The Art of Getting By
CHAPTER SEVEN

❛ Pandora's Box, Pt: 1. ❜

12:25 PM
Tuesday 17th August 2021
HYOSAN HOSPITAL

IT WAS AN agonising irony, how, Lee Han-eul's name denoted all adjectives that related to celestial words. Han-eul: the sky and the heavens- it could also be interpreted as: 'Han-eul the name that encourages spreading your dreams high like the sky.'

Oh heavens, how ironic is that . . . here Lee Han-eul was, at a foundation that was far from his aspirations. His aspirations were thrown in the gutter years ago, and his vengeance over throned that. Hyosan Hospital, he despised the place since the incident, but he never portrayed the hatred, and went on as though he truly desired to become a member of the white coats.

But as his dulled eyes landed on the jagged mirror drilled on the inside of his locker door, remorse couldn't even depict the brewing storm that lingered on his bruised mind.

Everything from within, told his exterior mask otherwise.

Lee Han-eul's reflection told a novel all alone- his body a pencil, the mirror a blank piece of paper, and he felt as though he'd tainted the purity of his mirror entirely.

He always owned an everlasting expression of grey. The skies he owned were always grey. Never blue nor a bright white- his eyes harmonised majorly with this, a pair of pupils with the colour of ashen grey clouds, a palette that is created when grievous hurricanes occur. There were lightening strike shaped cuts along the surface of his lips, some faded and powdery coloured, some fresh. Although it wasn't, Lee Han-eul always felt as though the bridge of his nose was at an angle permanently, for it was repetitively pounded at by a pair of fiendish hands.

Nevertheless, Lee Han-eul could blend into the sea of the ordinary. For no-one could decode what went on within his head- only judging by the cover he had, a cover that blanketed his darkening thoughts.

Lee Han-eul tore his cloudy eyes away from his mirror, bracing himself for the almighty brutes that could storm into the locker room at any given moment . . .

. . . Dae-Hyun, Sang-Hun, Jung-Hoon.

Their locker room was secluded from the main, central area of the hospital. Therefore, it invited all forms of wickedness to meddle with the locker room's tranquility.

Yoon Dae-Hyun was like a rusty wine bottle that washed up on the sea. He contained the vilest emotions, other known as greed. Dae-Hyun's diabolical traits swirled within the confinements of his body. If you opened a cork of an expired alcohol bottle, the most unlawful smell would erupt from the small mouth of the bottle- just what one would experience if they were to become a part of Yoon Dae-Hyun's crew . . .

. . . Dae-Hyun, Sang-Hun, Jung-Hoon.

The three could endure the scorching heat in hell, for their souls to the abyss of cruelty. The maroon red gates could wholeheartedly welcome them without a second glimpse, for it housed souls that were similar to theirs, souls that were: spiteful, malicious . . . and gluttonous.

The acquisitive trio never let go of the fact that Lee Han-eul had once been a student of Jeong Areum. They didn't give a dime about the relationship he held with her, but really, they created an assumption that Lee Han-eul's pockets were always filled with gold. All three desired to fill their banks with Lee Han-eul's money, believing that Han-eul supplied a heavenly amount of won.

Just because Lee Han-eul was able to afford the lessons with Jeong Areum every week, it did not mean that he could now. His parents were falling farther and closer towards debt, and only increasingly, as each day passes. The income they earn from Cheong-san Fried Chicken, was only enough to fend for all four of them. His parents also needed to transfer some money to his grandparents that lived in Yangsan. They also, always needed to pay for Lee Han-eul's medical courses- how on Earth could they spend much more money, on three more people?

Consistently, the devilish trio reminded Lee Han-eul of the entire reason why he was even at Hyosan Hospital. They consistently, reminded him of the 'sky-high dream' that he could never occupy.

Lee Han-eul began to rifle through the contents of his locker: files, folders, flashcards-

A music player.

At the age of seven, Lee Han-eul received one of the most treasured gifts from his parents: a cassette player.

Lee Han-eul gingerly tucked his bottom lip under his top teeth as his fingers fondly found the surface of the cold music player.

Placing the music player within one of the pairs of pockets of his coral white doctor's coat, it bounced slightly as he took a step back to face the mirror once more, his feet tapping lightly against the untarnished grounds of the hospital. Slowly, Lee Han-eul delicately placed the thinly, slightly rusted, wired headset, onto his head, which nestled into his auburn, finger-combed hair.

