The difference between dreams and reality
Title: the difference between dreams and reality
Rating: pg-13
Genre: angst
Pairing: chen (jongdae) x suho (joonmyun)
Warning: mention of murder
Word count: 875
Summary: In which Jongdae is a man of murder and Joonmyun has a way of saying his name
"There are terrible things happening in your head, aren't there?"
Terrible things. So many terrible things. But what did that mean? It meant blood and guts and endless screaming, but in the end, Jongdae would always wake up to an empty, white room and the smell of latex-so was that really terrible?
"I don't know."
"Do you know the difference between dreams and fantasy, Jongdae?"
He stares at the man in front of him and wonders for a brief moment what day of the week it is today. Whether it is summer outside or spring and if the people in the back of his mind are far away from here. It smells like a Sunday in the room, but it’s a scent of dark chocolate and coffee turned cold, and Jongdae agrees with himself that a Thursday would fit just as well.
Then the man in front of him clears his throat and although it’s not the hard, rough kind, it still startles Jongdae.
He averts his gaze to the old globe in the bookshelf behind the man with Australia turned up today and thinks of the black name-tag on the right side of the desk in front of him that reads Dr. Kim in simple, golden letters. He thinks of how after all this time it still confuses him sometimes and how there is something in the man’s voice when he speaks to Jongdae that takes away all the meaning in those neat, golden words.
It's something pure, Jongdae thinks. Something soft and something unsure.
It's something terribly afraid.
"I know the difference between dreams and reality."
Dr. Kim looks him straight in the eye and as he does, Jongdae thinks about coffee stains and blood and the blackness of ink, and how the white of eyes has always amazed him more. When he averts his gaze, Jongdae's lips form a small smile.
"That's good too, Jongdae. Do you want to tell me what the difference is?"
Jongdae shifts in the big chair. Dr. Kim had the nicest chairs in the ward. Much better than the ones in his own room, or the ones in the community hall-though he wasn’t exactly allowed to sit there anyway.
"Jongdae?"
Dr. Kim’s says his name oddly and in almost every sentence, and even though sometimes he likes to think that that is not the reason, Jongdae knows it's to keep him here. To make sure he doesn't drift off.
(Neither of them wants him to stop being Jongdae.)
"Dreams are when I cut you open and I'm covered in your blood. Reality is when I'm here, in this chair, and my hands are clean."
He watches as the other swallows.
"Do you still dream these kind of things as much as before?" the doctor asks and Jongdae can't help but notice how he clutches his pen a little tighter.
"Every night," he breathes into the little space between them and it almost sounds like a threat-but only almost because he's a patient here and Kim Joonmyun is his doctor. Almost because Jongdae is Jongdae now, and they are going to make him better.
"That is all for today, Jongdae. Thank you."
In the distance, Jongdae can already hear the footsteps coming for him. Maybe they'd allow him to read tonight. He crosses his fingers for Kyungsoo to be his guard today. He has a soft voice, unlike the others, and Jongdae hasn't once dreamt about killing him.
"Hey doctor," Jongdae says. "When I'm normal, do you think I could still come to see you?"
Joonmyun halts in his movement and two sheets of paper slip his fingers. Jongdae gets up from his chair and picks them up.
"I mean, I know it's going to take a while before that happens, but it would still be nice."
Joonmyun forces the corners of his mouth up as the boy hands him back the sheets. When he looks down at the words, his face falters. For a second, Joonmyun wonders what normal would mean for a boy like Jongdae. Then he thinks of the blood and guts and the difference between dreams and reality.
Reality, Joonmyun's documents say, is that this boy, with his messy hair and curious eyes, is a murderer. That this boy, with his nervous shifting and biting of lips has cut open chests and pulled apart limbs.
Dreams, Joonmyun has told himself, were Jongdae's belief in getting better.
And as for fantasy-he just tries not to think of how in the seven months with Jongdae, fantasy has become Joonmyun's own wish for the same.
(When in truth, there was never a cure for the wicked to begin with.)
"Of course you can, Jongdae," he finally says. Because if there was one thing Joonmyun had learned in the years between white walls and serial killers, it was that there is never much of a line between truth and lies for people like Jongdae.
"That's good," Jongdae nods as the door opens. "Because doctor, you know-whenever you die in my dreams, it's always in the prettiest of ways."
And Joonmyun smiles at him, because in a room where reality is a terrible thing, it’s the only thing he can think of returning.
