Chapter Text
Choi Su-bong wasn’t supposed to be walking these halls. Hell, he wasn’t supposed to have made it out of his bedroom alive , but by God’s good graces or Divine Intervention or whatever anyone wanted to call it, his heart was still beating.
Unfortunately for him, that meant being stuck in a place full of sick people just like him. It was a place with too-white walls that mirrored the ones of the hospital he’d just been transported from and smelled too much like a combination of pills and bleach that was enough to make him queasy. The walls were void of any paintings or pictures. The doors didn’t have functioning doorknobs but instead weird handles to avoid hanging themselves from. To top it all off, the place was eerily quiet despite the many residents Su-bong had passed by as a nurse gently led him down the hallway (part of him expected it to be much louder, with patients screaming at nurses as they were pinned down and sedated. That’s what he’d seen in the movies, anyway).
A psych ward was the last place Su-bong wanted to be, but it was on par with the rest of his shitty life so far. He was convinced he was cursed with the worst luck; he couldn’t even end his life, which was the one thing he was sure he had control over and it still managed to slip through his fingers. So, it was just his luck that he’d fail and get stuck in a desolate hospital that, arguably, only made him more suicidal.
Exhaustion plagued him. Despite being confined to a bed for three days before being transported here, he barely got any sleep. It was practically impossible to rest when people were constantly coming in and out of his room, morning, day, and night to make sure he hadn’t done anything irrational in the fifteen minutes he was alone. The constant beeping of the machines didn’t make sleep any easier either. There was a dull ache in his arms he couldn’t ignore and his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton; at this point, sleep was the only thing he wanted to do.
“Su-bong?”
The voice of the sweet nurse guiding him to his room filled his ears. Her voice was soft, almost cautious, as if Su-bong were made of porcelain and if she spoke any louder, he would shatter. It would’ve pissed him off more if he wasn’t so tired.
When he glanced up at her, there was a smile on her face that was probably meant to be more reassuring than it was. Su-bong didn’t bother to give her a second glance upon meeting her, but now that he was, he saw that her short, black hair was pulled into a small ponytail, and her bangs and side pieces neatly framed her face. He noticed that, when he was handed over to her after being evaluated, she wore diamond earrings and a thin, gold necklace that shimmered under the hospital's fluorescent lights. There was a softness to her face that made her look gentle and kind which was almost relaxing.
“Your room is here on the left,” She gestures to an open door closest to Su-bong.
The hand on his shoulder ushers him inside, and Su-bong is sure he’s never been anywhere more boring and devoid of life.
Inside the room were various shades of creams and whites. The walls were a horrid muted blue as well as the curtains, if you could call them that. They barely covered the windows and were as sheer as paper, and was the equivalent of leaving the windows uncovered. The beds were much the same, with blankets that were pretty much sheets and pillows that were thin enough that they might as well have been lying on the mattress. The rest of the room had two shelves, one of which already had a few different items stuffed messily inside, a desk and a chair, and two small lights above the beds. Not to mention the room was barely big enough for two people.
“I’m Ms. Hyunju, by the way,” The nurse speaks up from the doorway, “I understand you might have a hard time adjusting, most do, so please don’t hesitate to ask for me or another nurse if you need absolutely
anything
. Your safety and well-being is our number one priority, and we’re happy to help by any means necessary.”
The way she speaks sounds rehearsed, as if she gives this same speech every time she takes in another patient. Su-bong says nothing but sits down on the bed that is still neatly made and seemingly untouched.
“I’ll let your roommate know you’re here,” Ms. Hyunju doesn’t take his silence to heart; she gets the silent treatment from most patients upon arrival, “Lunch is in about an hour. Take your time getting settled in before then.”
