“Isn’t he cute?” Splat.

“Charming, right? He got admitted two days ago” Splat.

“Oh! The one that—“

“The same one” Splat.

Donghae tries to block out the gushing of the nurses by focusing on his lunch. Playing around with it really. The mashed potatoes taste like paper, so he’s transporting the substance from one side of the plate to the other, his spoon the crane.

Five minutes. That’s the longest interval he’s gone without hearing people talk about his looks and miracles and guardian angels.

Soon enough, a doctor passes by and scolds the nurses, making sure they go back to their duties before returning to his own.

Donghae stops abusing the mushy essence on his plate and instead puts the whole thing in the recycle bin. He feels bad at first but reconciles himself—half the hospital’s food is lost through nausea either way.

When he gets to the commons room, Donghae doesn’t know whether to feel unlucky or not. He’s the only one there. He would like to make friends and socialize, but after the amount of gossiping on the staffs’ part, he doesn’t think anyone wants to talk to the “miracle worker”.

His eyes sweep miserably across the room.

A mess of paper on the coffee table is what stops him from walking back out. He decides it’s interesting enough to look at, better than wading along the halls to his room.

Sitting himself in front of the table, Donghae picks up one sheet of paper, eyes scanning the rest of the pile below.

The rightmost sheet has two drawn from a fairy, next a pair from an angel, then ones of a bat, last scaled from a dinosaur. Papers peeking out from underneath show those of a butterfly and a phoenix.

All the drawings are the same. All wings.

The sheet he’s holding has the outline of two particularly fluffy ones, poised and elegant. They’re in the process of opening, a few longer feathers stretched out, ends slightly visible, yet mostly covered by smaller, puffier tufts. Their full wingspan would be a jaw-dropping sight.

An odd flapping from the window makes him raise his head up from the drawing, and he can’t hide his shock.

It’s that boy again.

He’s out on the balcony, gliding side to side, spinning gracefully, sending waves through his body as if he’s part of the sea. The movements look gentle and fluid, but the swaying of the curtains shows the power coursing through them.

He looks like he’s flying.

And he stops not a minute later.

Donghae sees him roughly dragged inside by a nurse, screechy voice full of reprimands. She stops upon sight of Donghae, greeting him, but pauses midway in leaving.

“Hyukjae, what’s this? I thought we made it clear you’re not allowed to doodle” she croaks, taking a step in Donghae’s direction. “Sir, I’m sorry, I’ll clean this up” she sends an apologetic look his way, and seems, Donghae doesn’t know why, embarrassed.

“It’s alright, I’ll take care of these” Donghae holds the paper in his hands closer, before the nurse has a chance to snatch anything away.

She looks at him hesitantly for a while, but falters at his smile and turns to leave, letting out another apology.

Donghae keeps the drawings instead of throwing them away, seeing no reason to discard them, save the nurse’s distaste, which he has no interest in adopting. At night, confined in his room, Donghae stares at them for a long time. The lines on the paper are speaking to him, but he has no idea what they’re saying. As night turns into day, he makes sure to hide them carefully, with caution, so they don’t end up in the same bins his lunches do.

°°°

He meets the blonde again the next day, the latter leaning against a windowsill, staring so intently through the glass it’s a wonder it hasn’t cracked already.

Donghae hesitates for a moment before moving closer.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Caramel irises glance his way a second before they’re redirected back to the window.

“Nothing much…I just wish there weren’t any locks.”

Donghae’s eyes dart to the clasps keeping the window shut, kept immovable by a structure with a keyhole. There was no way to open it without the key, most likely a privilege kept exclusive to trusted staff.

“I want to feel the fresh air, it’s too dull inside.”

His focus shifts upward to the pieces of sky visible in the square panel. A vivid blue, splotches of soft white scattered about its surface. The steady movement of the cotton-ball lookalikes leads him to join the other next to the window. Both are captivated by the clouds, manner in which they drift across the sky soothing, reminiscent of a silent lullaby.

°°°

His name is Hyukjae but he introduces himself as Eunhyuk.

Donghae talks to him for a good part of his third day at the hospital before the other is steered away by a doctor with poorly concealed annoyance. Daily psychiatrist appointments. Hired by the hospital to give a better synopsis to the asylum, to start the “recovery” as soon as possible, they say. 

The doctors have tightly clenched attitudes around him, rigidity too excessive to be simple caution.

His personality is somewhat quirky, but not overbearing. He’s a bit shy, more close to being reserved than socially awkward. And although he doesn’t talk that much, he is fairly blunt.

Dancing comes naturally to him, all motions easily executed, body having some sort of affinity with movement. That and drawing seem to be his hobbies, although Donghae isn’t quite sure about the latter. He only ever draws wings, or at least, that’s all Donghae has seen.

