“And how does that make you feel?” This is one of the typical questions you are almost required to ask. Being a psychologist entails that the line be used at least five times every patient visit.

It’s clean-cut. It’s straight to the point. It’s simple enough that an answer should be given each time. The only thing that varies when it’s asked is how profound the emotions behind the patient are.

Today you are with patient 1337, or Kim Myungsoo as you call him to his face. He is a recent admit of a taciturn nature. When he does speak, it’s after one of his many silent spells and it’s always a terse reply. This is what you like about him; though a visit allots to mostly silence and little progress, you also have time to think about your golf game scheduled later in the day with the head psychologist of the institution.

The institution you work at is nothing special. It’s a rehabilitation facility for those who had damaging psychological breakdowns. There is a reason you became a psychologist here, but you had chosen to forget it some time back.

 “It makes me feel normal.” he answers like this a lot, but you don’t know what normal is.

~

He isn’t necessarily struggling is what you’ve observed. Generally he takes life in stride and remains temperate in even the most adverse of situations; you suppose this is why he called himself in before the suicide was attempted, he knew there was something else in life that he just couldn’t see at the moment.

“So, how has your day gone so far Myungsoo?” saying a patient’s name gives a sense of ease and makes them more comfortable in opening up, otherwise you’d call all patients by their number.

“Today has gone well; the cafeteria didn’t serve burnt eggs this morning, there must have been a special occasion.” You write down on your notepad that the subject continues to answer tritely; there is no elaboration about self.

“Have you been getting along with your roommate?”

“He leaves his stuff all over the floor.”

With this patient you are required to stretch to find an emotionally revealing topic, but you’re getting used to it, “I notice you didn’t say he is bothersome, so you have no problem with him?”

“He reminds me of my younger brother.”

A secret smile makes its way onto your face as you look at your notepad, writing that the patient seems to have a soft spot for family.

~

You take your lunch breaks in your office so you can watch the news without having to fight with the other employees over the channel. There are not many interesting stories on today and your thoughts begin to drift to your spacious apartment and the plants you are pretty sure were not watered yesterday, that should be done today when you get off work.

A creaking sound comes from your door as you glance up to see it slightly opened, a face being revealed and eventually a body is in full view. He leans his weight on the doorknob still grasped in his hand and the doorframe which is grasped in the other.

In your brain you note this peculiar event, raising an eyebrow you ask what he needs.

He comes in to land himself on the armchair directly in front of your desk instead of the usual therapy chair. “I was wondering if you have a minute.”

You push your chair so it spins around once and then catch your desk so you can stare Myungsoo straight in the eyes. “Shouldn’t you be in the cafeteria at lunch right now? I will get scolded if they notice your absence.”

For a few moments the two of you only stare at each other. It doesn’t bother you because this is a normal occurrence with Myungsoo. “I noticed you’re never there, and I wondered why.”

“I like watching the news.”

There is silence again, but in this one Myungsoo gives off a feeling of skepticism.

~

Your office is one of neutral colors. The walls are white and the furniture is black. Your desk is mahogany and the only slightly offensive color to your office’s scheme is that of the bright green fan palm in the left corner that sits upon the cream carpet. What you like most about your office is that it’s immaculate and keeps your mind at ease.

However, after the recent meeting with Myungsoo, the perfection seems a bit off-putting. Every aspect of your office is now screaming fake. Did you always leave everything so… perfect?

~

Your job title is actually head psychologist of the suicide department. Because there are these types of facilities all over Seoul, you don’t have a massive amount of patients to see, but there are still quite a few. They rotate during the week so you don’t see each of them every day. But it seems Myungsoo is some sort of exception to the rule, even when he is not scheduled he still manages to come around. Probably because he’s a newer patient this type of counseling is necessary.

“So, why have you come today Myungsoo?” though he comes every day that doesn’t mean he speaks any more than normal. Right now he seems to be looking about your office, as if trying to find something. “Myungsoo, I know you are probably feeling alone in this place but that means you should socialize with the rest of your peers.” You’re careful not to say patients to their faces, it seems rather demeaning, “It helps talking to people going through the same thing as you.”

“Why don’t you have any family photos in here?” He ignores your speech, head tilted slightly to the side while he looks at you, as if playing innocent.

“I don’t have a family of my own.”

“I know that, you’re too young, but the other psychologists have pictures of at least their parents. Why don’t you?” These are the most words you have ever heard him string together, and you don’t like them.

“I prefer to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

“That must be why you act like a stone.”

The pen in your hand begins scribbling furiously on the notepad: patient is extremely trying.

~

You’ve come to realize just how annoying Myungsoo is. He just never seems to leave you alone. It’s come to the point where you lock your door at lunch because he always manages to barge in and disturb you. There isn’t any real progress being made with him either, at appointments all he does is ask question about you.

This one is no different, “Why do you only wear neutral colors, doesn’t it get boring?”

There’s a new tactic you are going to use with him, it’s called changing the subject, “So, Myungsoo, you’re in an idol group right? Tell me about it.”