It was part of his routine, every morning, of every day, of the entire week: to press the sides of the headphones to his ears and let his soul dance vividly to it. It drowned out the commotions of the hospital at times, Lee Han-eul was smitten with the company of music, even if it let him flee cowardly from his reality.

The minute the symphonic melodies rattled through his ears, he felt protected, and he'd forget about the solitude persona that he found himself being entrapped in. Though this may comfort him, it was entirely bittersweet- every time he let the headset crown his head, Lee Han-eul would recall the events upon how he received the impactful present.

"This," his father tapped the tip of his nail across the freshly polished case, its plastic surface scintillating beneath the sage green desk lamp, that was rooted on seven year old, Lee Han-eul's disorderly table, "is a music player." Sliding along the table, a single, orange coloured cassette with two fingers, Lee Chung-min let his eyebrows dance briefly as his young son goggled at the objects.

Lee Han-eul parted his lips tinily, with a perplexed daze, hues of puzzlement clouded his enlarging eyes, "music . . . player? What is it Appa?"

After seeing the silver cassette player on display, behind a window with vibrant and exuberant posters plastered all over it, Lee Chung-min hopped into Fresh Beats. It was a run-down musical shop just at the end of the road, from their apartment, there were very few customers, and if they had one, it'd be a regular viewer, or lonesome teenagers, that were in need of some music for company.

The price was identical to half a box full of pot noodles- which had stolen the father's eye. Initially, Lee Chung-min had no care for the price, he only wanted to make up for the presents he'd given Lee Han-eul for the last years: coupons, comics, birthday soup.

If only Lee Chung-min knew, that every single time he did any of the things listed above, Lee Han-eul felt beyond thankful. In fact, the dictionary could not put it into words and support the felicitated feeling that ignited within him.

Lee Han-eul didn't give a dime about what he received, whether it'd be a birthday present or an out of the blue gift- he only treasured the moments he had with his parents.

"It's-"

However, before the father could proceed, the mellow and warm moment was severed but the entrance of Lee Cheong-san, who seized the attention of Lee Chung-min.

Thus, Lee Han-eul learnt how to play the mixtape by himself.

However, sometimes Lee Han-eul played nothing at all.

Just the sweet bliss of . . . silence.

He learnt that during the early stages of owning the headset, he found, that the people that surrounded him would take note of this and leave him be. It was a way of creating a barrier between reality and his own headspace- it enhanced Lee Han-eul's solitude, sparing him a moment alone.

All sound found his headset an obstacle, as the bustling, that could be heard from the end of the corridor, dwindled into nothing. "Sweet bliss," Lee Han-eul mouthed, not daring to raise his voice in case it attracted certain pairs of ears.

Letting his fallen books stand upright, since, most of his belongings toppled over on the shelves of his locker from scavenging around for his music player, his knuckles connected lightly with the corner of a mixtape, unintentionally letting it fall to his feet.

In the midst of it all, Lee Han-eul enlarged his eyes, and arched his back to retrieve it.

But another hand beat him to it.

"What's this?"

The tangerine orange mixtape, was no longer on the ground, and Han-eul felt his breaths hasten as he fixated his eyes on the blank spot that the mixtape was just settled on. He swore and swore to himself, since the day he landed his feet within Hyosan Hospital, that he wouldn't let any other being touch the mixtape, but him.

Clasping his fingers around the pieces that fitted over his ears, Lee Han-eul slipped off his headset, so that his hugged his neck. Deafeningly, unwanted noise met his eardrums, as he instantaneously recognised the thick voice.

"Give it back," latching his fingers onto his locker door, Lee Han-eul forced his locker shut- SLAM. It caused the lines of lockers to almost fall like consecutive lines of dominoes, they screeched as they rattled against each other, breaking the serene silence that was once held within the locker room.

Grazing his teeth together, the bone of Lee Han-eul's jaw tightened acutely as he elevated his chin, his palms waving in front of him as his attention landed on: the Devil's treasures.

"I don't think so," Dae-Hyun pulled his arm back with a sing-song voice, as the tiger orange mixtape was imprisoned between his middle and index finger. He twirled it around between the two, very loosely too, so that if he moved the slightest, the mixtape could topple and explode into shambles against the concrete ground.

