The next one is ‘Hold hands’. That’s an easy one Donghae obliges without any complaints. 

 

— Or maybe he has already been shaken enough by two times the punishment he’s received. You wonder if Donghae has been subdued by the abuse to have become meek to following orders. That is until you see the tension in his jawline when the projection lights up. No, his fighting spirit has only gone into hiding, waiting for a battle he can take.

 

The two of you hold hands for a while at the table, his warmth spreading through his palm to yours. His pale hand larger than yours, feels very strong and reliable. The two of you avoid his bandaged left hand. He is still hurting from the wounds.

 

The two of you let go experimentally, wondering if that would be sufficient for the task.

 

Donghae snatches your hand quickly, “No, no, not yet. I feel a pain in my neck.”

 

You run a hand on the back of his neck. Sure enough, a bruise begins to surface on his nape.

 

“Yes, there is a bruise.” 

 

The two of you brood over the chills that just visited your spines for a minute, before agreeing in sync it is best to keep your hands tied together until the list is checked.

 

Hours pass by. The two of you sit, stand and walk together. It is inconvenient but the two of you have nowhere to go and nothing to do anyway.

 

The two of you sit with your backs against the wall, staring at the false illusion of a window view. Your shoulders are pressed together and you feel his warmth perfectly, just like the fake sunlight illuminating the room. The skin of your arms are in contact together, from the palms, the fingers, the wrists, the arms, and you chest against his upper arm— it feels excessively intimate yet perfectly comfortable. You soak up his warmth, longing for a sense of security and comfort in this godforsaken place.

 

Tears fall from your eyes unknowingly as you thought of home and your family. Somehow, this has already felt like a year. 

 

He lets one tear trickle down his finger as he hushes you. “Don’t cry. We’ll be okay.”

 

He smiles at you so gently you can’t help but force out a smile. It will only make things worse for the two of you if you crumble so easily. Donghae looks straight up ahead, his thoughts masked by his expression. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the peace and quiet as he leans back into you.

 

How many days has it been?

 

You’ve lost count. 

 

All you know is this clock runs endlessly like your days in this prison. You’re only glad you don’t have to hear that evil voice.

 

It’s been so long since there is any activity on the white projection. You figure it’s a test on your endurance. Once you let go of Donghae’s hand, it will have the excuse to play its abuse game on Donghae again. You found a white cloth long enough to tie your hands together, a foolproof plan. 

 

The lights begin to dim and you know it is yet another day. The room darkens, mimicking the dark of the night. Donghae switches on the bedside lamp. The two of you sit on the edge of the bed, bored to tears. 

 

Donghae tucks you into bed, seeing your exhaustion from the worry and distress through the imprisonment.

 

“Rest, I’m right beside you.” reassures Donghae as he switches off the bedside lamp, the only source of light in the pitch black room. The fake moonlight seeps through the flowing white curtains, casting on the ground like white snow. It is all an illusion, you close your eyes thinking. It will all end soon.

 

Donghae, are you an illusion? 

 

Unbeknown to yourself, your hand has reached up to his milky complexion, feeling his smooth skin with the tips of your fingers. 

 

“Are you real?”

 

Donghae grins. “Of course. You think I’m a projection too?”

 

He takes your hand, the warmth of his palm seeping through yours like the sense of security taking over your entire being. He places your palm over his chest and you feel his beating heart, thumping steadily in the faded darkness.

 

“Do I feel like a human being to you?”

 

You nod in the dark. The shuffling of your hair against the pillow comforting him.

 

“Sleep. I will be right here.” 

 

You close your eyes, holding him in your arms. He is the only person you have now. You feel a little less lonely hearing his steady breathing. His breathes tickle the side of your face, the sound of his breathing calming you like a pendulum beating consistently. 

 

The next day when the illumination copies the rise of the sun, you crack your eyes open and find Donghae’s half-lidded ones staring right into yours.

 

You’re almost laying in his arms, snug against his chest, your hands still entwined.