The wings. That’s the part of him that stands out the most. Whether he wishes for them, hallucinates them, or even has them, Donghae doesn’t know. But he feels bad labeling the blonde mental just because of that. He doesn’t have the “off” feeling most sent to the asylum do—and he, in all honesty, isn’t very strange.

Albeit references to wings and everything to do with them come up a lot while talking, it doesn’t really bother Donghae. It’s not like he’s pretending to be an eagle, jumping off tables and falling on the floor, like the doctors’ mannerisms hint. Definitely not to that extent.

He’s just interested, Donghae decides.

He also has a fascination with windows, utilizing opportunities whenever possible to stare out of them, more so now after being banned from the roof. Although, more than half the view is always obscured by some concrete wall jutting into the sky.

°°°

A group of white-clad nurses pass by, at least one teal box carried by each nurse.

He snorts.

“She also has wings.”

The other his head at the statement.

“Dark, pointy, and ragged. I’m amazed they’re still attached to her back” the blonde takes a generous slurp of pink from a paper cup. Where he managed to procure the drink a mystery none knew.

“Everyone else’s already fell off.”

°°°

Eyes relentlessly bore into paper, trying to understand. Even if the paper springs to life, it wouldn’t budge in the face of the gaze. It’s not taunting him, but instead urging him to continue looking, to not give up. Perhaps a bit more and he’ll figure out the puzzle.

Tracing over the penciled lines, he tries to find a clue. A beginning and an end. But the paper would have none of it, just like its comrades. Each one is an entity, no starting or ending point, just there, existing. Existing and complete.

His lips curl into themselves and he stops trying for the night. He cannot fathom it. Heck, he’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be fathoming in the first place anymore.

The feeling keeps him at it for the next few nights nevertheless.

And he realizes why the nurse wanted to get rid of them with such haste. They have an aura. Not a looming aura, nor an enlightening one. It feels as if the drawings themselves are alive. Not literally of course—or maybe…

Donghae doesn’t know. But he does know that Eunhyuk’s drawings stare straight through his soul.

They just have that effect.

°°°

It’s gray outside.

Someone is throwing words at him, but he isn’t listening, doesn’t want to, no. Filtering them to silence is better.

The words stop, a heave cracking through the quiet he’s trying to maintain. An enraged huff forces its way to his eardrums, and before he can mute the world again, screams pierce the air.

But he doesn’t turn around, he stays facing away, because if he turns around that means he’s listening, and he’s not. Right now, the sky is his focal point, the world outside the room.

He can’t help but lament the dulling of the bright blue the limitless ceiling was painted earlier in the day. The gray makes it look cold, uncharacteristic of something that brings comfort to him in any situation. It unnerves him the tinniest bit that his place of refuge is so unwelcoming. He feels unprotected, unguarded, and unsure.

But only by the tinniest bit.

The sky isn’t his everything, he can hold himself together just fine. Or at least, he keeps repeating in his head, trying to convince himself that he is strong and won’t crumble.

The slamming of the door alerts him that he is once again alone. He stays in his position, not feeling any calmer even though the one causing his inner turmoil left.

Another psychiatrist got mad.

While his eyes are still glued to the storm cloud outside, he isn’t looking at it anymore. Contrary to the image he fought to project, the words did not fall on deaf ears. They are on infinite replay in his head.

Freak.

Freak…that’s a word people use when talking about something abnormal. He doesn’t have any mutations, so why would they use that word? There wasn’t anything that set him apart to that extent from everyone else, so instead of that he was a—

Monster.

“I’m not a monster…” he’s not sure if he vocalized or only mouthed the sentence. He needs something solid right now, so he’s taking on the task of grounding himself to anything he can muster, attempting at a resolve. The word still digs further.

M-o-n-s-t-e-r.

“I’m…”

What is he?

It takes some time, but the answer comes to him like it always does.

Simple. He’s Eunhyuk. Not what those doctors say. Not a patient number something, not an unfortunate child with a deeply developed psychotic condition, nor foolish for not trying to correct himself. What is there to correct in the first place?

Nothing.

He’s perfect the way he is, just like those teachers and children’s books tell everyone in the whole world.

“I’m…”

“…simply me.”

And it’s perfectly fine to be so.
 

A/N: Anyways, this chapter...probably will not make much more sense than the last XD I think this story might be hard to comprehend... I'll update quicker though, since now I'm free~ :3 Thank you to all subscribers!
[Edit]: Rewrote this chapter too~

@Dongmander: The question of whether Hyuk's beliefs are real or not will face a major focal point in the next chapter~ And yes, Donghae doesn't pay enough attention to his surroundings orz Hope you enjoy the chapter!