With that, she leaves, and Su-bong is left feeling as alone as he did three days ago. He stares blankly at his feet, clad in slippers he’d been handed upon intake. Su-bong tried to convince himself this was a nightmare, just some sort of fucked up dream that he’d wake up from any second now. He felt nothing short of miserable and tired, yet he couldn’t bring himself to lie down on the flimsy bed as if he were frozen in time and stuck in the same position.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there; it could’ve been only five minutes or even thirty, but there wasn’t a clock in sight to tell him otherwise. He counted the floor tiles, once, even twice, to keep himself occupied. Faintly, Su-bong could hear a TV from down the corridor, playing a movie he couldn’t make out the words to. It wouldn’t hurt to join them, he thinks to himself, but he can't bear the thought of facing anyone. He sits alone, quietly counting the floor tiles.
Well, that was until there was a knock on the metal doorframe that startled Su-bong, interrupting his counting just as he was getting to thirty.
“Hey, man,” A man, Su-bong assumes if their voice was anything to go by, says from the doorway.
Su-bong says nothing but lifts his head to face his new roommate. The guy is clad in the same hospital-issued top and bottoms that Su-bong’s wearing, but instead of slippers, he’s wearing a pair of white socks. His hair is a deep black and from the angle he’s at it's a little hard to tell, but it looks layered. His lips were drawn in a tight line, awkwardly, as he awaited Su-bong’s response. When that never came, however, he tried again.
“Hello?” The man waves his hand in the air as if he were trying to get Su-bong’s attention, “Earth to stranger?”
Su-bong lifts his head, albeit begrudgingly. “What?” He comes off harsher than he means to.
“So he does speak,” The man teases.
Su-bong taps his fingers uncomfortably against the bed, “And you are?”
“Nam-gyu,” He answers, “You?”
“Su-bong,” he answers.
“Su-bong,” Nam-gyu repeats, enjoying the way the name rolls off his tongue.
“Ms. Hyunju came and told me you were here. It’s been a while since I’ve had a roommate. My last one got discharged before I did, go figure,” Nam-gyu informs him (though Su-bong doesn’t care much) as he sits across from him on his own bed. Su-bong watches as Nam-gyu crosses his legs at the ankles, his feet dangling barely above the floor.
Su-bong wasn’t sure how to respond; he felt a morbid joke resting on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to keep his mouth shut instead. Maybe this wasn’t the place to be making jokes about your recent suicide attempt.
Nam-gyu wasn’t bothered by the silence; his last roommate was much the same when he first showed up. “Not much of a talker, are you? You’ll get there, trust me. You start going a little crazy here if you don’t talk to anyone.”
Su-bong wants to interject and say he’s almost one hundred percent sure he won’t have any problem keeping to himself, but he doesn’t.
“How long have you been here?” He asks instead.
Nam-gyu hums as he thinks, “One and a half- no, two months, I think?”
That doesn’t give Su-bong very much hope. “What are you here for?”
“Ah, forward, aren’t you?” Nam-gyu laughs uncomfortably, “That’s not something you ask on a first date.”
Su-bong doesn’t find his joke very funny. He drops the topic entirely.
An awkward silence settles between them, and Su-bong feels guilty for asking such an invasive question, especially since he’d only just met Nam-gyu. He wishes for a moment that he could go back five minutes ago and slap a hand over his mouth before he could say something idiotic.
The silence doesn’t last very long, however, since there’s a sudden knock on the doorframe that gets both Su-bong and Nam-gyu’s attention. Ms. Hyunju stood at the door, smiling sweetly at both of them.
“Lunch is being served,” She tells them before moving to another room.
Nam-gyu stands up from the bed and it makes an obnoxious creak as he does. “I’ll show you where the cafeteria is.”
