White.

 

That's all he sees.

 

A sickening and bright white on all four sides. It blinds his eyes and makes his mind whirl.

 

They say that the white makes the room clean and pure.

 

It makes him want to throw up.

 

They're liars. They all are, even Minah, who keeps stating in her sickening sweet voice that she was trying to help him.

 

But he knew better.

 

He knew. He heard them. They could hide their comments all they like, but he would inevitably hear it in a passing whisper.

 

"Crazy Byunghun."

 

He grips the sleeves of his shirt tightly.

 

He's not crazy.

 

They hate him. He believes that to be a fact. Behind their fake smiles, he knows they wish he would die already. They think of him as violent, but they didn't know anything.

 

He knew one person long ago. A peculiar fellow named Changhyun, who, for whatever reason, refused to eat.

 

Byunghun hated him.

 

Changhyun was crazy. He was not.

 

Changhyun deserved to be here. Not him.

 

When they took him away from Changhyun, he thought he was finally leaving this damned place. Instead, they threw him further in.

 

They said he was a threat to the other patients. They said that he had cut Changhyun's face with his nails, bit and ripped his cheeks, and nearly gouged out his eyeballs. They said that Changhyun had lost too much blood and was going to be sent to another hospital. They said it was Byunghun’s fault.

 

Byunghun called them liars.

 

Changhyun deserved it. He was trying to kill himself. He was the crazy one.

 

They've been trying something new. They call it electroconvulsive therapy. Why did he need therapy? He's not like the others here.

 

He's not crazy.

 

"It's for your own good." Minah had stated. "It'll make you feel better."

 

A ing lie.

 

Therapy is supposed to make someone better. It's supposed to fix what's broken.

 

Instead, Byunghun felt more pain than he ever had before in his entire life. He confronted Minah to tell her to stop the torture. He was only trying to tell her that he hated it, but she had screamed for him to put down the scalpel.

 

Scalpel? It was a ing butter knife. It can't hurt anyone, and Byunghun decided to prove that by stabbing it through the palm of his hand.

 

Byunghun bites down harshly on his bottom lip, not caring about the metallic tinge of blood that floods into his mouth.

 

He told Minah about Chanhee.

 

She was interested, so she beckoned him to continue.

 

He told her Chanhee made him happy and sad at the same time. He was there, but also not there. He spoke, but without a gram of emotion. He was warm and cold, eloquent and crude, caring and cruel.

 

He was all opposites combined, a strange paradox Byunghun couldn't figure out.

 

But Byunghun loved him. He understood him. Whenever he retreated back into the dark recesses of his mind, Chanhee would appear in front of him, hold him, and whisper words that meant nothing and everything.

 

Minah contemplated for a while before speaking the damn words he believed were false.

 

"He doesn't exist."

 

Byunghun would have leapt up, would have launched himself at her, but he was restrained after his episode with the scalpel. He was at the mercy of her words.

 

"This Chanhee person doesn't exist. He’s only a figment of your imagination. Byunghun, forget about him. It's not healthy."

 

Byunghun grew livid, spewing venomous words from his mouth. They had to sedate him and throw him in a padded cell. They treated him like he was some sort of a ing lunatic. He hated that.

 

He's not crazy.

 

Now he sits, stewing in his own emotions. He thinks back to everything he has done so far and concludes once more.

 

He's not crazy.

 

Everyone else is. Changhyun is. Minah is. He's not.

 

He waits patiently, waiting for Chanhee to arrive. If he sees Chanhee, then he'll know he's not crazy. Then he can prove to himself that Minah is indeed a ing liar.

 

He hopes that Chanhee arrives soon. He hears new talk from the doctors. He hears about lobotomies and how they may use it on him. He doesn't know what they are, but he feels they are much more sinister than having electric currents pumped through his brain.

 

The door unlocks with a resounding click. Byunghun lifts his head as it creaks open eerily, no one standing on the other side.

 

He should feel scared, but he doesn't. He should stay in fear that someone could catch him, but something in the back of his mind nudges him, forces him to leave.

 

His footsteps are mechanical. Left. Right. Left. Right.

 

Soon, he steps out and faces a long hallway, fluorescent tube lights flickering occasionally. It's oddly silent. Papers are scattered on the floor like a harsh breeze had blown through. It peculiar though. He knows that he's in the basement.

 

He feels Chanhee. He senses him. He doesn't know where he is, but he knows that Chanhee is with him.

 

He walks through, passing deserted rooms and messy desks.

 

"Chanhee?" His whispered voice is hoarse.

 

The lights flicker again. When they relight, he sees Chanhee standing at the end of the hallway. Byunghun feels relief.

 

"Byunghun. Come here." Chanhee's voice echoes in the enclosed space. It makes Byunghun want to run to him, but it also makes him want to flee back into his room.

 

The incessant pressure in the back of his head continues. As he steps closer to Chanhee, he can feel it abate ever so slightly.

 

Chanhee spreads his arms, inviting Byunghun. He launches himself into the embrace without hesitation.

 

He feels the warmth and the cold. He hears Chanhee whisper words of comfort that are devoid of emotion. He feels safe.

 

Byunghun breathes a sigh of relief.

 

He's not crazy.

 

As their lips gently meet, he wishes for the day when he leaves this damned place, where there are no longer any walls between them, and where Chanhee will always be with him.

 

That day will come soon.

 

---

 

TL;DR - L.Joe is stuck in LaLa Land.