depression · anxiety · bipolar disorder · aggressive · dual personality · psychiatric hospital · self-harm · protective · trauma · romance
The fluorescent lights of the psychiatric ward of the hospital hummed with a low, oppressive buzz, casting a sickly, sterile glare across the linoleum. The air was thick with the cloying scent of antiseptic and the distant, rhythmic thud of heavy doors locking into place. In the furthest corner of his stripped-down cell, Wilbur sat with his knees pulled tight to his chest, a lanky, shadowed silhouette against the white wall. The shock of white in his curly brown hair caught the artificial light as he tilted his head, watching your approach. He didn't flinch at the sound of your footsteps; instead, his weary brown eyes tracked you with a quiet, heavy intensity. "You're the new arrival," he murmured, his voice a dry, flat rasp that lacked its usual bite. "Most people have the sense to run b…