Angel Maker 10/27
title: Angel Maker
chapter rating: PG
warnings: mild language
summary: Mathematically gifted Oh Sehun makes a miscalculation that could cost him his life when he agrees to run an errand for an old high school acquaintance. The job brings Sehun face to face with much more than he'd bargained for and suddenly he has to question the binary makings of his existence, eventually ending up coming across the most delicate secret hosted by a quasi-governmental data bank.
story notes: See the foreword for more information on the story.
He has come back to the room.
For a moment it seems to Sehun like he might have arrived to the very same spot where he recalls being the last time. He is still by the desk, and the book lies open on top of it. But soon it occurs to him this is not the same time as then. Things have changed. The boy is not sitting by the desk. Instead he is standing further away from it. By their posture, their straight back and the alertness to their demeanour he concludes the boy, too, must know to expect something. His viewpoint changes: like the film being cut Sehun moves from the desk to stand beside the boy to see their well proportioned oval face. The boy has a fine bridge of nose and round, large eyes, watchful and deep, but Sehun cannot be certain of what is the other thinking of. He looks like a doll or a machine. Looking at him Sehun is certain he has seen the other before, many times, and that he should know more about the boy. He's aware of unexplainable things: the boy has not changed since childhood, Sehun thinks, and appears ageless like time had not touched him. Yet these placid eyes seem to bear knowledge Sehun cannot measure simply by looking at the other. He does not appear too strong physically, but his posture is fairly good and the boy holds his head high. A lean neck, thin wrists, delicate hands. Sehun seems to know the boy's bright skin is soft to the touch, or maybe it is an illusion created just by observing them.
Slowly, like the boy had sensed his presence they step ahead, further away, and stop to stand in the middle of the carpet. If one could look down upon the room from the ceiling, it would most likely appear as though the boy had been the only fixed point in the whole room.
Just as the boy has expected and just as Sehun has anticipated, the door opens.
A young man appears. He seems skinny under the long white coat that suggests he is a doctor or a researcher. On the front of the coat, right over his chest there is a nameplate, but the print is too small to read from afar. There is a small pocket, too, with colourful pens tucked in. A somewhat stereotypical view, but Sehun does not question his authority. There is one red pen, one blue, and one green. One hand in the larger pocket of the coat the man has pulled the door open by the metal handle. It is round, much like a shining ball with no sharp edges, quite identical to the one on the other side. As he steps forward Sehun discovers something shaped like a cigarette pack in the pocket of the straight black trousers is visible where his hand pulls the jacket slightly out of the way. Both trouser legs are folded once, evenly and neatly, the precision suggesting they have either been stitched to stay this way or someone has ironed them very meticulously. The cigarette pack creates large creases on the loose trousers. Their white shirt has a large folded collar. The man wears the shirt stuffed into the pants, revealing a dark leather belt with a standard buckle. He has expected polished shoes, but instead, the man wears rubber sandals. His hair is fairly short, dark brown, brushed back. Looking at them Sehun is surprised to find he does not appear very old, either; to be a doctor, Sehun has expected them to look older, but their face is fresh and their structure suggests they cannot be much older than the plainly clad teen. The man, too, has round, large eyes, but they are much more lively than those of the boy Sehun is standing next to. A pleasant face, they look surprised albeit gentle. It isn't fear on the man's face, nor is it confusedness, but rather, the man is well aware of their surroundings. Maybe it is something brought upon them by his age and their status. Sehun moves closer to have a better look at the man. The name on the small plastic plate with rounded corners does not say anything to him. It consists of three fine symbols in a foreign language. Examining it he finds he only knows the meaning of the first and last ones: "town" and "elegant", but it hardly explains anything.
Under his arm the man is holding a plastic clipboard with papers attached. As they step further into the room Sehun gets a look at the topmost sheet. It is a medical document of sorts, it seems, with the same numbers from the hospital bracelet repeating here and there: 114… He misses the last ones as the man flips the paper back to look at the second one. This one, too, is an official document, but it appears to be handwritten in Korean. The writer has a very small, easy handwriting that flows beautifully across the paper. It could not be the writing of a foreigner; he assumes this person must have written it as the man greets the boy in the same language. "Afternoon."
