Chapter Text
Doyoung, a boy who lost his parents at the age of 9. He had no guardians, no immediate family to go to hence why he was placed in the Boys’ Home. Once a chirpy and talkative boy, grew quiet and lonely. Everyone used that against him. They threw their responsibilities on him, their burden on him, knowing Doyoung would carry them all without a single complaint. Those nasty remarks thrown towards him would be absorbed by Doyoung without a single fight. Doyoung thought he was a good boy by taking everything given his way, so why did nobody want to take him back? None of his extended family would adopt him or foster him or just simply care for him till he’s 16 or something. The older Doyoung gets, the more he thinks about it.
At the age of 6, Doyoung could hear his parents constantly fighting with who he assumed were his grandparents, on the phone. He often heard bad words like ‘disowned’, ‘never’, even ‘death’. Having to grow up fast, Doyoung connected the puzzle pieces and concluded that his parents may have gotten him when they were too young and both sides of the family had them disowned. Nevertheless, his parents never failed to shower him with love, they cared about him a lot too. He knew he had an older brother, but he was gone before he could be placed in this world. Doyoung was always brought to visit his grave, mumbling prayers he couldn’t understand the meaning of. Doyoung thought, even without his grandparents from both sides, he could still lead a happy life with his parents, just them against the world. It wasn’t until every bit of his happiness was snatched away when somebody decided to sabotage his father’s business and set their little, cozy home on fire. Doyoung remembered his parents engulfed in the fire, unable to move as his leg was stuck under a plank. As he screamed for his parents while dragging his leg out, a firefighter came bursting through the flame to snatch him away from the danger. The last thing Doyoung saw was his favourite plushie wedged in between his parents as the fire engulfed them both. In the ambulance, all he could hear was whispers, negative ones, from the onlookers. They all shared the same dirty look, nobody was crying out of empathy. Doyoung couldn’t bear being seen like that.
So, as a child, the trauma kept Doyoung quiet. He stayed invisible for as long as he could. He didn’t want those nasty stares to be upon him. Doyoung sealed his past as much as he could. Now, being in his early teens, all he wanted to do was to quickly get as far as he could from the Boys’ Home. The home wasn’t what everyone expected. It was a dark and scary place for kids to be taken care at. The caregivers weren’t the kindest people out there. They force the boys to get dressed, to bathe, to eat. Sounds normal, but the force they use on those poor kids should be investigated. And if someone didn’t follow as instructed, they would be brought to a special room and receive their punishment there. And to give some sort of choice for the kid, they’ll get to choose the item of punishment. Cruel enough for Doyoung to stay away when he first heard it. He avoided it at all cost, choosing to wake up on time, bathes and brushes his teeth in the slim time given. He even picked on the stray rice on his plate, making sure to return a clean plate. Doyoung never expected much but still, he didn’t get a single compliment for all his good work. Unlike his parents, the caregivers didn’t give him a pat on the head or the back, no kisses or hugs for a job well done. Doyoung did feel the spark of rebellion once too many times although he chose not to submit to it.
Just like every usual afternoon, the kids were given free time to play together or at least try to get along with each other. Doyoung doesn’t have friends, doesn’t have the energy to go through a simple introduction of why he’s here. They have always assumed things about him and his family. Doyoung doesn’t have it in him to deny or correct anything. He hated hearing them though, so he just stayed quiet, shutting their views out of their head. Doyoung sat at the corner of the playground, reading his favourite book. He was 14 and learned almost everything that was supposed to be taught to him, on his own. He learned how to read, write, even taught himself to differentiate the types of people out there. Doyoung, in his head, was the same bright kid his parents would say he is. But others think he’s a complete outcast, some alien who doesn’t belong there.
A ball hits his knee, Doyoung looked up from his book. He rolled the ball back to the owner and continued reading his book. The ball hits his knee again, Doyoung rolled it back, not putting up a fight. It’s just an accident; he chanted in his head. The ball kept hitting his knee, again, and again. Doyoung slammed his book close, head snapping up with an annoyed expression displayed on his face.
The owner of the ball smirked at him, “Can’t handle a hit, weakling?” He wasn’t that much older than Doyoung. Probably a few months older, but his built was lankier, he could hover Doyoung. Doyoung sighed, calming himself as he tried ignoring them. He straightened his frown, taking a deep breath before opening his book to reread the paragraph earlier. A few seconds passed before the ball hits him again. Not on the knee, instead, a direct hit to his face. Doyoung swore he saw red flashed in front of him as he slammed his book again, throwing it to the side to take the ball in his hands. Doyoung knew his build was small, not tall for his age, he wasn’t intimidating at all. Doyoung had opted to just throw the ball back with as much force he could conjure but he was seething, all the pent-up frustrations reaching his limit. Doyoung swung the ball with full force towards the owner, hitting him square on the chest. He fell back with a loud thud. The other kids stood frozen, stunned. Doyoung was overwhelmed with his power, he thrashed the play area. He grew madder and madder, blinded by rage psychosis, Doyoung picked up a gardening tool and threw it towards the bully. Hitting perfectly on the bully’s forehead, bulls eye. The kids immediately went into a frenzy, screaming at the top of their lungs. The caregivers started rushing in and the last thing Doyoung remembered was the lifeless body of the bully and his favourite book laying abandoned at the corner.
xx
Doyoung woke up with a headache, probably due to the injection of some uncommon substance they gave him earlier to get him to knock out. He sat up carefully, his head throbbing as he tried making sense of his surroundings. Everything around him was white, Doyoung wasn’t sure if he was dead, that he somehow ended up in Heaven. Doyoung scoffed, if anything he deserved Hell for what he did, but they deserved it better. He felt something drip from his cheekbone, wiping it with the back of his hand, ignoring the deep red stain. Doyoung hopped off the bed, he walked around the unknown place and was met with a variety of humans. He categorised them as problematic kids, whining adults, even zombie-like humans, and then there were psychos. Doyoung felt shivers down his spine, they sent him… here. The mental institute. Doyoung scoffed, walking further into the building, observing the other patients. Some gave him a smile out of pity because what was a child doing there? Some gave him a stank eye, mostly coming from the nurses, the caregivers. The heavy bags under their eye and the displeased expression explained just how much they hated their job. Doyoung dug his fingernails in his palm, this felt even worse than the Boys’ Home. He wanted to fucking leave, to make a run for it.