"I said give it-"

A grisly laugh rumbled through Dae-Hyun's mouth and through his lips. "Aigoo, is this annoying to you?" Extending his arm a little further back, he let out another amused and repellent laugh, "is it," he began winding around the room, "is it," his antics resembling an immature child, "is it?"

"This isn't why we're here. This fucker needs to repay us, so make this quick," Jung-Hoon started.

"Have you gone soft? This is fucking hilarious," to the left of the devilish crony, Sang-Hun nudged Jung-Hoon repeatedly, "get this on video."

"I haven't gone fucking soft," grumbling in reply, the taller ruffian fished his phone from his back pocket, and even had to bite back a chuckle, "okay l was, but you're totally right, this is amusing."

"You asshole," Sang-Hun threaded his own laughter over the top of Jung-Hoon's, "I told you, I knew it."

A thunderous jolt bellowed throughout Lee Han-eul's bones as he whipped his head around to face the burly fist that held a strident hold around the thin material of his collar. There were purply bruises littered the nape of Lee Han-eul's neck from this very brute that had a firm hold on him, and Lee Han-eul seldom thought of the scars. But whenever his scarred frame landed within the odious clutches of Yoon Dae-Hyun . . .

The deafening and thunderous storm within Lee Han-eul's head only brewed harder, leaving not only bruises upon his skin, physically, but inwardly on his mind too.

"Did you catch that? How easily I caught on to this fucker?" Dae-Hyun had his fist full of Han-eul's white coat, the collar bunched up within his hands, as though he seized a wild fish from a lake.

Dae-Hyun's cronies chorused, "fuck yeah we did."

Playing with the chewing gum that was within his mouth, with his teeth, the sound of the smacking, obnoxiously resounded around the room. Dae-Hyun's distasteful tone fired closely into Han-eul's ears, "trade for a trade yeah?" Releasing the material from his hands, additionally, as he did so, Dae-Hyun thrusted his victim against the surface if the locker with a strong force.

Forehead puckered, Han-eul felt the impact plant a dozen bruises across his back, he lowered his head, trying to conceal the steamy tears that dared to damn the courageous frame that he was trying to uphold. Before he could try and balance on his two feet again, Dae-Hyun clamped his left fist on to Han-eul's knotted hair and brought his hand back. The chances of getting up without a warped neck, were slim, for, Dae-Hyun's grip was severely tight, preventing Lee Han-eul from attacking.

"Take a look at this," even with his neck at an awkward angle, Lee Han-eul tried to master a steady voice as his hand dug around his inner pocket. Finding crumpled up and folded won, his fingers quivered only tinily as he lifted his hand towards Sang-Hun's face, "a trade, you get my monthly allowance, and you'll give the mixtape back."

In a whizz, at the sight of the pastel green paper within Lee Han-eul's hands, Jung-Hoon paused the recording and inspected the notes. The joyous expression that engraved upon his face, fell, and was replaced with narrowed eyes and a ridiculing grin, "you're bullshitting us. You call this a repayment?" Lowering his stance by bending his knees and pushing all his weight upon his toes, Jung-Hoon shredded the pieces of won and showered it above Han-eul's figure. "You ratted us out the other day- Did you forget? Thankfully my Appa is our teacher here, so he turned the tables and . . . well, your Appa received the letter, didn't he? But . . . oh how unfortunate for you."

Lee Han-eul's shoulders stiffened drastically. He recalled the previous night where his father clutched the damned letters. The letters that told Lee Chung-min his oldest son was picking brawls his peers, consecutively.

"I guess I was wrong about something, you definitely haven't gone soft Jung-Hoon." Sang-Hun praised.

This encouraged Jung-Hoon further, his words biting and butchering every fibre of Han-eul's patience, "ah my good old Appa- oh but yours? The one who works at the Fried Chicken shop?"

Sang-Hun added, "didn't it get one star on the hygiene rating? I swear-"

"- Hm how sad. Your Appa isn't earning so much at the shop, now his eldest son has a red card. How did he take it when he found out that his son's future is now down the drain . . . well I'm guessing he didn't take the letters well, did he?" A spiteful and wry laugh slumped from Jung-Hoon's mouth, like how a trash can disposes of its rubbish into the junk truck. "Your rank and beggarly Appa and you, a weak and pathetic son, go hand in hand, falling to the bottom of the food chain."

Silence followed.