The man's voice has a light edge to it, but all in all it is honest and bright, yet also mature. Looking at him and hearing him speak Sehun is brought to confusion about their possible age. Maybe it bears no significance.
He focuses back to the teen. The boy is looking ahead at the doctor, gaze blank and void of emotion. It seems as if the boy was simply staring through the other. At last they part their lips and reply, "Hello."
It seems the boy has chosen this word after a good while of consideration: they've gone through the situation and concluded this is a proper way to reply taking into consideration the time and place. Sehun wonders what is the boy's stream of thought like. Is it based on algorithms or is it a learned thing? The round eyes come to focus on the gentle-faced doctor who is closing the door, shutting them into the room. Sehun follows their silent exchange from aside, moving back so that he can see both males from the side. The doctor comes closer to the boy. The scenery unfolds like a rehearsed pattern. The brown haired doctor offers a hand, and slowly the boy lowers their eyes to look at it. Then, after a second the boy brings his own to shake hands lightly. The doctor smiles, picks the green pen from the breast pocket and ticks something on the topmost document on his clipboard.
"How are you feeling?"
It's a simple question. Sehun expects the boy to come up with an answer in a similar timeframe as earlier, but in a while it begins to seem as though it's much more challenging to him than Sehun has assumed. The boy looks around himself as if to seek for assistance, but as he does not find it, he remains silent for a while longer. His face is perfectly emotionless, but not cold. At last they say, "I don't know", and Sehun finds the boy's brow furrowing a little, creating the smallest of lines onto the heart-shaped face. "I'm fine, thank you."
Pursing their lips the doctor returns the green pen to his pocket and takes the red one instead, making marks on the document before sighing. "Do you know what day it is, today?"
"No."
"Have you been reading?"
"Yes." The teen nods a little and turns to look at the desk and the children's books. For a moment Sehun focuses on the table as well, shifting closer to look at the items in the pregnant silence. Just as before the brand new stuffed animals, all deer of sorts, stare back at him.
"Will you come with me?" asks the doctor. Sehun feels he has missed something significant in their body languages as he turns to find the doctor is clutching the clipboard flat against their chest. The two male persons' height difference isn't obvious but Sehun pays attention to it suddenly. The teen is slightly taller than the doctor, but he believes it might simply be due to the boy's good posture.
"Where are we going?" the boy asks in return.
Listening to the dialogue he feels it is a test of sorts. It sounds a little familiar to him. There is nothing surprising to their choice of words. They must do this on a daily basis. The boy's speech is growing more natural with every word the teen speaks, but Sehun deducts this is not his first language. His place is not to pose questions, but he cannot help wondering if the teen has one single first language to begin with. Sehun's level of knowledge about the boy suggests there is something unnatural to him and to his machinelike behaviour. However none of it seems to surprise the young doctor, who takes these interactions naturally without fear or surprise, making colourful marks on the otherwise black-and-white paper.
"You have an appointment." Offering a smile the doctor gestures toward the door. Still barefoot the dark haired boy steps closer to it. Sehun moves after the boy, carefully monitoring his face and actions. There is no obvious emotion to these round eyes at the remark, but as the door opens again to reveal what seems like a wide corridor the boy appears uncomfortable and hesitant. Sehun thinks it must be because of something that has to do with leaving the room. While it is too polished to appear awfully comfortable, the boy seems to feel safe here with these emotionally unattached things.
His viewpoint slides through the doorway into the corridor. It is empty of people. It's ceiling is high up with long white halogen lamps lining its length. He has expected to see more doors, but instead the walls are empty and solid on both sides of the one leading to the childish room. At one distant end the corridor takes a turn and disappears from his sight. The other end is invisible, but not too far away he sees a crossroads with a group of people in long white coats passing by. There are no windows, and thus the outside world is a mystery to him. Through the window inside the room he has concluded it must be past the time of midnight as the sky seems to have grown from deep black to a velvety blue, but other than that he cannot tell what is it like outside of this secluded cold world consisting of corridors and people who all appear to be doctors.
