“Don’t take them from me. Please...d-don’t take them.”’

It was happening again. As rare as their appearances had become over the past few months, the hallucinations still always seemed to find the most spontaneous, inopportune times to rear their ugly heads into her life. Down went the precarious walls for the paradise Jaejoong continuously struggled to surround his mother with. Shattering into nothingness with each of her screams.

It was a tiring process. One that consisted of Jaejoong fearing for his mother's life, biting his nails raw and pacing back and forth down the halls of the hospital, while having to surrender all control to the doctors who probably couldn't care less for her.

(To him, anyways. For no one loved Shim Sungmi as much as Kim Jaejoong).

The visions – whatever they were – would always attack her on days like this: snowy and cold with gray skies and only the noise of traffic from the outside world resonating through the room. Jaejoong could never grasp why they were patterned in such a way, but he would never dwell on the thought for long. He couldn’t. Not when his mother was forced to succumb to the twisted images upon her by the cruel demons of her past.

During moments like this, he couldn’t help but feel completely and utterly useless.

“We’ve injected her with the usual dosage,” the doctor explained loudly over Shim Sungmi’s shrieks. He scanned her charts with disinterest before glancing up at her small figure which writhed and twisted in her hospital bed. Her groans were pained, full of unrivaled torment, and Jaejoong wondered how the doctor managed to remain so stoic when a woman’s very sanity was crumbling into pieces right before him.

The teen swallowed heavily, giving the doctor a practiced nod of understanding. He didn’t dare turn to look at his mother. She was whimpering those same words – over and over again like a mantra only she could discern – just as she always did when a bout of hallucinations such as this would strike her. Her psychiatrist, the one who would visit her every so often for as long as Jaejoong could remember, had claimed they stemmed from a hidden trauma – something that probably occurred in her life that she refused to (or simply couldn't) tell anyone about.

Even Jaejoong, her own son. The boy who, with each passing day, served more as her confidant and anchor rather than her own flesh and blood. She told him everything. All of the dark tales from her childhood and how they dissolved her mind into the pathetic mess it was now – he knew it all. Except for the root of her hallucinations and nightmares, the ones that would oftentimes force her from her sleep with a howl and have her on edge for days...he was sure she never told him about that. Or ever would, for that matter.

And Jaejoong didn’t know whether he felt relieved or angry because of that.

“It’s my fault,” she hissed self-loathingly into the air, and Jaejoong knew that, if her hands weren’t currently restrained to her bedside, they would be clawing mercilessly at her flesh. She had enough faded scars lining her skin to attest to that. “E-everything is my fault. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it! I swear, I didn’t mean it!”

Beside Jaejoong, the doctor snorted with a shake of his head. He made his way across the room, already prepared to move on to another (less complicated) patient, but paused for a moment to give Jaejoong what was meant to be a supportive pat on the shoulder. It only made Jaejoong cringe.

“Give it a few minutes,” he said gruffly, “the drugs will do their job soon.”

Jaejoong swallowed, too disheartened to offer much more of a response. The doctor didn’t seem to be looking for one though, thankfully, and he quickly strolled out of the room, leaving Jaejoong to suffer under the hoarse pleas of his mother.

“Kill me! God please,” she cried, and Jaejoong clenched his eyes shut at the bloodcurdling agony resounding in her normally soothing voice. She raised her head from her pillow, only to slam it back down, the motion repeated again and again in quick succession in an effort to do something, anything to put an end to whatever horrors she was seeing. “Kill me, kill me, kill me – don’t leave me here alone!”

And it took every bit of the strength in Jaejoong’s body to remain by her side.

All he could do was pray.

"So…” The newcomer eases his way into the apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. He tosses off his heavy winter coat, and it falls to the floor with a loud, wet sound. His boots and gloves go next, joining the sopping pile of snow-ridden clothes in a way that makes Junsu squawk indignantly about the growing mess. The boy expertly ignores him, and runs his numbed fingers through his hair. Surly, he says, “I’m assuming this is the emergency Changmin paged me about."