 

Did the two of you cuddle last night?

 

Your blush is probably visible from the way he’s smiling at you. You dart your eyes away while he brushes your hair out of your eyes, looking dreamy and extremely. gentle.

 

“Good morning.”

 

“G-good morning.”

 

He yawns and stretches, nonchalantly with the intimacy the two of you just shared throughout the night. His warmth still surrounds you and you’re just a slight bit confused.

 

You wonder how long you’re going to have to keep your hands stuck together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s been seventeen days.” Donghae announces.

 

It’s been so long since you’ve been here and held hands without letting go. It’s been difficult to change bandages for Donghae’s left hand and it also feels like you’ve already grown a layer of skin on him. 

 

He scratches off another mark on the wall with a pencil. He couldn’t stand the whiteness of the walls and so he did it— and to keep count of the time of course. The two of you are not even sure which day it is on earth. If you remember correctly, it would be a Tuesday but you have no idea how fast time travels here. Is it a standstill? Is it as fast as light?

 

Donghae makes a sniffling sound, making a face at you. 

 

“Do you mind if I take a shower?”

 

You laugh at him but agree. It’s been so long since the two of you actually showered because of your tangled hands.

 

His shirt hangs on your wrist, his right arm against the wall outside the bathroom where you stand, waiting. It is a way the two of you figured out to preserve his modesty while he gets to shower for the first time this week. It’s comical but practical. 

 

You giggle a little outside the bathroom, feeling slightly strange as well while he holds your hand showering. The white cloth binds the two of you tightly together. Your eyes trace his slender, pale fingers, slipping into a trance.

 

Your eyes wander across his smooth skin, his arm a nice smooth colour against the glaring white wall. A strong urge to trail your fingers down his muscles bubbles inside your throat. He shifts, the flexed curve of his tricep enticing you.

 

The sound of water ceases, snapping you out of your trance.

 

You hear his grumbles as he struggles with drying and dressing himself with one hand. You on the other hand, is struggling to keep your composition.

 

He steps out of the shower, from the waist top. The two of you look away the moment you meet eyes. A hot blush creeps up your face like a quick spider, tingling your senses as he tugs on his shirt. You would be lying if you said you didn’t catch a good view of his well-sculpted torso and flawless skin. 

 

He runs the towel over his hair, and leads you back to the living area. You grab hold of his wrist, tugging.

 

“I’m sorry, but…” You start shyly.

 

“What is it?” He says, drying his hair casually.

 

“I want to shower too.”

 

This time he waits outside, still smiling at himself to your sheepish behaviour. 

 

There’s a peculiar feeling bugging you from head to toe knowing that Donghae’s just behind the wall from the agape door while you’re as as the day you were born. It’s such a wrong feeling.

 

You soap yourself up as quickly as possible, hoping to get this over and done with in a jiffy. Donghae peers around the room, the trickling of water making him anxious.

 

You run the water over yourself quickly, not caring about the remaining suds around you shoulders. You were about to reach for the faucet when a sharp pain spreads across your hip. Your eyes shoot down immediately and finds a cut on your hip.

 

It’s coming again.

 

It’s not as deep as Donghae’s but enough to retrieve a droplet of blood from your skin.

 

Anxiously, you tug on your clothes, fear at your ankles. The bites of the cuts keep on coming, shallow and frequent.

 

“Are you okay?” Donghae asks, sensing something is wrong with your quick and harsh movements.

 

“It’s cutting me.” You confess, rushing out of the shower. Donghae pulls you to the living area—

 

But there’s no checklist.

 

You gasp from the sudden scratch on your covered hip. This time it’s deep enough. The blood red spreads on your pants like a blooming flower.

 

“What’s happening?” Donghae cries in exasperation as the colour stains your clothes. 

 

He picks you up and lays you down on the bed, holding your waist in a desperate need to stop the bleeding. You wince in pain as the hurt continues.

 

“Why’s it you now? — Just cut me will you!” Donghae yells desperately at the ceiling. He lifts your shirt, the menacing cuts running up your waist. A chill runs down his spine.

