Byun Baekhyun, day twenty eight 14:56

The room I was brought into eight days ago looked a lot like the testing room save for the hospital bed I was occupying in the night. It had the white walls, white table, white chair, white lamp with a cut cord and the same looming feeling of failure. Also known as my inability to turn on a lamp despite being able to make myself invisible for s sake.
I really need to start figuring out how the hell I can channel my energy into light. The energy in the universe is a constant, all expelled energy turns into something else. So why is it that when I focus all my energy on creating a ball of light in the palm of my hand, I might as well stare at the white paint dry?
Maybe I’m over-thinking it. Maybe it’s not that difficult. Most likely I’m just putting too much pressure on myself because of… I don’t know, but there’s a reason I should try getting the hang of it as soon as possible. I know it’s not for Master Kim or the test, it’s something bigger, more important than the test. That doesn’t change the fact that Master Kim and his test are haunting my dreams--nightmares. That’s the one constant so far. I don’t always remember the exact story my subconscious creates but I always remember Master Kim and his frighteningly… calm, voice, the repeat of “you need to pass the test, Mr. Byun” reverberates through my very soul. It sends shivers down my spine, the mere thought.
But, it could be worse. I could be alone. I failed to mention that. They brought him in two days ago. He was coughing something up --whether it was blood or not I wouldn’t know. He spent a few hours hunched over a bucket under constant surveillance. After that, the guard left. The newcomer looked over at me with sad, tired eyes and I could see a plead in them. Then, he fell down on the bed and passed out. He hasn’t moved since. Not the slightest hint of movement could be seen from where I stay, at the other side of the room although I’m quite sure that he’s, at the very least, breathing. They wouldn’t keep a dead man in a hospital bed.
His arrival, however gruesome, solidified my hunch of this being an infirmary as if the multiple hospital beds standing in rows along the painfully white walls weren’t confirmation enough.
I barely move from the bed, the only times I move is to go to the bathroom or when I move closer to the lamp to turn the damn thing on. I’ve been alone in almost silence for so long that I’m starting to wonder about if I was able to turn it on, would I be able to turn it off? It’s a legitimate question to have when you don’t really have all that much to think about.
I can’t be sure whether the new guy is actually eating or not. My meals are delivered like clockwork but they never bring any for him. There are no needles connected to his body and providing him with necessary nutrition. The only possible explanation is that he’s being provided with sustenance while I’m stuck in a world filled with Master Kim.
I’m tempted to walk over to him, just to see his face better. Maybe seeing if he has a number like me and Minseok and Yixing. That could pinpoint if he’s been here longer than me or not. I’m gonna do it.
The floor was cold, even through my white socks, as I walked over to his lifeless body. I felt my heartbeat quicken with every step I took closer to him. His face started to take proper shape before my eyes, the only other time I’d seen it was when he had just finished coughing up all of his organs and then some. It was… handsome, I had to admit that. In his sleeping state he looked peaceful, close to angelic. One thing I could say for certain was that no matter your ual preference you would find this man attractive.
He seemed to be about my height although I couldn't say for certain unless I was lying next to him and that would be weird if he were to wake up. How would you explain climbing into bed with an unconscious stranger without sounding like a ert? So, I settled on observing him from a few paces away.
Something on his collar caught my eye. I got close enough to lean down and examine it. It was a familiar set of numbers and letters embroidered in the paper-like fabric of the collar with a slight variation. 3XO 01. I felt an itching need to ask his name but I knew I’d get no reply. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers along the stitching for whatever reason, like I would get some answers by carressing an unconscious man’s shirt collar.
It seemed, however, that I had spent too long staring at the numbers as he stirred. My eyes shot to his face, my head not even going up by a centimeter, and I saw shock, confusion and, most importantly, nausea. I felt a nervous fear of him blowing chunks all over my face pulse through my body and fumbled around for the container he had coughed his lungs into when he first woke up. My hands gripped the foreign plastic just in time since the second it landed on his lap he retched and a strange fluid came out of his mouth. It looked like a mixture of vomit and watered-down blood which wouldn’t be too strange.
As his head almost disappeared into whatever it was the contents of his stomach were finding their new home in I jerked my own back in an attempt to avoid getting it on my face.
When the expelling of fluids was over he shuddered and coughed regularly for a few minutes. I was still frozen in place, unable to uproot myself and return my warm bed. The cold from the floor was seeping through my socks and feet to the rest of my body slowly. I had been standing for so long that it was making its way to my thighs.
He finally regained composure with a shaking inhale --thankfully, his head was out of the container so he didn’t have to feel the stench of it full force-- and turned to me. His formerly angelic features looked tired and weak as he tried his best to speak. It took him a while to get his breathing steady enough to form sentences.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice calm but strained in a way you can only sound after stomach acid’s been spewing up your throat, “for…” he let his sentence die out and gestured weakly to the half-filled plastic sitting between his legs. It took me a while to respond but when I did, my voice felt just as strange as this whole ordeal.
“No--” I cleared my throat “--no problem, honestly.” He looked at me with slight curiosity hiding behind his worn-out eyes before nodding slightly. It looked as if he would pass out again and even worse than that, like he would pass out in his own bile with how unsteady his posture looked. I offered to move the sloshing container and pour it out. He didn’t reply, only let his thankfulness show by allowing his hands to drop from where they had been holding on to the edges in a not-so-tight grip.
It smelled as bad as you would imagine. I was thankful to see the contents draining into the toilet although I wasn’t thankful to see the contents. It was bittersweet when I flushed the fluid formerly known as the contents of his digestive track.
When I returned, he looked positively dead. I tried my best to make no noise as I walked over to my bed again when he suddenly spoke.
“I’m Junmyeon,” it came out quietly, almost barely over a whisper as his drained body did its best to speak, “you?”
“I’m Baekhyun.” I replied, looking over to see if he would say something else. All I got was a hum and soon, he was back to sleep.
Despite the relatively early hours, I decided to follow his example and before I knew it I was being chased down by my own dreams--nightmares.

A/N: Just once again want to mention how proud of myself I am for the number of words this chapter has despite a lack of dialogue. I'd love to hear your thoughts on how the story's going and don't forget to check out the contest this is entered in. I will be turning this into a Subscribers Only book soon so if you haven't already, I recommend doing that. I'll take it off one day but for now...