Despite having made Nam-gyu uncomfortable, he still chooses to be at least a little bit nice, and Su-bong feels undeserving. Still, he stands up from his bed as well, the first time he’s stood up since he sat down about thirty minutes ago, and follows Nam-gyu down the corridor and to the cafeteria that slowly fills with more and more patients as the seconds pass. Some looked worse for wear, Su-bong noticed as he stood in line, though he tried not to stare. Most, if not all, donned the same attire he and Nam-gyu were wearing, but some looked more miserable than others and kept their heads down as they awaited their tray of food. Su-bong kept his eyes fixed on Nam-gyu’s back after accidentally making eye contact with a very intimidating-looking woman, who had the smirk of what he could only describe as the Devil himself.
“You can sit with me if you want,” Nam-gyu said as he was handed a tray with a small assortment of foods, “Or don’t, but the staff will bug you if you don’t.”
“Why?”
“Something about not wanting anyone to feel alone,” Su-bong could practically hear Nam-gyu roll his eyes, “So you don’t get even more depressed and try killing yourself.” Nam-gyu was shot a glare by one of the cafeteria workers in front of him, and he quietly mumbled an apology in return.
Su-bong raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He figures it’s probably not smart to say things like that in a place where most of the people have tried to kill themselves. Instead, he grabs the tray that’s handed to him, mumbling out a “thank you” in return. Nam-gyu leads him to a table on the far side of the cafeteria, away from most other tables. He makes a conscious effort to avoid almost everyone if possible. He’s not… well-liked, so to speak. It doesn’t bother him, however, since he isn’t a fan of most of the others either.
As soon as the two of them sit down, Nam-gyu digs in, shoveling two consecutive spoonfuls of rice into his mouth. Thanos feels his stomach churn when he drops his head to look at his plate. He pokes almost disgustedly at the egg sitting atop the rice, feeling sick the more the smell of the food wafts into his nose. His appetite had been shot ever since he’d been admitted to the hospital, and it seemingly wasn’t any better here.
Nam-gyu looks up from his tray, where he’s stuffing half of an egg into his mouth.
“You gotta eat, man,” He says through a mouthful of egg, “They’ll send you to the ED ward if you don’t.”
It’s a good enough reason for Su-bong, and he reluctantly shoves some kimchi in his mouth. It’s bland and lacks some flavor (which astonishes him because how do you mess up kimchi), but he manages to swallow it anyway, despite his initial disgust. It’s not terrible , though, and he goes in for another bite. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was till now, his stomach feeling painfully empty now that he’s got something in his system.
Just as Nam-gyu goes to take a bite out of one of his orange slices, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He startles and whips his head around, only to come face-to-face with Gyeong-su, who’s grinning like a fucking idiot. Behind him stand two other familiar faces: Min-su and Se-mi. Nam-gyu nearly frowns.
“Nam-gyu, my man!” Gyeong-su exclaims as he slides into the seat next to him, followed by Min-su, then Se-mi, who sits closest to Su-bong, “I couldn’t find you for a sec!”
“Hey, Gyeong-su,” Nam-gyu sighs. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Gyeong-su and the others, per se, he just wasn’t fond of them. Especially Se-mi, who he butted heads with constantly. Regardless, they were good company.
“Su-bong,” Nam-gyu glances up at him, “This is Gyeong-su, Min-su, and Se-mi. Guys, this is Su-bong.” Nam-gyu introduces them all, pointing at each person as he does so.
Se-mi and Min-su wave, albeit Min-su did so timidly. Gyeong-su, on the other hand, freezes in place. His eyes grow wide as he stares at Su-bong, his jaw dropped and his face pale as though he’d seen a ghost. Su-bong shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, and it isn't until Nam-gyu elbows him that he stops staring.
“Su-bong? Like, The Choi Su-bong? As in Thanos?” Gyeong-su asks in both disbelief and utter excitement. The most excited Nam-gyu had ever seen him, in fact, even more excited than the time the ward allowed the patients sprinkles on their ice cream.
Su-bong’s cheeks flush at the mention of his alias. He pokes at the rice on his plate, avoiding looking at Gyeong-su altogether.
“Ah, yeah,” Thanos confirms, “I take it you're a fan?”
