Hubris

My Head Is Haunting Me

He'd been dragged from the cold concrete walls of the cell he'd come to know somewhat intimately over the time he'd been kept there, to a large stone building, filled with so many variations of white that he didn't even know existed.

The team of people, never less than five with the inclusion of an armed guard, leading him around often commented about how good he was being, not making a scene or resisting, Yoongi will admit it was hard to struggle when he's been doped up with medications he won't even attempt to pronounce.

They'd taken him to a room where he was presented with a pair of his own jeans, a plain black shirt two sizes too big for him and a simple pair of black slippers, no laces or belts he notices. He's surprised by the fact that he's allowed to wear his own clothes, he'd assumed that he'd be given a simple pair of cotton whites and socks if he was lucky, but this almost seemed like a luxury to him. A certain comfort that only he would be able to understand.

Honestly he wasn't sure he'd be privy to either of those anymore.

They'd asked if he felt more comfortable now he was in his own clothes a question to which he only shrugged, he'd be more comfortable if he was in his own house, and allowed them to lead him to where he was now sat.

He notices the desk in front of him is void of any object that could be used as a weapon in any form. The only things placed upon it is a pile of papers he assumes is his admission file and a mug of what he guesses is coffee judging from the aroma, though by the lack of steam rising from the top he knows it's gone cold, having been forgotten on the desk. He can't help but notice the fact that it has been placed close to her elbow, too far away for him to reach without getting up and taking a step.

Essentially deemed a safe distance.

"Min Yoongi. Twenty three years old." The woman finally begins, glancing down at the papers in front of her as she does. "Court ordered admittance. Dissociation amnesia." She glances up at him finally, staring at him with hard eyes before looking down at the papers again. She's beautiful he deduces a scary kind of beautiful with sharp eyes and a sharp nose, foreign of course, judging by her slight accent he guesses England, but which part he's not sure. "Symptoms not limited to anxiety, delusions..." She continues before cuttings herself off again her eyes still scanning, though Yoongi feels as though she has more to add as she looks at him again, folding her hands together on the desk.

"Well Min Yoongi, it will be interesting getting to know you."

He doubts that.

She's quiet again as she flips through the pages, reading quickly and moving on. Eventually she looks up, glancing behind him to the guard standing at the door.

"You'll be taken to your room now to get settled in. Someone will come and collect you when it's time for your meal." She dismisses him, not looking at him longer than a few seconds before her eyes are once again reading, her brow crinkling slightly causing fine lines to appear on her forehead.

He remains seated, glaring at her as if it would make her look up. "That's it?"

She looks at him, offering a small professional smile. "Yes Mr. Min that is all. Now please, you will be escorted to your room."

He feels the presence of the guard behind him; they grab his arm just under the elbow and force him to stand, leading him he assumes they believe, gently to the door without a word.

They walk him down a long corridor, the walls the same shade of white as the foyer and office he'd passed through earlier. He briefly wonders if they know that it's not the best colour choice. He can feel the sanity slowly draining from him the longer he's forced to stare at the stark whiteness of them. It's almost void, worse than black. White has always been associated with innocence, pureness, clean, but Yoongi has always held a distaste for it, preferring the comforting dark colours to hold him through the dark times.