"What?" Junsu’s focus quickly diverts to his left, swerving on Changmin with a dangerous glint in his eyes (the younger doesn’t look to be the least bit intimidated, however). Positively betrayed, Junsu spits out, “I can’t believe you snitched on me!”

In response, Changmin flails his arms around, exasperated. "And why wouldn’t I?” he snaps, matching Junsu’s glower with his own. “He's much better at handling things like this! I would be an idiot not to tell him!"

"But I had everything under control!"

Changmin scoffs, "no, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. He's awake, isn't he?" And Junsu jabs a finger in your direction, cheeks reddened with anger and his eyebrow twitching in a way that looks all too familiar. It didn’t happen often, and Junsu always struggled to get rid of this little telltale tick of his, but you knew firsthand how the man got whenever he was close to exploding in rage.

“Get rid of it.”

Jaejoong's hopeful smile instantly faded into a frown. He gave Junsu a curious look, in his small hands resting a slumbering kitten. It was hardly big enough to be considered healthy, and that was the first thing Jaejoong had noticed about the stray animal when he found it in an alleyway on his way home from school. It quivered dangerously in the his hold, and pursing his lips, Jaejoong asked his cousin once more, “please, can we keep it, Junsu? Look at him, he’s all alone and sick. He needs a home.”

And there it came. The tick. His left eyebrow shuddered into his hairline. Storming over to the front door of their apartment, Junsu opened it before pointing out into the expanse of the hallway. “Get that thing out of my house, Jaejoong.”

Never had Junsu been so livid, not towards Jaejoong anyways. And it didn’t take long for Jaejoong to learn how to read Junsu’s expressions after that. Already feeling like a liability, Jaejoong loathed making Junsu angry. So he studied his cousin carefully at all times, observing his reactions to certain things and memorizing it to heart in order to never displease him again.

And it was moments like those where Jaejoong couldn’t help but empathize with his mother.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you flinch when you notice three pairs of eyes have suddenly landed on you.

Snorting, Changmin gives you a quick assessing look before eyeing Junsu once more, obviously skeptical. "He clearly has brain damage,” he says hotly, and you frown. Steam seems to start billowing out of Junsu’s ears, and it only worsens when Changmin boldly continues, "you just had to play doctor, didn't you? Couldn't just leave things to actual professionals?”

"And he's a professional?" Junsu retorts sarcastically, jerking his head towards the new boy.

Thinning your lips, you decide to give the stranger a brief examination out of the corner of your eye. He isn't looking at you anymore, too busy darting his attention between the bickering pair sitting next to you, so you use the opportunity to gauge what kind of person this unfamiliar figment is supposed to be.

How is your mind coming up with all of these random people, you wonder. Both this new kid and Changmin are two individuals who ring absolutely zero bells to you. No matter how frazzled you are at the moment, you know they are not people who you should recognize. The newcomer especially. At least there is something about Changmin that you know of – his surname, mostly, and his apparent familiarity with your mother (though you still doubt that one) – but the other boy? You have no clue.

He is too young to be one of your classmates, or an attendee of your university in general. As for his uniform...well, Sooman’s Bakery closed down when you were barely old enough to go outside, so it can’t be that either. Is he someone you saw in passing on the street somewhere? Or at the hospital? But why are you dreaming about him? How do you remember his features so vividly? From the curve of his eyes as he smiles at something Changmin says. To the small mole above his lips – they’re shaped like a cupid’s bow, you can’t help but note – and the bold thickness of his eyebrows. To the length of his nose, and enviable straightness of his jawline. You’re sure you could paint a picture of him, that’s how clear his image is to you right now. But there’s no way you would have been able to retain his distinct features so well, not if you just so happened to catch a mere glimpse of him for a few seconds one day by chance.

And his voice? Where could you have heard such a soft timbre before? Light with youth and somewhat nasally from the cold weather – how was any of this possible? Is the human mind so goddamn advanced that it can just make up voices and faces and expressions and actions and clothes and everything for people you hardly even know?

, you can feel the faint signs of a headache coming on