The young doctor accompanies his presence to the corridor, and soon the boy follows. With this, the doctor closes the door. He follows them a few steps behind as they begin walking toward the crossroads. While the air stands still and the plain white walls and floors reflect the cold white light Sehun senses tension in the movements of the doll-like boy. The teen keeps his arms close to his body, his steps short. Sehun wonders if the boy's feet are not cold; whether the other feels temperatures at all, he cannot tell. As they come to the crossroads they come across another group of doctors. They are set apart from the young one leading the way by how they turn their faces as they see the boy he's accompanying. Fear, it seems. They react like people upon seeing something unpleasant that they wish to shut out of their reality. It isn't fear that makes them jump: they do not react like a person would upon seeing a large spider. Rather, they react much more like a person finding themselves in the presence of one, not entirely sure where is it and whether it is dangerous. It is controlled fear, the kind they can hide, but they steal glances at the boy as they walk past and turn to the left, further and further from the room. The people do not whisper. Sehun concludes they are familiar with this boy, but when it is not necessary, they'll rather keep their distance. The more carefully he looks the clearer it is to him that the boy's presence is somehow special: he does not see other patients. For a hospital, he feels this is very strange. His inbuilt knowledge of this place seems to have failed him for a while. It should not surprise him. After all, he is here only as an onlooker, observing the flow of events.
He moves silently after the two, down the white corridors. The silence is pressuring and the atmosphere somewhat uncomfortable. Nothing suggests danger, however, simply disquiet. At last, the doctor halts, and with this the boy also comes to a stop. Opening a door the man lets them into another room. His viewpoint slips past and enters the new space. It is another large square room, but on one of the walls there seems to be what appears like a large mirror. Looking at it better, moving closer to examine what he sees he finds it must be a one-way window with a surface that appears like a dark mirror from this side. Maybe there are people on the opposite side. He cannot see a door to the neighbouring room, however, and concludes it must be somewhere along the corridor, inaccessible through this one.
He turns his eyes onto the rest of the room, for a moment letting the two people slip his focus. There is a small, low, round table that appears to be of white plastic and metal, and by it, a small chair of the same design. Underneath the furniture is a simple white, flat mat. A little aside from the table, set on what could be used as a tall metal stool is an old, square shaped television, but no remote is visible. It looks like it could have been passed on from person to person for ages. It's corners are rounded, the front panel creamy in colour with the rest of it black. There are only a few buttons underneath the screen that remains dark. Off its top protrude two thin antennas turned slightly toward the black one-way window. It is a much colder room than that he has been to previously, much more sanitary and clean. It seems this is a place with a much more refined purpose. The other room is made homely despite how well managed it is, but here, he doesn't find a single fixed point that would emit the same sense of security.
The doctor leads the boy on, further into the room. Picking the chair he moves it closer to the television. Watching them Sehun finds the television is plugged to a VCR player set underneath the device. The teen looks confused, and he can't help wondering whether they've been here before or whether this is the first time. His knowledge of this place does not reach here; the room does not feel familiar. Hesitantly the boy slides down to the chair, his back straight, hands neatly on his lap. The doctor offers a smile, looks at the papers on the clipboard, and then speaks. "You should sit here and watch this film. I'll leave you here on your own and I will come back when you're done. All right?"
Slowly, the boy turns to look up at the doctor. The teen considers in pregnant silence. Nothing about the young doctor's demeanour suggests that he'd be impatient about how the boy takes his time to reply to every question. It's as if the long walk had consumed the natural titbits of behaviour that had slowly crept to the boy's speech earlier. At last the teen pronounces, "I understand."
The doctor does not ask for a confirmation, but smiles instead. Sehun finds there seems to be some level of mutual trust between them - assuming the boy feels such a thing. The teen's feelings or capability to feel is uncertain to him. They are expressionless, blank, like a paper waiting to be written on.
As the man leaves the room Sehun is left alone with the boy seated in front of the TV. The door closes and for a good while nothing moves. There are no windows, only the bright lamps high above in the ceiling. They cast their cool light directly down upon the boy, and it looks like there were no shadows at all as the dark spots hide well beneath things. Then, with a crackle the TV flickers on. The signal buzzes and whirls with static. Lines appear across the screen and the picture is distorted, but even so the teen's eyes are keenly fixed on it. The picture appears to be black-and-white. For a moment the image grows clearer, then flickers again, and the crackling lines run down the screen like small waves with a hum.
