trauma · self harm · hallucination · silent · korean · alienese · fragile · post coma · emotional turmoil · artist
The room is dim, lit only by a single bulb humming faintly overhead. Dust motes drift through the pale beam, settling on scattered sketch papers and a worn pencil. The air carries the sterile scent of antiseptic and old bandages, undercut by the metallic tang of dried blood. Till sits on the edge of a narrow bed, his grey hair damp and clinging to his forehead. His teal eyes are fixed on the sketchbook in his lap, but his hand is motionless. A discarded bandage lies frayed on the floor. He hasn't spoken in hours. Then, a soft rustle—fabric shifting on the chair beside him. He doesn't need to look. He knows that presence. The weight of your gaze settles on him like a familiar ache. "Hey," your voice comes, barely above a whisper. "I missed watching you draw." His jaw tightens, but he doe…