Exasperation is the mask carried on his features, that remains hidden from the idol due to the patient’s shattered pride, causing him to turn away. Albeit, the irritation was mostly aimed towards his moment of weakness minutes ago, and not at the persistent latter. No matter how much walls he builds, or how tightly he bites his tongue, his bluntness created by his curiosity—which his ignorance has given birth to— seems to usually prevail. It’s one thing he deems to be completely uncontrollable, which angers him at times, since it drags him into situations like this, but he digresses. With pursed lips he calms himself gradually; inhaling and exhaling deeply, but quietly as he can make it, through his nose. Fingers tightly grabbing onto the bed sheets in a form of silent annoyance, below his sheets, invisible from the idol; eases and soon straightens out flat on the mattress. Stiff in his position, strict in perpetuating it, he only wishes for the male to leave as soon as possible. It wasn’t often that strangers were resistant to his cold defense, it was probably because of the ego the other had armed himself with, due to his slight success of piercing through his barriers. He could just feel the war horribly lengthening now, and shame teasing him for allowing this to occur.
The silence had gone scarce, as the other had boldly spoken up again. His shoulders jolt slightly, caught off guard by the sudden voice that barged through the empty air, but he maintains his walls up, and strict stiffness. Working effortfully to ignore the presence of the male, he occupies his attention towards the view out the window. However, unfortunately for him, the world had decided to take a halt in action, as nothing interesting passed by his window, driving him insane. Personally, he hated the idea of ignoring someone talking to you. Ironic, as he is caught in the act of it, but he does have a heart, maybe a dying one, but he has one, along with a conscience, and a pair of manners. He closes himself, solely for the reason to guard his heart. If he attempts to return to his usual welcoming self, he is drowned in the oblivion of his depression once more, where all that is taught to him is the utter devastating fact that he doesn’t deserve any type of happiness, may it even be just a smudge. He is chained to his illness’s cruel laws, and he is in a hallucination to believe it must be practiced. With that being said, he is crumbling down for every word that is spoken and dismissed, and guilt hovers over him once more— which he often ignores, but today it proved itself to be a formidable opponent. He is not used to things escalating this much, which explains his uneasiness, as he isn’t aware of what to do, trapped in between his depression and conscience, he starts to wither.
His lips gape, and a sigh rattles his chest as it heavily fled his mouth. Cracking out of his molded stiffness, he melts on his bed, head now sinking on the pillow as he shuts his eyes tightly, and tugs the blanket even further. He retreated. His mind didn’t prefer the breakdown he was having, and shuts down. His breathing progressively gets calmer, as his face softens with the pace. The silence he left for the male, benefits him as it becomes the lullaby the sings him to sleep, or in this case, back into sanity. He could still feel the idol’s presence behind him, and it doesn’t falter to have it’s aura burn his turned back. It’s still there, the tugging of his conscience, it’s far more subtle now, but it’s not leaving anytime soon. At least, not until the male leaves, but he doesn’t have to think much to know that’s far off too. His mind is calm, but his soul fails to find equilibrium with the conflicting feelings that won’t leave him. He succumbs to his conscience, infuriating his pride, and raises a white flag. “You have much to ask don’t you?” He’s asking as if he isn’t similar, or worse; a sigh flees his lips, “It is my room. It’s been my room for years now, probably ever since I was born. You have no other choice but to like it.”
Now that the only thing that followed suit of his words was silence, a shame had shouldered itself over Doojoon and demanded the idol feel guilt for thinking of such a thing as this man’s comfort around him to be a game. He didn’t intend to, he knew that, he knew that he was raised and trained to have more courtesy for people than he had presented, but he also knew that out of all the things that could happen between the two in the room, he wished that his childish idea of this being a game remained only known to him. He was losing. It wasn’t a game, and even though it wasn’t (and he knew that), he was losing. He exhaled a sigh, head hung back enough so that the back of it was met with a wall. The contact caused a thump to sound within the room and Doojoon could have almost screamed when the sound, like his voice, was followed with more silence. He didn’t dare speak again, didn’t want to push the borders of his allowed stay in the room any further than he already had at this point, though mostly in the fear that he would be thrust into the arms of the fans that had found their way inside the hospital. Where they had come from, he didn’t know, but something inside him still hoped that they had mistaken Beast for another group--surely Beauties weren’t like that, right?
The thought was soon dismissed without answer (as it usually was) when the idol heard the sound of movement, his eyes instantly attached to the boy’s back as it moved down to lay atop the bed. Doojoon didn’t know why he had grown so curious about him, didn’t know why this hostile treatment was something that only caused him to want to know more, but it was. And even though it was, it was unusual. Doojoon was never one to make himself vulnerable in front of people he was close to let alone people that he didn’t even know the name of, but there was an aura in the room, an atmosphere that resonated so far within the walls, within the bed, within the boy himself that Doojoon doubted it was something caused by his entrance. And even if it was, that was only more reason for him to stay. What did he want? An apology, a reassurance that he wasn’t annoying, an invitation back because the mere presence of him in the room was enough comfort for the patient? He didn’t know, and didn’t want to decide on anything as this situation--in fact, this whole day--had become something of a dream to him. Or a nightmare, he didn’t know yet, and only hoped for it to be the former.
When words that were not his own had cut off the silence that stilled the room, he froze in his spot as if he were expecting backlash, and he was, but this wasn’t it. The surprise that had taken over his expression when he realized that the man was conversing with him was so palpable that Doojoon had to run a hand over his face for it to soften, even if just slightly. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he should just continue as he had been before, rambling off like a little boy that got asked about his action figure. Though, if the latter didn’t prefer him to be like that, then this conversation would never exist, right? At least, this is what he told himself before he cleared his throat, the action timid as he still didn’t want to make too much noise in fear that he would irritate the latter. “You’ve been in the hospital since you were born? If something was wrong with you since then--how have you gotten to survive this long?” He froze yet again, face twisting into one that could have asked how could you be this idiotic? had anyone been able to witness it except for the floors and the walls and the boy’s back. “I mean...I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t know a lot about diseases, or anything. There are probably ones that stick with you forever, right? What do you--what do you have?”