Lee Han-eul had glorified the subject of silence beforehand, but to some extent. At times, the noteless, melody-less and music-less noise, was overbearing. It overpowered Han-eul's rational senses, and the only thunderous sound were the crackles and sizzling words and phrases that infiltrated his mind.

Weak and pathetic son, weak and pathetic son, weak and pathetic- Lee Han-eul demolished those words briefly, only letting the words: rank and beggarly Appa circle his mind. Flittering his rigid eyes away from the mixtape, infuriated tears burned at Han-eul's pupils as his top lip curled incredulously.

"You take that back," with a discomforting feeling rubbing at Han-eul's voice box, the words wavered timidly as they left his sneering mouth.

They fuelled the wildfire that ignited hazardously throughout his body, as they only turned to face each other in a flurry, their faces contorting into an amused expression, their vicious laughter filling every corner of the room.

"God, how pathe-" Sang-Hun began, his foot raised, ready to ram it into the side of Han-eul's stomach, as he does on the daily.

"ARRRRG-" An echoing yowl erupted from Dae-Hyun.

Lee Han-eul had dug his thumb into the brute's fore-arm, his uncut nails stabbed into Dae-Hyun's flesh. With such force on the pressure point, it caused the older student to retreat, clutching his arm, pathetically.

The death grip within Lee Han-eul's unkempt hair grew lighter, causing him to stumble slightly on both his feet. Rolling his shoulders repetitively, he slowed when he felt his veins recharge themselves, if the adrenaline within him could he displayed on a graph, it would've peaked.

Panting fleetly, Han-eul increased the crushing weight of his thumb upon the pressure point on Dae-Hyun's forearm, the area a sickening yet satisfying shade of harsh red. Slowly, he strode forwards, "tell Jung-Hoon to take it back," letting the brute have a venomous taste of his own medicine, Dae-Hyun's coral white sneakers squeaked odiously as his back collided with another set of lockers.

"Shibal- Let go of my arm you fu . . . you fucker-" Dae-Hyun fumbled for words, his skin beetroot red from exertion, as he struggled under Han-eul's matchless strength.

"- You're always one to give commands. Always telling your guard dogs to do the dirty work. Go on. Tell them to take everything back," tilting his head sharply, but slowly, to the side, his voice drastically dipped to a blistering, intimidating and fearsomely deep tone, "what? . . . Is it too dirty, too difficult? Do you want me to spell it out for you?"

"I have nothing to say-"

Unfazed, Lee Han-eul was surly when it came to vengeance, he despised everything and everyone that roamed around Hyosan Hospital. Lee Han-eul had a list, and Dae-Hyun and his cronies were at the top of it. Tears, that were sheer tokens of his exasperation, coated his eyes, they surveyed Dae-Hyun's expression: pure terror.

The inner corner of Lee Han-eul's lips tugged upwards; he grinned.

"A-p-o-l-o-g-i-s-e." In between each syllable, Lee Han-eul only injected his nail farther into Dae-Hyun's skin. "That's something for you to say."

"Get off him you asshole," Sang-Hun let his arm extend, his palm ready to latch onto the back of Lee Han-eul's collar. But his ankle twisted slightly, as the slippery grips of his shoes, caught on to the scrunched up pieces of won that scattered across the floor.

Lee Han-eul noticed the stumbling figure from his peripherals, and caught onto Sang-Hun's arm, his back still facing Sang-Hun- Lee Han-eul spun on his heels callously and began warping Sang-Hun's arm behind his back.

Lee Han-eul was the embodiment of Saturn, and the three good-for-nothings found themselves enmeshed within one of his storms.

"- I guess your Appa's correct, I do slack off my classes, I do pick fights with my classmates, and that's only because of you all." Han-eul thrusted Sang-Hun's entirety into the corner of the wall.

"SHIBAL," Jung-Hoon staggered as he witnessed his companion slam onto the ground.

A satisfied feeling washed over Lee Han-eul, as he lowered himself to reclaim the orange mixtape that had been long discarded. "But what if the head department hears that their golden students are leeching off others? I'm not the only one who supplies your greed. I know that. You make up some pathetic excuse, saying that: 'I'm loaded because I once had singing lessons with an idol.'- I'm curious to see what excuse you use on the others."

Elevating his eyes away from the mixtape in his palms, Lee Han-eul then waved Jung-Hoon's phone around, one that he cunningly plucked when all three were preoccupied with trying to latch their hands on to him.

"You fucker- When did you get my phone?!"