Rating: pg-13
Genre: angst
Pairing: chen (jongdae) x suho (joonmyun)
Warning: mention of murder
Word count: 875
Summary: In which Jongdae is a man of murder and Joonmyun has a way of saying his name
"There are terrible things happening in your head, aren't there?"
Terrible things. So many terrible things. But what did that mean? It meant blood and guts and endless screaming, but in the end, Jongdae would always wake up to an empty, white room and the smell of latex-so was that really terrible?
"I don't know."
"Do you know the difference between dreams and fantasy, Jongdae?"
He stares at the man in front of him and wonders for a brief moment what day of the week it is today. Whether it is summer outside or spring and if the people in the back of his mind are far away from here. It smells like a Sunday in the room, but it’s a scent of dark chocolate and coffee turned cold, and Jongdae agrees with himself that a Thursday would fit just as well.
Then the man in front of him clears his throat and although it’s not the hard, rough kind, it still startles Jongdae.
He averts his gaze to the old globe in the bookshelf behind the man with Australia turned up today and thinks of the black name-tag on the right side of the desk in front of him that reads Dr. Kim in simple, golden letters. He thinks of how after all this time it still confuses him sometimes and how there is something in the man’s voice when he speaks to Jongdae that takes away all the meaning in those neat, golden words.
It's something pure, Jongdae thinks. Something soft and something unsure.
It's something terribly afraid.
"I know the difference between dreams and reality."
Dr. Kim looks him straight in the eye and as he does, Jongdae thinks about coffee stains and blood and the blackness of ink, and how the white of eyes has always amazed him more. When he averts his gaze, Jongdae's lips form a small smile.
"That's good too, Jongdae. Do you want to tell me what the difference is?"
Jongdae shifts in the big chair. Dr. Kim had the nicest chairs in the ward. Much better than the ones in his own room, or the ones in the community hall-though he wasn’t exactly allowed to sit there anyway.
"Jongdae?"
Dr. Kim’s says his name oddly and in almost every sentence, and even though sometimes he likes to think that that is not the reason, Jongdae knows it's to keep him here. To make sure he doesn't drift off.
(Neither of them wants him to stop being Jongdae.)
"Dreams are when I cut you open and I'm covered in your blood. Reality is when I'm here, in this chair, and my hands are clean."
He watches as the other swallows.
"Do you still dream these kind of things as much as before?" the doctor asks and Jongdae can't help but notice how he clutches his pen a little tighter.
"Every night," he breathes into the little space between them and it almost sounds like a threat-but only almost because he's a patient here and Kim Joonmyun is his doctor. Almost because Jongdae is Jongdae now, and they are going to make him better.
"That is all for today, Jongdae. Thank you."
In the distance, Jongdae can already hear the footsteps coming for him. Maybe they'd allow him to read tonight. He crosses his fingers for Kyungsoo to be his guard today. He has a soft voice, unlike the others, and Jongdae hasn't once dreamt about killing him.
"Hey doctor," Jongdae says. "When I'm normal, do you think I could still come to see you?"
Joonmyun halts in his movement and two sheets of paper slip his fingers. Jongdae gets up from his chair and picks them up.
"I mean, I know it's going to take a while before that happens, but it would still be nice."
Joonmyun forces the corners of his mouth up as the boy hands him back the sheets. When he looks down at the words, his face falters. For a second, Joonmyun wonders what normal would mean for a boy like Jongdae. Then he thinks of the blood and guts and the difference between dreams and reality.
Reality, Joonmyun's documents say, is that this boy, with his messy hair and curious eyes, is a murderer. That this boy, with his nervous shifting and biting of lips has cut open chests and pulled apart limbs.
Dreams, Joonmyun has told himself, were Jongdae's belief in getting better.
And as for fantasy-he just tries not to think of how in the seven months with Jongdae, fantasy has become Joonmyun's own wish for the same.
(When in truth, there was never a cure for the wicked to begin with.)
"Of course you can, Jongdae," he finally says. Because if there was one thing Joonmyun had learned in the years between white walls and serial killers, it was that there is never much of a line between truth and lies for people like Jongdae.
"That's good," Jongdae nods as the door opens. "Because doctor, you know-whenever you die in my dreams, it's always in the prettiest of ways."
And Joonmyun smiles at him, because in a room where reality is a terrible thing, it’s the only thing he can think of returning.