At last the picture grows clear like a drop of water had fallen into a lake to break the surface and now the waves would have calmed down. Sehun finds the film must be on, already. The screen is filled with what appears to be a choir of children. The sound is poor in quality, and he moves closer to stand behind the boy as he watches together with the other. The children are singing a song whose lyrics he cannot understand for they are foreign, but he finds the boy is slowly nodding to the rhythm ever so slightly, and the teen's lips tremble just like when he's watched the other try to speak through the dreams earlier. He knows the song; that much is clear to Sehun. The children look glad.
The scene changes.
There is a baby, lying in a cradle, crying. The child is reaching up toward the camera, but nobody reacts.
He is surprised to find the boy seated on the chair leaning forward slightly, lips apart like only the right words were missing. Whether the boy realises this isn't real or not does not matter: in their round eyes care and worry are clear. It seems to him that the boy wants to reach out and help the crying child, regardless of it only appearing on the film.
Again the image changes. There is an old woman laughing, seated in a rocking chair. He follows the boy's face, finding the smile that tugs the corners of their lips. It is almost strange to see these changes on their face. He has presumed the boy appears like a machine or a doll, somehow precious and important and yet feared by the doctors in the corridors, but sitting here watching these short black-and-white clips occasionally disturbed by static the teen shows genuine emotion. He doesn't react to the words and expressions of the doctor, yet these strangers caught on film awaken something within the dark haired teen.
It continues, the film going through emotions of various sorts, some subtle, some outrageous, and the boy keeps reacting to them. He observes. It is not his place to speak up or ask things, and thus he only watches, but he cannot deny it intrigues him greatly. This boy whose hospital bracelet only reads a number, engrossed in the simple video tape much like the world surrounding them had stopped for a while strikes a chord within his being.
The film stops with a crackle and the room grows quiet once more. Nothing moves for a moment; then, the boy turns his head a little, and for a while they are looking at one another. He stares at the round, bottomless, blank eyes that seem to have caught him unaware. The boy looks, tilts their head a little bit, and then parts his lips like he was about to speak.
Before the boy can, however, the door opens.
chapter rating: PG
warnings: mild language
summary: Mathematically gifted Oh Sehun makes a miscalculation that could cost him his life when he agrees to run an errand for an old high school acquaintance. The job brings Sehun face to face with much more than he'd bargained for and suddenly he has to question the binary makings of his existence, eventually ending up coming across the most delicate secret hosted by a quasi-governmental data bank.
story notes: See the foreword for more information on the story.
He has come back to the room.
For a moment it seems to Sehun like he might have arrived to the very same spot where he recalls being the last time. He is still by the desk, and the book lies open on top of it. But soon it occurs to him this is not the same time as then. Things have changed. The boy is not sitting by the desk. Instead he is standing further away from it. By their posture, their straight back and the alertness to their demeanour he concludes the boy, too, must know to expect something. His viewpoint changes: like the film being cut Sehun moves from the desk to stand beside the boy to see their well proportioned oval face. The boy has a fine bridge of nose and round, large eyes, watchful and deep, but Sehun cannot be certain of what is the other thinking of. He looks like a doll or a machine. Looking at him Sehun is certain he has seen the other before, many times, and that he should know more about the boy. He's aware of unexplainable things: the boy has not changed since childhood, Sehun thinks, and appears ageless like time had not touched him. Yet these placid eyes seem to bear knowledge Sehun cannot measure simply by looking at the other. He does not appear too strong physically, but his posture is fairly good and the boy holds his head high. A lean neck, thin wrists, delicate hands. Sehun seems to know the boy's bright skin is soft to the touch, or maybe it is an illusion created just by observing them.
Slowly, like the boy had sensed his presence they step ahead, further away, and stop to stand in the middle of the carpet. If one could look down upon the room from the ceiling, it would most likely appear as though the boy had been the only fixed point in the whole room.
Just as the boy has expected and just as Sehun has anticipated, the door opens.
