Title: I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died
Theme/Genre: Dark Romance
Notes: Manipulation, doctor x patient, experimentation, dystopian world set in the future, obsessive behaviour, gaslighting etc etc just heed warning
(Also, the title is taken from an Emily Dickinson poem. I hate poetry)
Word Count: 2.1k
There's a buzzing noise coming from somewhere in the room. Yuta can't see it, but he hears it, like grainy static being ground into his ear. It sets him on edge and makes his fingers curl around the rope at the back of the chair that ties his hands together - thick and heavy, leaving bright, red, distinct marks every time they take them off. But they have to stay on for now, and it's because he's coming.
Yuta flexes his fingers as he waits quietly - they feel like dead weight, and the needle-like pinpricks from the lack of blood circulation have now dulled into a low throb. It feels as if his hands aren't there despite him moving them - he knows he's moving them, he thinks, is sure of, is aware. But like the rest of his body and like the stark blankness of the room, it feels lifeless; like tired, heavy bricks have wrapped around each muscle and is pulling him down.
Yuta exhales, closing his eyes as he listens. It's never completely silent, not really. There are footsteps outside, but he knows that's nothing new - they've always been there throughout the day, in twenty four hours rotations, practically ceaseless. Yuta has learned to keep the time by memorising their cycles, by knowing what feet belong to which nurse or what official and when. They've all been here to see him, and he's taken note of the sound of the clacking of their heeled feet.
Though, he must have missed a couple days, perhaps a month, time slowly slipping through his fingers. He knows the day, not the time, for his heavy feeling in his eyes and his insipid mind have long lost the ability to discern between day and night.
Now, though, Yuta is alert.
He opens his eyes when he hears four beats, the sound of polished loafers making their way down the hallway. He knows who it is, he doesn't even have to bother looking up, and yet he does, eyes falling upon the thick, metallic, white door that has trapped him in this room for months. The door opens without a creak, silent and noiseless, just like the man who steps through, as if the only sound was the smirk on his lips - loudly mocking. He hasn't said a word, and yet Yuta can hear his voice in his head, blaring in his ears like an earworm on repeat.
Jaehyun steps forward in his pristine white coat, perfectly gelled hair, and thick rimmed glasses. And Yuta finds he likes the contrast between him and the room - he can never see himself, but he can see others, and Jaehyun's visitations are frequent, a reminder that he is in fact alive and they have indeed decided not to kill him.. yet. Though, Jaehyun's presence itself is the catalyst to his emotions, making him, for once, feel things - dread creeping in his stomach and anticipation crawling over his skin.
Jaehyun's eyes are sharp, but Yuta's are hard set. But it isn't, and would never be, a deterrent.
"Yuta," Jaehyun starts, pearly white smile on display as he fixes his stethoscope. The metal catches the light of the flickering bulb and flashes in his eyes momentarily, almost causing him to flinch. Like most things, Yuta feels like Jaehyun had done it on purpose.
"Hello Doctor," Yuta answers simply, stoically, rigidly, his body set in stone as he waits for Jaehyun's next move. Yuta refrains from letting out a humourless laugh. It is comical really - they must have somehow swapped places. Jaehyun should be the one strapped down and tied to the chair, examined from head to toe, his skull ripped apart until they figured out exactly what was wrong with him, down to the neurons wired wrongly in his brain.