The room is quiet and his head is turned to stare off to the side.

“You do know that these appointments are not for me right?  That you checked yourself into this facility because you have a problem? Now tell me, why are you here?” ever since he sat in the armchair in front of your desk some time ago he never laid on the therapy chair again. Meaning, you have to sit behind your desk and face him directly for these meetings, and while you didn’t like it at first, it’s a convenient position for observing the flickers of emotion that come across this difficult patient’s face, such as right now.

He looks reluctant.

It doesn’t look like he’ll be diverting the topic anytime soon.

~

There’s a door to the roof of the correctional facility, not the most intelligent thing to have with a bunch of recovering suicidals, but that’s why it’s locked, only the staff have a key to it. You like it up here because it’s quiet, secluded, a little cache. No one comes to the roof except you (and sometimes the janitor) so it feels like a secret haven all to yourself. If someone were to lean on the edge of the roof and look over the side of the building they would see the hills in the distance and the blinking cell phone towers ever prevalent in Seoul.

“Hey.” And of course, Myungsoo always manages to ruin these moments of silence.

You’re arms are crossed on a ledge and your head is resting sideways, looking down at the street below, “Myungsoo, you know you aren’t supposed to be here. This place is off-limits.”

It’s great that he’s talking more now, but it’s also really annoying that he always has something to say, “Then why are you here? Also, if you wanted to be alone why didn’t you lock the door behind you?”

Stupid kid, you talk slowly, perturbed, “I am up here because this place is only off-limits to patients. I did not lock the door because generally no one comes to the roof but me and I believe I am capable enough to stop one of the patients if they try to do something stupid.”

You never moved from your position, and it doesn’t come as a surprise when you see Myungsoo next to you in your peripherals, body mirroring your position on the ledge.

There’s something about him today that makes you forget your annoyance, and a content nostalgia begins to wash over you. You start to share the thoughts you had before he burst onto the roof, “When I was in my final year of college I used to break onto the roof area of the campus and look down at everyone walking to class. They looked so small from up high and I would pretend to be a God, controlling where they went. It was nice to feel as though I had some sort of power over fate.” There’s a short pause as you both stare at the street and all the little people bustling about to get to work, “Looking from this roof isn’t really the same, but it’s a nice feeling sometimes… remembering the past.”

A moment is spent where the both of you enjoy the silence and his voice comes as tender as the wind brushing past your face, “Is there a time you want to go back to?”

There are people on scooters and people driving cars and they keep you from looking into his eyes as a quiet yes floats into the air.

~

That moment on the roof must have broken your barriers around him, or at least made you more willing to provide information. You don’t go in-depth and you still say very little, but it makes him happy. It also makes him willing to share more about himself, perhaps he can be discharged in a few weeks if this keeps up.

“I’ve watched a few of your interviews, is your group close?”

A little light goes on in his eyes as he talks about everyone’s good qualities. He says he’s not very good at pranking, but it’s fun to see Sungyeol and Woohyun go at it. They like to mess around but always know when it’s time to work hard. He’s smiling while explaining his odd little family, you’re relaxed knowing that for once you don’t have to pry.

“So do you all have lots of time to talk? Share your problems?” the question is asked out of pure curiosity, you forgot your job for a second, but it seems you have hit a soft spot as Myungsoo grows quiet again.

“We don’t have as many chances to hangout besides during work ever since I got my own apartment…”

There is another note added to your pad: progress made.

~

The door to your office hasn’t been locked recently, so he’s a bit disappointed to find it is today.

“You looking for the doctor?” There’s another psychologist behind Myungsoo as he stands infront of the door. The man’s wearing a blue sweater with a collared shirt beneath it and he is most certainly not the person Myungsoo wants to see. “It’s her day off today, she only takes one once a year.”

Strange, you never told him that you’d be gone today, “Why today?”

The doctor pauses and tries to elude the subject, “It’s not really important if she didn’t tell you.”

This makes Myungsoo’s blood boil a little, why should this random man tell him that it’s not important, you should be the one to do that… not that he’d let you though, “ I’m her friend, I have a right to know.” Okay, that was a little much, but maybe it’ll work.

The doctor stares at him with disbelieving eyes and snorts in his head. Myungsoo hates how psychologists do this, they conceal their emotions and make it hard to break through their guarded eyes. They’re feeling something, but it’s impossible to find out what.

“Are you thinking of another doctor? She’s never made friends with a patient before.” The man scans Myungsoo for a second and nods his head, at what Myungsoo doesn’t know, but he must have approved something because he tells the secret bit of information, “It’s the anniversary of her failed suicide.”

“What?”

~

The confrontation is something interesting and unexpected. The patient is leaning violently on your desk, the muscles of his arms bulging with the force he places on them as he leans forward, attempting an intimidating leer. Your cool eyes move about, analyzing his vexed facial features, and his eyes narrow, noticing that his attempt at intimidation is a failure.

“I have a right to ask this question, this information is necessary in order for you to recover. That is what you want, yes?”

