2:53 pm

Professor Choi zeroed in on the covered you. He chewed on his lip as he observed the behavior he thought Jaejoong was lying about. You did undeniably have a strange irrepressible hostile side. He also noted that you stayed calm in Jaejoong’s hold. He soaked in the caring gestures Jaejoong had for you, it wasn’t something he had shown off in class much. You were very interesting, but he was not going to delve into it further. “Jaejoong sshi, I’ve told you I don’t want to do this.”

Jaejoong pouted, showing his obvious displeasure. “But Professor Choi, she is already here. Why can’t you just examine her?” His professor sighed at Jaejoong’s ignorance. He picked up various documents from his desk and placed them before Jaejoong. The young man peeped at the papers while still hugging your head. He glared back at the professor. “What is this?”

“Jaejoong, I already told you. If you want to put her through the tests you need parental permission. Get a parent or Guardian to sign those papers, and get her consent as well, then we can talk. I still don’t want to do this.”

“Professor!” Jaejoong whined, but his teacher only shook his head. Jaejoong rolled his eyes when he recognized that he was not going to win the argument. He had wanted for his professor to reach the conclusion on your mental state. He knew that you weren’t stable, but he wanted to know how out of it you really were. He needed a standing ground for where to start on his research. He was going to cure you. He was going to take away your currently permanent lifestyle change. He was going to help you.

“Jaejoong sshi, my decision is final. Please do not push for this anymore. Your pleas will get you nowhere. I suggest you study so that one day you won’t have to ask me. Hopefully you could do what you want yourself.” Jaejoong huffed.

“Is it about the money? I said I would pay you. Why can’t you just do this one favor?” The professor just turned around and walked out. When he was completely out of sight Jaejoong pulled you out of his hold and looked stared gently into your eyes, gaining your attention. “Well sunshine, I guess I couldn’t help you today.” You didn’t say anything. Did no one treat you as a normal person anymore? It was not your idea of fun to have someone you trusted deeply tries and have you checked on. You felt like you lost credibility for everyday things. Was anything you said real and believable? It evidently didn’t matter.

You pushed him away and averted your eyes. It was a good day; you weren’t going to let him ruin it. “Jaejoong, I know I haven’t been here that long, but I think I should go.” He gave you a quizzical ogle. He wasn’t used to you pushing him away. It had almost become natural to take his caring side and show gratitude for all he had done for you. “Things don’t look so clear to me right now.” He nodded like he understood what you were saying when he really didn’t get it at all. He was just lying to make you feel better.

3:12 pm

“Hello, welcome to Seoul’s College of Performing and Fine Art’s showcase. We hope you enjoy the student paintings and please bid on any paintings you wish to purchase. This is a fundraiser for our fine arts department. We are in need of new supplies and would be awfully appreciative if you would help us out.” You halfway listened to the opening speech a woman was giving. “Some of our students have been putting their paintings in galleries for several years, while others are just now experiencing the wonderful world of viewing. Please be considerate of each artist’s thoughts and try not to be harsh. Critiquing is welcomed on a minimal level as this is not a competition. You can find the showcase separated into different sections. I hope you can find a painting that really connects with you. Enjoy your time here, and remember this is a fundraiser!” She laughed merrily and opened the doors for the observers to enter.

It was easy for you to find Yoochun’s paintings. He almost had a whole section to himself. You didn’t think it was because he was really into fundraising; he just painted like it was his life. And his paintings were of his life. When you saw the first painting by ‘I’ you recognized the nightmarish representation. It was something only Yoochun could create. People seemed to recognize you as well. It wasn’t surprising, even with the shades that Yunho had lent you so long ago; people could seem the resemblance between you and one of the girls in the paintings.

But you couldn’t see it. The person that shared your features was not you. The woman was too evil and corrupted. She was sickeningly mad and completely out of control. The canvases in the ‘HEARTLESS & MANIA’ corner looked out of place. The person in them wasn’t real. She wasn’t you. The paintings were in order of oldest to newest; it was like looking at a visual timeline of your experiences in NIGHTMARE.

It must have been from the first nightmare that Yoochun had depicted you like that. Taking charge and managing critically. You aired intelligence and authority. You were directing everyone into a circle for sharing time. It was a smart move, but it hadn’t helped much. That superiority was replaced in the following painting. Only a small view of you was shown, but it was clear that it was your fragile figure being clutched in Amara’s grasp. Your partial revealed face had aching and determination seeping into each shallow wrinkle. It was your greatest desire to seem strong and perfectly healthy, even though you were quite clearly dying. You were still caring then. The things you did were still out of nobility and integrity. Your actions hadn’t become selfish and without thought.

When had you changed? Your next frame held your headship again. Your expression sparked reassurance for your physical state. You were also vibrant with your Tae Kwon Do uniform on, leading on that you were still as powerful as ever. But all of that seemed lost when the crowd of ten scattered and you were taking a merciless course to destruction. That was the first innocent you had killed. Why didn’t the international investigation group question you about that person? She was surely missing. You were so elegant and trained, it was all too natural.

Your strength was shown as you didn’t back down when you were captured by your hair. The mix of disappointment and bewilderment came upon you as your hair rained down your back. There were purple waves over a random box. Your struggle to cope with your fighting members and your own uselessness had overwhelmed your senses. You had even lost movement in your arm. A grimace snuck onto your face as you remembered that terrible time.

That was when you were still strong. When you could effortlessly sacrifice your own well being for the sake of your group. You weren’t the same person. It was in that painting that you saw it. Childish and drunk? When had you been so irresponsible? It couldn’t have been real. Your face striking a pained expression from the super glue. You, chaotically bouncing around from the Russian dart.

That dart was what started your real misery. You could have dealt with NIGHTMARE. It was just another challenge, but hallucinations that felt real were impossible to live with. You had been fraught with that madness for so long it had become your life. The following paintings showed your coexistence with the insanity inside. Though the pictures were supposed to be about the nightmares, you could only focus on the changes in you.

“Do you like reliving those NIGHTMARES?” You twisted around to face Yoochun. He wasn’t smiling, but he radiated warmth and kindness. His paintings were being seen by someone that actually mattered. “Doesn’t it scare you to see these horrible things again?” Of course it did.

“I’m more scared of the rat that had been following me in every painting. I want you to tell me that it isn’t there, because I see it in every canvas I look at.” Yoochun shook his head at your playful answer. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to another corner of his section.

You were guided to a large painting that made you gasp. It was a beautiful portrait of a man falling off his throne. It looked like a King of some sort. His body was sagging over and his cape was untying from his shoulders. His crown had long toppled over onto the floor. The Queen by his side was faceless, but unharmed by the sight in front of her. In fact, she held his card and tore it in two as if she was ready to take his place. In the background, behind the throne, was a man wearing checkered attire. In his open palm was a toppled chess piece, the king. The number DXCVII on all three of their old and rough arms.

“The King has finally fallen.”

********************************

DXCVII is 597.

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