"Everything in dust. Do you see? Well, well, well, everything in lust. What do you see?

~A.D

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78.4℉. That's what it says on the thermometer, but Seokjin doesn't believe it. No, he's not being sensitive. It's at least 78.9℉ (if not 79℉) in here, and it makes all the difference in how the patients feel, too. Maybe he should tell that useless receptionist that the mercury has to be replaced, that their whole building is broken.

From the subpar glass doors to the drab wallpaper, it's not something he'd step foot into without absolutely needing to. Buildings should have the heart and soul of an architect within its foundation, yet he sees none of that. That can only mean it's broken somehow. In fact, he counted 27 blemishes on the wall before walking up to the receptionist's desk and into the waiting room. They cling like a spider would its victim, crawling, crawling, crawling. Infecting the whole property with their entangled webs.

They have a way of sucking you in with the promise of forever with a millenia's worth of eyes bleeding into your brain. They make you realize your problems are just as minute as what they choose to show on those goddamn walls: 27 fuck-ups and counting.

Seokjin looked down at his bloody nail beds with mild interest. It was a habit he hadn't been able to quit since he was a child, and now that the gears were turning, (faster than before, that is) it steadily grew worse. He told himself that trying to break the habit would be useless at this point.

The sinner drowns himself in the venom of temptation. The pious crawl on their knees while their forked tongues beg for mercy. The natural order of things would not be disturbed on account of his will.

He looks around while he waits. Burgundy paint traps him in a pin full of cheap, abstract pieces, and they loom over him until their shadows become bigger than themselves. That's how it always is. Colors on a canvas that are meant to solicit emotions blend together into a murky brown that he doesn't have an opinion about either way. It's the color of the basement walls and vomit.

His inner thoughts are shattered by one Ms. Yamamoto, smelling of lust and busywork. She smiles when she sees him, and he notices the crinkle on her nose as she does so.

Aw. Is this who his little brother picked? She's definitely his type. There's something familiar about her that doesn't come with recognition, but more from unrelated memories that resurface like rotting wood in the middle of an ocean. Unlikely, yet possible, still.

She's the epitome of asking for it. Even through conservative dress, her very posture begs him to fuck her in her office. Her glasses dip just enough to make his eyes go down to her lips, which are, yet again, parted just enough to hide behind professionalism when asked. Her blouse is the color of untrodden snow, and it looks just as tempting to dirty with his sin.

"Mr. Yang?" she asks, looking at her clipboard. He puts on a shy smile as he stands up from the sofa.

"That's me."

"Wonderful. Please, have a seat wherever you'd like," she says, motioning him into her office, though he prefers to stand. That way, he can react, quite literally, on his feet if the time comes, but gaining a stranger's trust is no easy thing, especially in the amount of time he has. So, he chooses to sit on a sofa that looks identical to the one just outside. He likes the consistency.

Manila folders everywhere, dust caking the floors. How will he find it in all this mess? His knuckles turn white from the effort of not getting right back up to tidy everything. Disgusting whore, working in a space like this. Taehyung certainly wouldn't like it, not one bit.

"I'm so sorry for all of this mess. I just moved here about a few days ago, so I'm still sorting stuff out..." she says, trying to keep polite eye contact while putting away files in the cabinet next to her desk simultaneously.

Seokjin puts a hand up and, flashing her a winning smile, replies, "No worries. I have all the time in the world."

Naomi tries to smile back but fails. It's not the temperature that's making her sweat as she observes the man in front of her. There's something about his seemingly innocent act that's starting to send chills down her spine.

He sits weightlessly on the sofa, stiff as a rod, but there are no signs of discomfort on his face. In fact, he looks too comfortable for a man that has never even been to a therapy session, seeing as how she had no record transfers from a previous psychologist.

Now, it clicks as he begins to move to an invisible rhythm. He can be filed under the androids that blink one too many times to be normal, the animals with human expressions: the uncanny valley. His skin doesn't look real, just like one of those androids. There's a sheen to it, a perfect, whole quality in the way that it reflects light that she almost wants to ask him if it's fake. The way his eyes linger a second too long on her isn't right. She is a rabbit ensnared in the serpent's hold.

All of this within 30 seconds of meeting the guy. She tries to shake her snap judgments, but somehow, they hold fast. She makes a living out of doing that very thing, after all.

"Thank you so much for the wait. I'm actually very grateful that you reached out to me first. Not many people want to begin their therapeutic journey with a newly certified psychologist."

"Well, I thought you'd be as good as any, and I wanted a cheaper option to start with," Seokjin says with a shrug.

"I appreciate your honesty," Naomi replies with a forced laugh. "So, is there anything particular you had in mind for this session? First sessions are usually just for getting a feel for each other and seeing if we're compatible to go forward in your process."

Seokjin looks down at his nails, then at the cabinet. He's close to breaking the skin. Just what the doctor ordered.

"I'm really not sure. As you said, this is my first session, so I'm not sure what I'm looking for."

"Well, we can start with why you wanted to start therapy in the first place."

God, this nosy woman. Why the fuck does she want to know? She doesn't know him, and certainly doesn't care about him, so she should stop pretending like she does. His foolish brother probably fell for this trick a thousand times over. But he isn't desperate for love like him. He knows not to trust those who pretend to care. He knows all too well.

"I need help. Simple as that."