 

“Stop, Donghae!” You tug at him, trying to stop his impulsive yelling that always trigger a punishment.

 

Donghae grabs a cloth and presses it against the wounds on your waist. He didn’t dare to touch your hip, it would be inappropriate but he would desperately do it if this doesn’t stop.

 

The projection on the wall blinks a flash. Donghae snaps his head towards it, his glaring eyes frightening you.

 

You follow his gaze to the checklist.

 

‘Kiss her.’

 

Bracing yourself, you shut your eyes tightly. You feel the fervent press of his lips against yours. He kisses you roughly, the faint scrub of his stubble burning your chin. The two of you share an unromantic kiss, instead of locking eyes, you dart eyes to the checklist and instead of feeling each other’s lips, you are just running mouth on mouth for the sake of it.

 

Your teeth grazes his bottom lip in the flurry. He pulls away in pain for a split second before returning to your lips quickly to avoid punishment. You thought you tasted copper. 

 

The two of you keep your eyes peeled on the checklist, heaving a sigh of relief when it begins to fade. Your mouth feel numb from the exchange of lips, teeth— you don’t even know what else.

 

He touches your hip with the tip of his fingers, brows a worry.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yea…” Your voice fades away as the pain comes back, your open wounds rubbing against fabric. That is a terrible of skin against textile. 

 

“Let me see,” Donghae unwraps the bind around his and your hands and lifts the hem of your shirt, grimacing slightly at the haphazard marks left on your fair skin. You almost thought he was seething with the look in his eyes. 

 

He cleans your cuts with the lightest touches, raising goosebumps and trickles of shivers down your body. You’re shy to expose your body to him and to his touches, but at the same time, you are totally complacent in his presence because you know Donghae will never cross the line inappropriately.

 

It’s all because of that checklist.

 

And it always come announcing its arrival by rudely abrupt draws of blood from the two of you. 

 

You hate it.

 

“Ahh…” You hiss when Donghae dabs the antiseptic over a particularly deep cut. 

 

“Sorry, I’ll be gentler.” His quickly apologises, puppy eyes absolutely endearing soaked in his concern.

 

You feel a certain flutter in your chest. 

 

Donghae’s a very attractive man, you know that, but this is not something you should be thinking about in this situation, time and place.

 

His wide hand wraps lightly around your waist as he tends to your wounds with immaculate care. He’s being so careful, it’s making you squirm with the intimacy.

 

Slightly, he pulls the hem of your pants down to reveal the cuts on your hip. You jolt away from the ticklish sensation, because of his fingers or the uncomfortable exposure— whatever it is, you do not feel comfortable with the uneasy blush on your face.

 

“Sorry!” A flush of red dons his cheeks, having seen your skin in your reluctance.

 

You blush but do nothing. You remain seated at the edge of the bed and the pause sinks into the silence. He takes your silence as a consent, turns his gaze down and begins to work his fingers down your hips again, cleaning the dried blood gently with extra caution. The rim of his ear are red, and that eases you somehow, knowing that you are not the only one feeling strangely.

 

The sharp jab of the antiseptic tells you your wounds are being cleansed well. You turn away, gritting your teeth in the pain as you grip a pillow between your arms. 

 

“Does it hurt a lot?”

 

Yes it does, you think to yourself, especially that particularly deep one on the hip bone.

 

You feel a flutter of cool air over your hip and you bury your burning face into the pillow. He’s blowing over your wounds like how your mother used to on your scraped knees. The gentle caress of his breathe on your hip so close to your abdomen, the tangle between warm and cool of his breathe mak you shiver visibly. He probably notices because his hands stop and you look up, about to be embarrassed to your core but he places a kiss to your waist, like how your mother used to kiss your wounds. However, unlike that affection, this fuels another kind of curling ache inside you.

 

His gaze upon your own holds restraint before something else. 

 

Something feeling absolutely right at the wrong time and wrong place.