When Jung-Hoon stomped forwards, his hand was left hovering in the air, as Lee Han-eul pulled his hand back, "oh- Aigoo, is this annoying you?" From behind him, he could hear Dae-Hyun mutter curses under his fuming breath, "is it," bucket loads of gratification showered over his frame, as he recreated the moment that happened just minutes ago, "is it," I hope they feel the humiliation I felt, Lee Han-eul finalised, "is it?" Puckering his lips, Lee Han-eul placed them onto the screen of the phone, "wait till everyone sees the videos you have been filming. Every. Single. One."

A silence.

But this one met Lee Han-eul's satisfactions.

"SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE!"

A frantic nurse hollered from the other end of the corridor, to whom did it belong to? It was unbeknownst for the moment, for her figure seemed distant, yet the voice held such dread . . . a terror filled tone that was humane and raw.

Lee Han-eul paused, tucking the mixtape and his music player into his inner pocket, so that he could zip it tightly shut. The adrenaline that dashed through his veins, still lingered, though, most of the energy was poured onto his guileful and hasty movements that he used for self-defence.

"Shibal, they over heard everything." Dae-Hyun started, his palm still nursing his forearm, the wound that Han-eul inflicted surely tainting his skin for eternity. "We have to leave."

"You can try mend your actions with words," Lee Han-eul referred to the many times that the three cosied up to Jung-Hoon's father, since he was their teacher. Of course, Jung-Hoon's father would side with his son, but the authorities were overpowering, and would most definitely take Han-eul's side. "But . . . your ill actions will soon catch up to you. You'll regret your decisions, majorly."

"- What is this fucker saying?" Sang-Hun let his legs support him upwards, as his back and arm felt benumbed from the work that Han-eul had done on him.

"He's bullshitting us again," the usual domineering tone that Jung-Hoon always held, seemed to have dissipated, as his hazardous eyes, thinned obscurely, they were set deeply on Han-eul's now well-pleased expression.

Discreetly, Lee Han-eul let his chalk pink lips morph into a tiny smile, one that was aimed at himself. Shamelessly, his mind continuously replayed the events that occurred, and couldn't help but praise himself for it- my plan's are finally forming together.

BOOM!-

Lee Han-eul let his palms fly towards his eyes, concealing them from direction that the sound came from, before moving them away ever so . . .

"Help . . . me." The very same voice from before, balanced on the tightrope of Life, her voice scarcely a whisper.

All attention alighted on the entrance of the locker room.

The next sound minced their eardrums into remnants- Lee Han-eul had heard similar, tormenting wails before, from either mourning families that just received devastating news, or trauma patients with life-threatening injuries. But this one was juxtaposed to them highly. The bawl didn't just shred their eardrums, but all of their senses too.

Every organ within Han-eul's body, felt as though they were thrown into a bottomless abyss, his senses hijacked by . . . shock. Shock played with his senses, causing them to be benumbed, Han-eul's midnight black shoes stayed glued to the ground.

"What's up with those two?"

"SHIBAL-"

"Isn't that the nurse who yelled earlier?"

Lee Han-eul didn't even need his headset to muffle out the sounds anymore. Harrowingly, as his senses fell into a deep, frozen state, the devilish trio's voices evaporated into nothing as soon as it left their mouths, for Han-eul's ears boomed repetitively.

Daring to inch closer, only a repugnant, distasteful scent filled Lee Han-eul's nose: copper, flesh. It almost fried every cell within the smelling range- it was that strong, as though the Grim Reaper severed Lee Han-eul ties between his sense of smell of him. The nauseating sensation that swam within his stomach, was almost equivalent as the pain of starvation, he yearned to retch at the sight before him.

The scene was hazy, perplexing to decipher- For, all that Lee Han-eul could see, was the patient and the fallen nurse . . . and puddles of bright, berry red, blood. There was a gaping hole on the sleeve of the patient's violet sweater, the threads that belonged to the frayed material, were coated in an inhuman amount of vermillion. Beneath it was an jagged oval, as though something extracted it. The skin was missing. So was the muscle that was supposed to be under it.

Rabies? Lee Han-eul tried labelling the situation.

The patient's radius bone was exposed, its pinkish, pearly surface glimmering under the excruciating harsh lights of: Hyosan Hospital.

