𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐆𝐒

SEVEN

EPISODE SEVEN → YUGYEOM

SYNOPSIS

Yugyeom is losing himself, but luckily he finds a companion in the person he least expects to.

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"-And that's pretty much everything." Yugyeom concludes, biting his lip nervously as he sits back in his chair and awaits a response from the older male across for him.

He'd just finished recounting the Italy trip to his therapist. Usually, he hated coming to the sessions, but after a combination of several panic and anxiety attacks, his mother had forced him to come. And he wasn't exactly up for protesting either. He just wanted help, that was all.

"That sounds like a lot to take in for anyone." Mr. Clark says after a small pause, "You must be very distressed at the moment."

"I had a panic attack on the plane ride home because I realized things might not be the same when we got back home. And I was right - no one's talking to each other. We're all just moving in circles around each other. It's like we're together, but we're not and it sucks and-" Yugyeom rants, breathing uneven as he feels anxiousness begin to stir within him. But somehow he manages to calm himself, taking a deep breath before murmuring quietly, "And everything's gone to shit."

Mr. Clark stares at him momentarily, watching him with a small smile as he tries to calm himself.

"I see" The older man states finally, "It seems your troubles with your friends are triggering your anxiety and panic disorders, which is why I'm going to recommend your regular prescriptions be upped."

Yugyeom watches quietly as his therapist begins to scribble a new prescription on a piece of paper before handing it to him.

"T-That's it?" He asks in disbelief, squinting down at the many medications written down on the small piece of paper before glancing back up at the older man, "You're just increasing my prescription? That's it?"

"Well, yes." Mr. Clark says simply, resting his hands on his desk, "Unless there's something else you'd like to get off your chest?"

"I can't believe this." Yugyeom mutters miserably, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Kim?" The therapist asks quietly, clicking his pen out in preparation to write a new prescription for whatever Yugyeom would say.

"Yes there's a fucking problem." The teenager practically shouts in frustration, "I'm trying to tell you that I can't fucking eat, I can't fucking sleep. It feels like I'm going crazy every single day. And the pills aren't helping. Do you get that? These fucking magic pills of yours aren't helping. I've already told you that but no one listens to me, not my mom, not my friends, not you because you don't fucking care-"

When Mr. Clark just continues to nod slowly and writes down new prescriptions throughout Yugyeom's meltdown, all of the fight seems to leave the teen and he laughs humorlessly before slinking down in his chair.

"You don't care, do you?" He says quietly then, a question that he already knew the answer to.

"Of course I do." Is Mr. Clarks simple response, "I'm your therapist. It's my job to care. Now is there anything else you'd like to add for today's session?"