"Okay. Right. Can you be more specific as to what you need help with? Maybe we can go from there." His fingers work to tear the skin off faster as his mind churns. So much he can say to cover his tracks. But he can't possibly state what he really thinks about her practice.

It's a waste of time. It's for people who have it good, those that still have their dam intact. Those who are broken on the inside don't realize what they don't have. Normal is simply a perspective of the mind, a useless social construct made to elevate those in power. People like her are the problem. Who is she to say she's normal? Who is she to tell him he's (nothing but a fucking waste of space chink faggot i should've never had you i love you so much honey you know i'd never do anything to hurt you) not? Who is she to-

"Mr. Yang!"

"Hm?"

"Y-your finger. It's bleeding."

"Oh." Seokjin looks down for what feels like the first time, surprised yet satisfied at how crimson his blood is. "Oh. Oh, that's a lot." He puts his hand to his head and commands the cold sweat to begin pouring out, which it does almost immediately.

Naomi is already getting up from her chair as she asks, "Are you okay? Do you need me to get you something?" He stares at her form for a moment. How easily would his hand wrap around her throat? He could snap her in half without blinking twice.

He remembers a day at the park as a child. He couldn't have been more than 9, but he imagined his brain held far more than he should have by then. He was beginning his research into anatomy at the time, and on that fine summer's day, his curiosity got the better of him when he saw a pigeon waddling across the mulch, unbothered by shrieking kids beside it. It made him curious yet so uncontrollably angry, so much hubris in one little body. So he took that bird by the neck and reveled in the crunch of his hand breaking it in half.

Once the deed was done, he went back to his mom and cried all day and night about it, sobbing about finding it there on the ground. She got him whatever he wanted for 3 days straight, and it even took her attention off of Taehyung for the time being, which Seokjin took credit for, as that's all his kid brother wanted. He wondered at the time if he could push his luck again.

Anyway, it would probably be just as easy, right? Snapping her in half and all?

"Ah- gosh, actually... could you get me a glass of water? I have a, uh... Phobia of blood..." he mumbles. Naomi doesn't move right away. Just stares at him, until he feels anger coming in waves of red.

Why is she trying to assess him with those prying eyes of hers? Didn't he say he needed a glass of fucking water?

"Unless you want me to get it?" he snaps, and that's when she jumps from her chair. Stupid bitch.

"No, no! I'll be back in just one moment," she replies, getting up shakily. He follows her with beady eyes, but she refuses to meet them. The way she carries herself in righteous confidence even when she has her tail tucked between her legs reminds him so much of her that he has to stop himself from following her out.

As soon as the door closes behind her, he springs from the sofa and scrambles to the cabinet next to her desk, eyes raking across the identical manila folders frantically. All he needs is the K section, and he's home free. But, of course, they're not organized by letter yet, and the only thing that indicates anything about the folders is Naomi Yamamoto's slanted, yet neat writing.

Make it fucking harder for me, why don't you?

He can hear her chatting with the receptionist as she fills up a paper cup. Her voice mixes with the others and creates a dissonance that makes him almost unable to focus on what's right in front of him. But after about 19 seconds, he finds the folder he's been looking for.

Kim, Jong-Soo. Dear old dad, right here in front of him. It's been a few years, hasn't it? Not to worry, though. He'll be attending his homecoming real soon.

Footsteps coming closer, 50 feet away at most. Faster, faster. His fingers fly across the pages of his father's documentation, looking for the right paper within the folder. Past psychologists, family record, residency... Beads of sweat form at his temples.

Perfect. Medical record. If he had more time, he would pour over the page right then and there to figure out what he had to substitute for his little plan, but the footsteps are almost right outside now. Swiping through his phone with nimble fingers, he snaps a photo of the page and rushes back to the sofa as fast as humanly possible.

The door unlatches just in the nick of time.

"How's the bleedi..."

Seokjin looks up from his fingernails, pretending to be dazed.

"Oh, just fine, Ms. Yamamoto. It stopped a while ago."

"Ah. That's good."

As she goes to sit back down, Naomi's eyes brush over the cabinet. Her mouth goes completely dry; she wishes the water wasn't for her client.

Her office might not be up to par for the time being, but her photographic memory has never failed her in 24 years of living. She memorizes where each and everything goes, whether she does it consciously or not, and she knows the paper that's next to the cabinet wasn't there a moment ago. She didn't move it, and her habit of shaking her legs under the table stopped since she became a professional, so it couldn't have been an accident on her part.

Naomi raises her eyes from the cabinet to see Mr. Yang's glassy-eyed stare. Their gazes meet in a standstill, and it almost feels like the same bolt of lightning strikes both of them at the same time. And around them, the Earth rotates in their shared revelation.

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안녕 여러분! I hope everyone enjoyed this
chapter. I tried to experiment with a
different writing style for Seokjin's POV to let the
readers see his personality a little more.
What did you think? Did it help?
Please let me know!

QOTD: What's your favorite song on D-2?

Can I pick all of them? Rap albums usually aren't
my favorite, but man, Yoongi is such an exception. The whole album was so engaging and I can see how much he's grown as an artist. I definitely liked 대취타, Dear my friend, and 28 a lot, but like I said, I really can't pick a favorite because all of them were amazing.

Until next time, happy reading!

Love,
Haneul