the reality outside the window. 

He kept doing it.

He looked at the windows made of white marblite, which barely let any light into the room. He often told me to get rid of delusions and reconcile with limited access to the world but I had the strong impression that he himself is missing this world really a lot.

"Why did you kill your family?" I asked suddenly, putting the sketchbook in my lap. I didn't think about my behavior and only later realized that it could be too direct. Brunet, however, casually shrugged, not making eye contact with me.

"The doctors say I suffer from dissociative personality disorder, whatever that means. That's why I don't remember it at all," he whispered. "Sometimes, however, I dream of screams. Maybe they belong to them, maybe I came up with them myself, I really don't know. I just keep it secret."

"Don't you want to recover?" I asked.

"They don't want you to recover here, Mark," he smiled sadly at me. "Whom would it pay off?"

"I don't know..." I murmured, because his sudden change of mood took me slightly off guard.

"You don't understand a lot of things now but you'll see what I'm talking about," he said with a small sigh. "May this sad reality not destroy you too much."