A young man appears. He seems skinny under the long white coat that suggests he is a doctor or a researcher. On the front of the coat, right over his chest there is a nameplate, but the print is too small to read from afar. There is a small pocket, too, with colourful pens tucked in. A somewhat stereotypical view, but Sehun does not question his authority. There is one red pen, one blue, and one green. One hand in the larger pocket of the coat the man has pulled the door open by the metal handle. It is round, much like a shining ball with no sharp edges, quite identical to the one on the other side. As he steps forward Sehun discovers something shaped like a cigarette pack in the pocket of the straight black trousers is visible where his hand pulls the jacket slightly out of the way. Both trouser legs are folded once, evenly and neatly, the precision suggesting they have either been stitched to stay this way or someone has ironed them very meticulously. The cigarette pack creates large creases on the loose trousers. Their white shirt has a large folded collar. The man wears the shirt stuffed into the pants, revealing a dark leather belt with a standard buckle. He has expected polished shoes, but instead, the man wears rubber sandals. His hair is fairly short, dark brown, brushed back. Looking at them Sehun is surprised to find he does not appear very old, either; to be a doctor, Sehun has expected them to look older, but their face is fresh and their structure suggests they cannot be much older than the plainly clad teen. The man, too, has round, large eyes, but they are much more lively than those of the boy Sehun is standing next to. A pleasant face, they look surprised albeit gentle. It isn't fear on the man's face, nor is it confusedness, but rather, the man is well aware of their surroundings. Maybe it is something brought upon them by his age and their status. Sehun moves closer to have a better look at the man. The name on the small plastic plate with rounded corners does not say anything to him. It consists of three fine symbols in a foreign language. Examining it he finds he only knows the meaning of the first and last ones: "town" and "elegant", but it hardly explains anything.
Under his arm the man is holding a plastic clipboard with papers attached. As they step further into the room Sehun gets a look at the topmost sheet. It is a medical document of sorts, it seems, with the same numbers from the hospital bracelet repeating here and there: 114… He misses the last ones as the man flips the paper back to look at the second one. This one, too, is an official document, but it appears to be handwritten in Korean. The writer has a very small, easy handwriting that flows beautifully across the paper. It could not be the writing of a foreigner; he assumes this person must have written it as the man greets the boy in the same language. "Afternoon."
The man's voice has a light edge to it, but all in all it is honest and bright, yet also mature. Looking at him and hearing him speak Sehun is brought to confusion about their possible age. Maybe it bears no significance.
He focuses back to the teen. The boy is looking ahead at the doctor, gaze blank and void of emotion. It seems as if the boy was simply staring through the other. At last they part their lips and reply, "Hello."
It seems the boy has chosen this word after a good while of consideration: they've gone through the situation and concluded this is a proper way to reply taking into consideration the time and place. Sehun wonders what is the boy's stream of thought like. Is it based on algorithms or is it a learned thing? The round eyes come to focus on the gentle-faced doctor who is closing the door, shutting them into the room. Sehun follows their silent exchange from aside, moving back so that he can see both males from the side. The doctor comes closer to the boy. The scenery unfolds like a rehearsed pattern. The brown haired doctor offers a hand, and slowly the boy lowers their eyes to look at it. Then, after a second the boy brings his own to shake hands lightly. The doctor smiles, picks the green pen from the breast pocket and ticks something on the topmost document on his clipboard.
"How are you feeling?"
It's a simple question. Sehun expects the boy to come up with an answer in a similar timeframe as earlier, but in a while it begins to seem as though it's much more challenging to him than Sehun has assumed. The boy looks around himself as if to seek for assistance, but as he does not find it, he remains silent for a while longer. His face is perfectly emotionless, but not cold. At last they say, "I don't know", and Sehun finds the boy's brow furrowing a little, creating the smallest of lines onto the heart-shaped face. "I'm fine, thank you."
Pursing their lips the doctor returns the green pen to his pocket and takes the red one instead, making marks on the document before sighing. "Do you know what day it is, today?"
"No."
"Have you been reading?"
"Yes." The teen nods a little and turns to look at the desk and the children's books. For a moment Sehun focuses on the table as well, shifting closer to look at the items in the pregnant silence. Just as before the brand new stuffed animals, all deer of sorts, stare back at him.
"Will you come with me?" asks the doctor. Sehun feels he has missed something significant in their body languages as he turns to find the doctor is clutching the clipboard flat against their chest. The two male persons' height difference isn't obvious but Sehun pays attention to it suddenly. The teen is slightly taller than the doctor, but he believes it might simply be due to the boy's good posture.