“A fan?!” Gyeong-su gasps, incredulous, “I am the Thanos fan. I have all your merch, dude! I’ve been to all of your concerts and everything!”
The sentiment would’ve touched his heart when his career was at its peak just a few years before. Back then, he would have entertained Gyeong-su's excitement and would have offered him an autograph. Now, though, his failed rap career only makes a pit form in his stomach. Once he took a nose dive for the worst, his music career fell off. He mourns what he could’ve been daily, and the mention of his career alone was enough to make him feel a million times worse.
“Thanks,” is all he manages to say. He stuffs some rice into his mouth to avoid talking any longer.
Se-mi feels the sudden shift in Thanos’ demeanor, and coughs to get Gyeong-su’s attention off of him.
“So, Nam-gyu,” She smiles mischievously at him, “Up for a game of cards later? I bet your pudding that I win.”
Nam-gyu scoffs, “Too easy. You don’t stand a chance.”
“That’s what you said last time we played Pictionary,” Gyeong-su says.
“It’s not my fault Min-su is shit at drawing cars! It’s his fault we lost!’
“Hey!” Min-su butts in, “You aren’t any better! I’m not the one who sucks at drawing trees.”
“It’s Se-mi’s fault for making me nervous!”
“Isn’t it funny how it’s never your fault and always someone else’s?” Se-mi asks. Nam-gyu flings a spoonful of rice at her but misses as it flies past her arm and hits the cafeteria floor.
“You even suck at aiming!” Se-mi laughs at him.
“Do you ever shut up?!”
Thanos shrinks back in his seat. He picks quietly at the rest of his food, losing what little appetite he had entirely. He feels, for lack of better words, like shit. He’s a shell of what he used to be; once spry and lively and living a life people his age could only dream about, only to fall into the cycle of addiction and depression he was always meant to end up in. Thanks, Mom and Dad, he thinks to himself; he has them to blame for his shitty genetics.
An announcement rings over the intercom. Lunch has ended, please return to your rooms. Thanos watches as people scraped their leftover scraps of food into nearby trash cans.
When he glances over to his roommate and his group of friends, they’re all chatting amongst one another, not having heard the announcement, or at the very least ignoring it. He leaves without saying a word to them, ignoring the way Min-su glances at him as he walks away.
He stacks his tray on a table near the lunchline and quietly walks to his shared room. He doesn’t smile, wave, or even glance in anyone’s direction. Someone pushes past him as they run down the hallway, and distantly he hears a nurse shout after the person, but he merely stumbles and continues his way down the hall.
The room is quiet and barren when he returns, the same as it was when he first arrived. He sighed a breath of relief; the cafeteria was too loud, and the constant talking made his head spin. His mattress was still thin and uncomfortable, but he lay down on it anyway, staring at the blank ceiling. He misses his room at home, where a poster of his favorite rapper is plastered on the ceiling. His walls were covered in different posters and random wall hangings, and maybe it looked tacky and messy, according to his mother, but he’d take tacky and messy over boring, white, bland walls any day.
Part of him wishes he could go home, even if it meant facing his disappointed mother. More than anything, though, he wished he’d died that day, bleeding out on his bedroom floor like he was supposed to. He feels pathetic, and idly picks at his bandages as he stares with worried eyebrows at the ceiling.
Nam-gyu walks in a few minutes after, being ushered by Ms. Hyunju. She chides him for messing with his bandages before she leaves.
Thanos doesn't look at Nam-gyu. He can hear him sit down on his bed with an obnoxious creak and can feel the smugness radiating off of him.
"Thanos, huh?" He teases. Su-bong can practically hear the smirk on his face.
If it'd been any other time, or place, for that matter, maybe he would've smiled back and laughed. Maybe he would have teased Nam-gyu for his stupid haircut or how he couldn't even draw a tree according to Min-su. But now, in what felt like an endless void of misery, he foregoes humoring Nam-gyu to roll over and face the wall.