Seven, I have come to realize, is a very meaningful number. There are seven colours in the symbolic rainbow, seven cardinal sins by which we try to define the damnation of our fellow man, and seven days in the endless blur of weeks that inevitably shape time itself. It seems that the number is simply destined to hold premise over a wide array of subjects, even in the lives of insignificant misanthropes like me.

For example, there are seven nasty voices in my head that like to scream and rasp out venomous lies. There are seven pills, (yes, the number grew... unfortunately) to override this, to dampen their cries and send them scurrying for cover. The rule is easy to spot and makes perfect sense: one pill per voice, and the seven pills last for seven hours. It's proportionate, and proportion is good, comforting in fact. I like it better when things are consistent, rhythmic, proportionate, etcetera, etcetera.

By the same token, I've spent exactly seven weeks here in this mental facility. I have seven friends, and the word has seven letters: One letter for each of these seven friends: (f)Sulyeon, (r)Rayne, (i)Serenity, (e)Ren, (n)Youngjae, (d)Himchan, and (s)Daehyun. Amazing, isn't it?

If the number needed any further proof of it's uncanny hold on me, examine my friends. Sulyeon has gained exactly seven pounds since her release from the intensive care unit of the facility, Rayne has written seven poems since my arrival, Serenity... has been in seven fights with various adolescents, Ren has a habit of talking to me seven times a day, Himchan and Daehyun have come to visit me seven times, and Youngjae... said I could go home precisely seven minutes into our forty-ninth therapy session.

It had definitely been unexpected, causing a thick silence to fall over the room, like snow. He didn't press me, though. He didn't ignore me, he simply sat with me, reviewing the points of our past conversations as I tried to comprehend what he was saying. I could go home, to my family. I could go outside, where the air smelled fresh and crisp instead of harsh and medicinal. I could be surrounded by colors, lost in the varying hues that birthed the familiar arch across the sky, instead of being stifled in this vast ivory sea of bleached corridors and snowy rooms.

"Do you feel that you're ready to leave?" Youngjae had asked, finally, a note of curiosity in his voice. Perhaps the silence had dragged on a bit too long, I mused, tapping my fingers against the smooth leather couch under me.

"Yes, of course... I've been ready to leave for seven weeks... but," as if unsure of what I meant myself, I paused to think.

"But?" the man prompted kindly, patiently. I stared at him intently, trying to formulate my sentence before I spoke.

"But, I don't know if I'm really ready, do you see?" the man had chuckled quietly to himself, causing my face to burn with embarrassment. The chemical imbalance that birthed the hideous cacophony in my head was still lethargic, immobilized from the pills, henceforth incapable of mocking me or this quiet man. Much to my great relief.

"Well... I suppose." he said, thoughtfully. "You mean that you want to go, but you don't know if you should?" I nodded, pleased that he'd deciphered my garbled logic. Sometimes, my own brain disappointed me. You'd think after having practically read a dictionary, I'd be capable of forming a cohesive sentence. "I assure you, it's normal to feel a bit nervous." he smiled. "You've been here seven weeks after all. But I hardly feel I need to remind you that your brothers are competent, and the door is always open should you feel the need to return."

The words brought about a rather... calming sensation. As if, maybe, it was possible that I could live a normal life with Loyal Daehyun and Lovely Himchan. Maybe I could! Who knows... maybe I could even go back to school. That would be a big step for me, and Himchan and Daehyun would be proud, maybe? They wouldn't have to put so much effort into my education...

"But what about Sulyeon?" the question startled us both having simply appeared from far off in the left-field.

"What about her?" he seemed genuinely confused. I suppose I'd never discussed her with him. Perhaps now was inopportune...

"Well," I fidgeted a bit, tracing a particularly deep scar behind my left ear. "We're... friends... and... I wanted to know when she was leaving." Youngjae's eyes brightened and I felt a knot of apprehension twisting itself around my neck. Now... would I be pelted with questions about how I, Psycho, managed to snag the musical bulimic? Or would I be pressed on the details of our relationship? I hoped not... not that there was much to tell. We really just held hands and talked... maybe we'd kiss if the other was having a bad day. My fingers skittered dully across the reflective surface of the leather sofa, making an almost muted tapping sound. The suspense was absolutely nerve wracking.

"Oh, she's being dismissed today as well. And... seeing as how we're really done here," he checked his watch. "I think you two should go and exchange information... so you can stay in touch." he winked one knowing brown eye. Gratefully, but more than a bit embarrassed, I stood up and gave my best shot at a smile for the man, who was really okay once you got to know him, and left. Although... I vaguely thought I heard him mutter something about "young love" much to my chagrin.

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Sulyeon was sitting in the office when I found her, talking animatedly on the phone to her... father. Yes, I believe it was her father. So, I waited. Although, I really was loathe to do so because of the strange way fate seemed to be smiling on me. It always seemed that whenever I was excited about anything important, really, I had to wait. Murphy's law in effect, I suppose. In a feeble attempt to fend off my impatience, I began counting the stripes on my baggy sweater.

Nine stripes each of the colors light blue, violet, red, orange, yellow, green and one big red blood-like splatter over my heart. By far the best gift Himchan had ever given me. It was sort of like the way humans are. Their personalities are in a wide range. There are in betweens, but everyone has a huge crimson stain somewhere in them that either gives them one horrible flaw to mar the seamless face they were given, or one redeeming quality amongst the colored sea of sin they allowed themselves to swim in... Like... for instance, Ren's disorder in light of his personality, or Jongup's ability as opposed to his cruel nature...

"Okay. See you soon, bye!" the voice broke my concentration, jolting me rather suddenly from my morbid musings. Sulyeon just had that effect on me, I guess. I watched her hang up the phone and clap her hands happily before she turned and saw me. Her face had filled out a bit since when I'd first met her and she was far more asthetically pleasing. "Zelo! Are you going home too?"

I nodded, not really possessing the capacity to speak, still being thorougly frazzled from my transition to the real world. "Oh, that's good." she looked sad. "I'm going to miss you..." the words brought a small flicker of a smile to my face. She sat down beside me, squeezing my hand in hers. The simple act always left me marveling at how delicate her hands were. I felt Sulyeon lean forward a bit, her steady breathing whispering in my ears as she leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on the ropy scar above my left eye.

"...Could I have your phone number?"

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It took an astounding fifteen minutes for Himchan and Daehyun to come and retrieve me from the Seoul Mental Facility. I assumed Himchan had sped halfway across town to get here, but was I any less happy to see them? They intended to take me somewhere, anywhere I chose, to celebrate my return. I couldn't fathom why. Isn't going to an asylum at all considered bad, and being released frowned upon by the bigots who inhabited the city richer parts of Seoul? Why celebrate it? But... they insisted, so rather uncertainly I suggested we go to the mall. We never really went, and there was a multitude of activities there.

It was there that I met Himchan's friend, Cho Kyuhyun who worked at a tattoo and piercing shop. Surprising, since the man was obviously hyper-intelligent, but he was relatively unmotivated. So, I suppose his job fit him well enough: Pays a decent wage, and is engaging to a certain degree. I like him, though. He's laid back and takes evil joy in pranking people, which suits me just fine. And when I mentioned going back to school, they were ecstatic. A bit worried, I'll admit, but proud of my willingness to progress.

Maybe... just maybe I can live a normal life? If I can keep those seven voices quiet, with my seven pills... the idea disgusts me. I shouldn't have to take medicine to be normal. Maybe I can control it if I just practice.

So... that's why, maybe for the first week? I won't take my medicine.

What could possibly go wrong?