"Where are we going?" the boy asks in return.
Listening to the dialogue he feels it is a test of sorts. It sounds a little familiar to him. There is nothing surprising to their choice of words. They must do this on a daily basis. The boy's speech is growing more natural with every word the teen speaks, but Sehun deducts this is not his first language. His place is not to pose questions, but he cannot help wondering if the teen has one single first language to begin with. Sehun's level of knowledge about the boy suggests there is something unnatural to him and to his machinelike behaviour. However none of it seems to surprise the young doctor, who takes these interactions naturally without fear or surprise, making colourful marks on the otherwise black-and-white paper.
"You have an appointment." Offering a smile the doctor gestures toward the door. Still barefoot the dark haired boy steps closer to it. Sehun moves after the boy, carefully monitoring his face and actions. There is no obvious emotion to these round eyes at the remark, but as the door opens again to reveal what seems like a wide corridor the boy appears uncomfortable and hesitant. Sehun thinks it must be because of something that has to do with leaving the room. While it is too polished to appear awfully comfortable, the boy seems to feel safe here with these emotionally unattached things.
His viewpoint slides through the doorway into the corridor. It is empty of people. It's ceiling is high up with long white halogen lamps lining its length. He has expected to see more doors, but instead the walls are empty and solid on both sides of the one leading to the childish room. At one distant end the corridor takes a turn and disappears from his sight. The other end is invisible, but not too far away he sees a crossroads with a group of people in long white coats passing by. There are no windows, and thus the outside world is a mystery to him. Through the window inside the room he has concluded it must be past the time of midnight as the sky seems to have grown from deep black to a velvety blue, but other than that he cannot tell what is it like outside of this secluded cold world consisting of corridors and people who all appear to be doctors.
The young doctor accompanies his presence to the corridor, and soon the boy follows. With this, the doctor closes the door. He follows them a few steps behind as they begin walking toward the crossroads. While the air stands still and the plain white walls and floors reflect the cold white light Sehun senses tension in the movements of the doll-like boy. The teen keeps his arms close to his body, his steps short. Sehun wonders if the boy's feet are not cold; whether the other feels temperatures at all, he cannot tell. As they come to the crossroads they come across another group of doctors. They are set apart from the young one leading the way by how they turn their faces as they see the boy he's accompanying. Fear, it seems. They react like people upon seeing something unpleasant that they wish to shut out of their reality. It isn't fear that makes them jump: they do not react like a person would upon seeing a large spider. Rather, they react much more like a person finding themselves in the presence of one, not entirely sure where is it and whether it is dangerous. It is controlled fear, the kind they can hide, but they steal glances at the boy as they walk past and turn to the left, further and further from the room. The people do not whisper. Sehun concludes they are familiar with this boy, but when it is not necessary, they'll rather keep their distance. The more carefully he looks the clearer it is to him that the boy's presence is somehow special: he does not see other patients. For a hospital, he feels this is very strange. His inbuilt knowledge of this place seems to have failed him for a while. It should not surprise him. After all, he is here only as an onlooker, observing the flow of events.
He moves silently after the two, down the white corridors. The silence is pressuring and the atmosphere somewhat uncomfortable. Nothing suggests danger, however, simply disquiet. At last, the doctor halts, and with this the boy also comes to a stop. Opening a door the man lets them into another room. His viewpoint slips past and enters the new space. It is another large square room, but on one of the walls there seems to be what appears like a large mirror. Looking at it better, moving closer to examine what he sees he finds it must be a one-way window with a surface that appears like a dark mirror from this side. Maybe there are people on the opposite side. He cannot see a door to the neighbouring room, however, and concludes it must be somewhere along the corridor, inaccessible through this one.