Using the back of his sleeve, Han-eul placed it against his mouth, to prevent himself from letting out an inhuman cry to reflect the- well, Lee Han-eul couldn't even begin to outline the repelling emotions within him. To say Lee Han-eul was stupefied or fearful or revolted . . . just couldn't sketch out his interiority.

You need hell's paintbrushes to tell just what Lee Han-eul was feeling, what he was witnessing. The canvas before him could only be described within hell's bounds.

But why am I hesitating? Lee Han-eul's head frantically swirled, this is why you're here. To prevent any lives from being lost. Why the fuck are you-

"Sunbaenim? . . ." Scorning at himself within his head, at how croaky his voice sounded, Lee Han-eul cleared his arid throat once more, still tasting a bitter taste on his tongue. Dropping slowly, so that he was a foot away from the pair, Lee Han-eul felt a thick and warm substance drenched his cotton trousers of where his knee caps were. His pulse dipped drastically, his limbs now aquiver the intolerable and awkward feeling, how the garnet red blood seeped onto his skin. Biting on the insides of his cheeks, he caught his breath, "Sunbaenim?-"

Managing to call out in a grounded tone, his sound only attracted the abnormal patient's attention. The nurse never budged, his limbs as still as the heavens above.

The patient's torso paused, their face still stuffed into the surface of the nurse's stomach.

A beat. Silence.

Lee Han-eul couldn't select which sound was more mortifying: the nurse's screams . . . or the beast like grouse that erupted from the lungs of the patient. Fiery, scarlet red, blood spritzed across Lee Han-eul's untainted skin, now it would surely be stained, for infinity. The whites around his pupils were now polluted a pinkish red, as they enlarged and cemented on the patient.

The beastly and ghastly patient teeth were shielded by a portly string of an organ as it was entrapped between their teeth- the tendons were still connected to . . .

Lee Han-eul puffed out his lips and turned to his side, his sleeves dyed with the substance that splattered across his face, as he scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin-

"Aish he's blocking the view."

Dae-Hyun's voice rang through Han-eul's ears. So did his crony's distant voices. Everything caved in, and Lee Han-eul wanted out. He wanted out an infinite amount of times, yet, he persisted, and bonded himself to his plan, never leaving, never fleeing.

Hyosan Hospital was the reason why his celestial name was tarnished, and Lee Han-eul wanted to set fire to the damned place.

SQUELCH-

"ARRRRRG."

After shoving Lee Han-eul to the side, Dae-Hyun, landed himself outside of the locker room- and so did Sang-Hun and Jung-Hoon. In the midst of wiping at his face, Lee Han-eul didn't witness the behaviour that the nurse made, and only saw the aftermath.

The line between the locker room and the hallways was evident. On the other side, hell's creatures were battling against the devil's beasts. Whereas the other was free and only consisted of Han-eul. The barrier was almost like the one between heaven and hell: tranquility and noise. Depsite this, it would all be broken if Han-eul didn't make a decision and-

Flee.

"Hey," Dae-Hyun's voice held him back briefly.

Only fixating his maroon eyes on to his face, trying arduously to keep them there, for he did not want to add any more grotty visions within his storm filled mind. Lee Han-eul's frame trembled as his bottom teeth quavered tinily. His palms pressed against the murky crimson floor, the substance swishing against his finger tips.

Vengeance or compassion?

That's what Lee Han-eul found himself asking in a flitter, but he pushed the second option aside. Lee Han-eul's mind was already filled with a dark and shadowy emotion, his own regrets, but he childishly coated it with vengeance, for it was easier. It was easier to blame others.

Thus, Lee Han-eul left his foes be devoured by the rotting corpses of patients, who held an unbeknownst disease, and Lee Han-eul urged to-

Flee. Flee, flee, flee.

Scrambling backwards, his poor sneakers swished around within the expanding puddle of vermillion. His fingers weren't better, either, it was as though he paddled around within the thin ocean of burgundy.

Another snarl resounded behind Lee Han-eul.

He was already on the other side of the locker room, his palms leaving merlot red imprints along the pristine walls, in the shape of his palms. Pulse thumping against his eardrums. Chest squeezing excruciatingly at his heavy pulse. Pounding thoughts scarring his mind. Unwanted vile memories on his brain. All of these caused his adrenaline to rumble through him alarmingly, faster than thunder that shoots down from the sky and clapping on to the ground.

Lee Han-eul surveyed and surveyed the room.

An exit.

