A small bed, a table with two chairs, a wandrobe and a long shelf.

A window opposite the door, three framed photographs of Seoul – some kind of standard cityviews – on the wall behind the bed. Apart from that, the room was empty.

Jaejoong stood in the doorway to his future room, one hand holding his heavy bag, the other still laying on the door knob. He tried to control his breath while his dark eyes slowly wandered over the modest furniture. He couldn't help it, but the room looked like a prison cell.

The laces of his heavy bag were cutting into his fingers, but Jaejoong refused to put it down. If he put it down, he would have contact with this room, and this is something he tried to avoid at all costs. This wasn't the place he belonged to. This was his personal prison, disguised as an institution for mental and psychological deseases. A madhouse.

He looked at the huge window which nearly filled the whole wall opposite the door. The sun had already set and all he could see were the lights of some passing cars on the close freeway.

He shut his eyes and tried to fight his upcoming panic. He wasn't lunatic... He wasn't a crackpot.

He didn't know how many times he begged his parents to not send him into this mental institution. He begged and cried and screamed, he knelt down to his parents' feet and seized upon their clothes, always saying the same words: „I'm not lunatic.“

It had been hard years for the whole family. Nearly every night, Jaojoong's parents and sisters could hear him scream and cry while suffering from nightmares and mental pain. He woke up shrilling, covered with sweat and tears and often injured his father who had tried to wake him up before.

The worst case had been four weeks ago, when Jaejoong woke up and suddenly lunged at his father, choking him and not realising that his dream was over. Right on the next morning, his father contacted the head physician of the mental institution to explain Jaejoong's case and make an appointment with him.

His mother always suffered, when Jaejoong was begging her for not admitting him to the clinic. She often promised to let him stay at home – even after the serious incident between Jaejoong and his father –, but after the next night filled with Jaejoongs screams she tried to explain him that he HAS to leave. It would be the best for both Jaejoong and his family.

Finally, he ended up in this clinic – standing in the door frame to his future room where he had to live the next … the next what? Days? Weeks? Months? Years?! He actually didn't know. His parents asserted a hundred times that this mental institution would be the best in Seoul and that he'd soon be able to come back home again. Hopefully mentally healthy, as they never spoke out but always thought.

Silent footsteps came down the hall and made Jaejoong avert his eyes from his room. His father was heading for his room, quietly talking to a tall young Korean next to him. The guy was wearing all white clothes and carried a bunch of papers – he was probably an employee of the mental institution.

When they nearly reached Jaejoong, his father and the male-nurse looked up.

„Ah, you already got your room...“, his father said, obviously feeling uncomfortable next to his son. He had a guilty conscience, but he couldn't find another way to cope with Jaejoong's situation. He could still feel his son's hands choking him and he truly hoped to chose the right way when professional therapists take care of his son. He and his wife weren't able to bear it anymore.

Jaejoong nodded slightly and looked at the young man next to his father. He smiled politely and took a bow. „My name is Jung Yunho, I'm working on this floor.“, he said with a pleasant voice and looked into Jaejoongs eyes. „We filled in the final documents for your registration and I need two more signatures.“ He walked into the room and laid the bunch of papers onto the table.
With a last hesitation, Jaejoong finally entered into the room and put his bag onto the bed, before he stepped beside Yunho.

Without reading the documents, he placed his signatures on the intended lines and turned around to his father.

„You will stay here for two months...“, Mr. Kim mumbled and avoided looking into his son's eyes. „After those two months, we... we will see if you are feeling better or if you still need some...“ He cut himself off for some seconds. „...time.“

Jaejoong agreed with a small nodding, even if he still didn't want to stay here. Fear was choking him as he thought about being all alone in this foreign room at night. But how could he convince his father, that he needs to stay at home? That his fears will leave someday – even if he wasn't sure if it will ever happen?

Without another word to his father, Jaejoong stepped back to the bed and slowly started to unpack his bag. He could feel his father's gaze on his back. „Bye“, Jaejoong monotonously said, before he opened the wandrobe and tidily filled it with his clothes.

„We'll talk soon...“, mumbled Mr. Kim and left the room with hanging shoulders.

Jaejoong heard the rustling of papers in his back and shortly lifted his head to see Yunho bundle up the signed documents.

„Never hesitate to call me if you need anything, okay?“, he said calmly and smiled softly at Jaejoong. „I'll take care of you.“