His teeth grind as he responds, “I don’t see how this will help, aren’t you supposed to council till I’m at ease, come to terms with myself, however you phrase it.”

There is nothing a patient can do that will intimidate you, as a professional you know what is best and what must be done, “The only way to truly recover is to face the problem head on. It is an understandable response to want to avoid the unpleasant. But, unless you acknowledge that there is a problem, and one that needs to be fixed, it will not matter how long I council you, there will be a regression and we will end up back at square one.”

The offending appendages that so menacingly bulged now relax as he pushes himself from the desk and back to the armchair before it.

“Fine, ask your question.” The pout on his face as he says this makes you laugh inwardly.

“Why did you try to kill yourself?”

“Why did you try to kill yourself?”

You give him a bewildered look, how did he know that? But you can’t let him effect you, this is your territory, and your placid psychologist face returns along with your calm voice, “You are not paying for this facility to talk about my problems, they are done, handled, and irrelevant; we are here to talk about you. Now stop beating around the bush. Just because you pretend there’s not a problem doesn’t mean there really isn’t.”

His death glare has returned and if you weren’t so composed perhaps you’d shrink back in fear. “Fine! Fine! I had a problem; I still have a problem. Do you know how ing hard it is to be perfect all the ing time? It’s hard, I hate it. I’m not always cool and quiet, but that’s what everyone expects and it’s hard because you don’t want to disappoint them. There are so many expectations and so many people that seem to only breathe if you do and then you have to worry about them too and you never get any sleep and you never get to see your family and you’re always with other people so there isn’t one ing moment to yourself and- and…”

He breaks off his rant, eyes watering with tears he doesn’t want to shed. Now, this is the tough part, people are supposed to hug and comfort each other after a huge breakdown, but you are a professional, so you have to remain cold and distant. Your hands are clenching the armrests of your chair. You concede that at the very least you are allowed to go over and put a hand on his shoulder to rub the pain away, and you remove yourself from the office chair to do so.

What you weren’t expecting was for him to suddenly crush your waist with his arms while still sitting, face pressing into your stomach as you stand there staring up at the ceiling, immovable.

~

This man’s office is so different from your own. It’s a bit messy with papers strewn about and picture frames crowding his desk.  The walls are a warm gold and the earth tone of his carpet makes you feel as if you are stepping on dirt. There is a massive bookcase behind his desk and it’s disorganized: some books have their spines facing out, others have the pages, some are laying on each other horizontally and others vertically, some are left far out, others pushed too far in, there are small books, large books, books brightly colored, and ones that are dark, and it’s a whole big mess that makes you twitch with the desire to clean it.

“Yes, why are you here?” The old man is leaned back in his chair and he stares at you over his glasses, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I’m asking for a patient transfer.” Your fingers are clenching and unclenching the leather material of your chair.

“Why is that?”

“He has grown too attached to me and I don’t think he will be psychologically stable when he is discharged as a result.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. Would you like me to repeat it once more?”

“But sir, you don’t even know which patient it is.”

“I know very well which one it is, and I think it’ll be best in the long run if he stays with you.” The suns filtering in through the glass of his large window as you rise from your chair and walk out, defeated.

~

It’s been awhile since you laid down on one of these therapy couches. The lights are off in your office and you take the time to run your hands over the cool leather as you stare into what should be the white of your ceiling but right now is the dark of your room. When you close your eyes you notice no difference from the black behind your lids to the black that was and still is around you.

The clock chimes to let you know it’s time for a patient’s schedule, but you don’t feel like moving, finding a comfort in what once was so distressing as you move one of your arms to cover your eyes in dread. You do not feel like listening to someone’s problems right now when you are reminded of your own.

A creak is heard from your door and with your eyes covered you miss the crack of light that spills in from the hallway. It closes with a silent click and the unnamed person comes to kneel beside your head, taking the hand attached to the arm covering your eyes and slightly squeezing the fingers.

“Do you want me to be the psychologist today?” his voice comes out smooth and a small, amused smile comes to your lips as you turn your head and squint your eyes, trying to see him.

“Why not?” You finally can focus your eyes on him and see that he has rested his chin on your couch, face two inches away from yours. Normally, you’d back away or push him to create distance, but today you are just too tired and let him do what he wants.

There is no evading today, you will answer his questions, he’ll make sure of it. But he doesn’t have to worry, it’s too tiresome to escape the truth right now, “Why did you become a psychologist here?”

You turn your head back to face the ceiling as you respond, “This is where I was put after I tried to commit suicide.”

His hand is still grasping yours, and you can feel him shift his chin off the couch so he’s merely kneeling beside your head, “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

“I could never live up to the expectations…” He’s expecting for you to say of your peers, your family, your school, or even the world, but you don’t and the next thing you say is so quiet he has to bring his face closer just to hear you, “of myself.”

You’re looking at him now, his face about an inch away from yours, and you allow yourself to search his face in a nature close to loving. You take your hand from his and bring it to move through his soft hair until it reaches the back of his neck and slowly moves him forward for a kiss, one that you’ve secretly wanted since that time on the roof.