Exuberant light emitted from the sun and showered through the window that was just above a row of lockers. It casted a heavenly glow within the room, yet another ironic moment, contrasting with this situation majorly.

"How, how, how," mumbling desperately, Han-eul ignored the fact that his limbs were unstable and weakened from the shock that enveloped him. His finger tips were icy, and he could feel it as he tapped his blood speckled chin.

Craning his neck at different angles to view the locker room gingerly, a scheme then formulated within Lee Han-eul's mind.

The benches: they're fitted along the middle of the room.

The lockers: alongside the wall that had the glorious window, they were all lined up, and were drilled against the stone wall, so there wasn't a chance of it toppling whilst he got up on it.

In a flurry, Lee Han-eul whipped his locker door open and removed the jagged mirror away from the hook, equipping it in case havoc does cease to exist further. Without sparing a chance to go back into the main hospital, Lee Han-eul swallowed gingerly, before pressing his foot against the end of the iron grey benches. Thump-thump, thump-thump- picking up a momentum, rhythmically, Lee Han-eul almost felt his knees buckle, but with his adrenaline within him, it pushed him forwards, until-

The tips of his feet levitated from the very end of the benches, his entirety hovering within the air.

CLANG.

Both his feet teetered against the cyan blue lockers, a great colossal dent sunk onto the top, one more shift of the foot, and it could cause all of it to collapse, like a sinkhole. If it were any other moment, Lee Han-eul would've leant back and chuckle with glee, but his expression was restless, and couldn't morph into any other one, apart from a profound frown.

The surface beneath him began to vigorously rattle, the contents of the lockers tumbling around like a vegetables and fruits within a smoothie blender. Inhaling drastically, Lee Han-eul's fingers latched around the handle of the window, and perched hastily on to the ledge of it.

The process of his plan had attracted . . . Jung-Hoon?

It felt as though the beauteous sun-rays had enhanced, only for it to shine a limelight on the remnants of Lee Han-eul's foe.

It was as though Jung-Hoon's interior state, had spewed itself all over his frame, within he was pathetic, beggarly and so full of: revolt, rankness and weakness. With the torn tendons within his cheek, the bulging eye-socket, that threatened to have its eyeball descend from it like a bowling ball . . . the saliva mixed with drooping, wine red, blood from his swollen purply mouth- Lee Han-eul guiltily admitted that it was what Jung-Hoon deserved.

But that thought was immediately shut down, "I'm sorry," Lee Han-eul murmured, as regret bled with the adrenaline within his veins.

The greenery outside was still emerald, still fresh, the heavens that soared above, were still a spirited palette of cornflower blue and powdery white. Everything was . . . still . . . normal? Perhaps the barrier between tranquility and noise had moved, and Lee Han-eul had to escape through the window to fall into the world of tranquility.

But was it all that simple? Lee Han-eul felt naïve, for believing the possibilities of it being true.

Pandora believed that the gift she received on her wedding, a box, to be full of something jubilant. It wasn't; all evil flooded from it and blanketed the Earth.

What if it was the same outside?

But there was also hope that remained within the container. As if it were a full course meal, the main one being distasteful, but the dessert was sweet, almost like a bandage for the wounds that inflicted Pandora. Thus, Lee Han-eul grasped on to that notion, fleeing was the only option, he felt.

Lee Han-eul chose to hold on to hope, and let the sunlight flow rawly into the locker room, as he unclasped the latch on the window, with manic noises behind him.

DEAR ALL,

BROOOOOOOOO I finally wrote another chapter
you guys I feel so happy. Sorry I didn't actually forget
about you guys, I was just stuck because I had so many
ideas, but my hands and head wouldn't match with
that motivation, like I knew what I wanted to write,
but the words wouldn't come out right??? Does that
make sense?

Plus this is not edited yet, I'll probably change the gif
soon since I'm so tired right now I have to
wake up very early tomorrow and I hate it T-T

Also if you didn't know, I changed the layout of the title
page of this fic, and also included the spotify playlist
to this fic! I hope you enjoy!

Also hope this chapter clarifies why Lee Han-eul keeps
"slacking off," every class ^~^

I hope you are all well, if anyone is still reading this fic,
hello!!! I love you all. Thank you again for the support,
I see you guys adding it to your reading lists, and it
makes me all happy like my day is literally made
because of that fact.

KEEP BEING EPIC N COOL >~<

WITH LOVE, SYLVIA