He turns his eyes onto the rest of the room, for a moment letting the two people slip his focus. There is a small, low, round table that appears to be of white plastic and metal, and by it, a small chair of the same design. Underneath the furniture is a simple white, flat mat. A little aside from the table, set on what could be used as a tall metal stool is an old, square shaped television, but no remote is visible. It looks like it could have been passed on from person to person for ages. It's corners are rounded, the front panel creamy in colour with the rest of it black. There are only a few buttons underneath the screen that remains dark. Off its top protrude two thin antennas turned slightly toward the black one-way window. It is a much colder room than that he has been to previously, much more sanitary and clean. It seems this is a place with a much more refined purpose. The other room is made homely despite how well managed it is, but here, he doesn't find a single fixed point that would emit the same sense of security.
The doctor leads the boy on, further into the room. Picking the chair he moves it closer to the television. Watching them Sehun finds the television is plugged to a VCR player set underneath the device. The teen looks confused, and he can't help wondering whether they've been here before or whether this is the first time. His knowledge of this place does not reach here; the room does not feel familiar. Hesitantly the boy slides down to the chair, his back straight, hands neatly on his lap. The doctor offers a smile, looks at the papers on the clipboard, and then speaks. "You should sit here and watch this film. I'll leave you here on your own and I will come back when you're done. All right?"
Slowly, the boy turns to look up at the doctor. The teen considers in pregnant silence. Nothing about the young doctor's demeanour suggests that he'd be impatient about how the boy takes his time to reply to every question. It's as if the long walk had consumed the natural titbits of behaviour that had slowly crept to the boy's speech earlier. At last the teen pronounces, "I understand."
The doctor does not ask for a confirmation, but smiles instead. Sehun finds there seems to be some level of mutual trust between them - assuming the boy feels such a thing. The teen's feelings or capability to feel is uncertain to him. They are expressionless, blank, like a paper waiting to be written on.
As the man leaves the room Sehun is left alone with the boy seated in front of the TV. The door closes and for a good while nothing moves. There are no windows, only the bright lamps high above in the ceiling. They cast their cool light directly down upon the boy, and it looks like there were no shadows at all as the dark spots hide well beneath things. Then, with a crackle the TV flickers on. The signal buzzes and whirls with static. Lines appear across the screen and the picture is distorted, but even so the teen's eyes are keenly fixed on it. The picture appears to be black-and-white. For a moment the image grows clearer, then flickers again, and the crackling lines run down the screen like small waves with a hum.
At last the picture grows clear like a drop of water had fallen into a lake to break the surface and now the waves would have calmed down. Sehun finds the film must be on, already. The screen is filled with what appears to be a choir of children. The sound is poor in quality, and he moves closer to stand behind the boy as he watches together with the other. The children are singing a song whose lyrics he cannot understand for they are foreign, but he finds the boy is slowly nodding to the rhythm ever so slightly, and the teen's lips tremble just like when he's watched the other try to speak through the dreams earlier. He knows the song; that much is clear to Sehun. The children look glad.
The scene changes.
There is a baby, lying in a cradle, crying. The child is reaching up toward the camera, but nobody reacts.
He is surprised to find the boy seated on the chair leaning forward slightly, lips apart like only the right words were missing. Whether the boy realises this isn't real or not does not matter: in their round eyes care and worry are clear. It seems to him that the boy wants to reach out and help the crying child, regardless of it only appearing on the film.
Again the image changes. There is an old woman laughing, seated in a rocking chair. He follows the boy's face, finding the smile that tugs the corners of their lips. It is almost strange to see these changes on their face. He has presumed the boy appears like a machine or a doll, somehow precious and important and yet feared by the doctors in the corridors, but sitting here watching these short black-and-white clips occasionally disturbed by static the teen shows genuine emotion. He doesn't react to the words and expressions of the doctor, yet these strangers caught on film awaken something within the dark haired teen.
It continues, the film going through emotions of various sorts, some subtle, some outrageous, and the boy keeps reacting to them. He observes. It is not his place to speak up or ask things, and thus he only watches, but he cannot deny it intrigues him greatly. This boy whose hospital bracelet only reads a number, engrossed in the simple video tape much like the world surrounding them had stopped for a while strikes a chord within his being.
The film stops with a crackle and the room grows quiet once more. Nothing moves for a moment; then, the boy turns his head a little, and for a while they are looking at one another. He stares at the round, bottomless, blank eyes that seem to have caught him unaware. The boy looks, tilts their head a little bit, and then parts his lips like he was about to speak.
Before the boy can, however, the door opens.