The air in the clinic shifted palpably as Mr. Cha entered the room, his presence heralded by an almost unsettling quiet. He was a well-groomed, middle-aged man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that fit him like a second skin, exuding an air of authority and refinement. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back with precision, and his clean-shaven face bore no signs of weariness or age beyond his years. From the outside, Mr. Cha appeared to be the embodiment of confidence-someone I might admire from a distance for his poise and undeniable presence. Yet, the way his sharp eyes darted around the room, surveying it with a cold, calculated glint, sent a ripple of unease through me.

As Mr. Cha extended a polite smile and shook hands with Jimin, his gaze flickered toward me, lingering just a heartbeat too long. It was subtle yet enough to make me shift uncomfortably in my chair. There was an unsettling confidence in Mr. Cha's demeanor, but beneath it lay a predatory edge that gnawed at me in a way I couldn't fully articulate. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and rich, laced with the kind of practiced charm that came effortlessly to men of power.

"Pleasure to meet you both," he said, his eyes now fixed on Jimin with an intensity that felt almost invasive. "Who's he, Dr Park?"

I forced myself to maintain a straight posture, reminding myself to breathe, but I couldn't shake the discomfort tightening around my chest. I had encountered men like Mr. Cha before-those who wore their charm like a mask, artfully twisting conversations to leave others feeling ensnared. A faint tension hung in the air as the door clicked shut behind them, amplifying the feeling of entrapment that enveloped me more than I cared to admit. Each passing moment felt charged, as if the space between us crackled with unsaid words and unacknowledged intentions, leaving me on high alert, acutely aware of the delicate dance unfolding before me.

"Good evening, Mr. Cha. This is Gerald, an exchange student under training. He'll be sitting with us for this session today," Jimin announced in a sharp, unyielding tone, his voice resonating with authority.

I stared at him, momentarily stunned. Who the hell is Gerald? The name struck me as absurdly mundane, a mere placeholder that contrasted sharply with the tension in the air.

Jimin offered me a calming gesture, a subtle motion that urged me to play along with this elaborate charade. It took me a moment to grasp his intent: if Mr. Cha were ever to search for me, he would be none the wiser. And even if he did catch a glimpse of my face, I could easily feign that he had mistaken me for another. After all, there was no real Gerald that resembled me-not in this lifetime, at least. Perhaps a Lieutenant, but certainly not Gerald.

"I see. How old are you, young man?" Mr. Cha inquired, his gaze piercing, as if he were dissecting every layer of my being.

"I'm twenty-three, sir," I replied, weaving another lie into the fabric of our conversation.

"Oh, you're just as old as my son. What brings you to Korea?" he pressed, his interest piqued.

"I'm an exchange student, sir. I was previously studying psychology in the United States," I explained, forcing a steady tone despite the anxiety swirling within me.

"Oh, splendid! I have friends in the States. Where exactly are you from?" Mr. Cha continued, leaning forward slightly, an eager glimmer in his eyes.

"Southern California, sir," I said, maintaining my facade.

"My wife was from California," he remarked, his expression softening momentarily.

"Good to know, sir," I replied, nodding, though I could sense the tension coiling tighter.

"Come now, don't call me 'sir.' Just Cha will do, it's perfectly alright," he insisted, waving his hand dismissively as though to banish the formality.

"Of course, Mr. Cha," I acquiesced, my heart pounding with every syllable.

"So..." Mr. Cha began, his voice trailing off as he prepared to steer the conversation into deeper waters.

Before he could continue, Jimin interjected smoothly, "I believe it's time we focus on the pertinent matters, Gerald. I trust you've prepared a questionnaire? Please, proceed with that."

"Yes, Dr. Park. I apologize," I stammered, my mind racing to catch up.

"No, no, boy. It's perfectly alright. Jim doesn't mind," he said, a smile breaking across his face, though I felt my skin crawl at the casual familiarity of the nickname.

"Jim?" I cringed internally, the informality gnawing at my composure.

With a deep breath, I opened my notebook, steeling myself for the questions that would follow, each one a delicate thread in this intricate web we were weaving to ensnare Mr. Cha. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, the stakes higher than I had ever anticipated.

"So, Mr. Cha, I've come across some interesting information: you were one of the few individuals in the city who spoke English back in the early seventies," I said, masking my discomfort behind a facade of curiosity. The way his gaze lingered on me, particularly in the most unsettling manner, left me feeling exposed.

"Yes, you've heard correctly. Perhaps you all should consider a career in detective work," he replied, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice.

"Thank you, sir," I continued, forcing a polite smile. "I was curious-how did your ability to speak English assist or hinder you in your career? Did it have any significant impact on your professional life?"

"Indeed, it did," he replied, leaning back in his chair, a shadow of pride crossing his features. "I was responsible for documenting shipment details in English and often translating them. I worked for a delivery service that operated internationally."

"I see. And where was it that you were employed?" I pressed, trying to maintain the semblance of a casual conversation.

"In English, it was Park's Delivery Service," he stated with a hint of irony. "Funny, isn't it? I have a therapist named Park now." He smirked, casting a sideways glance at Jimin, who remained unfazed.

"And how long did you work there?" I inquired, determined to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

"Why are you inquiring about my work instead of my wife?" he countered, an edge creeping into his tone.

"Why, sir? Was I supposed to spy on your wife?" I half-joked, but the instant the words escaped my lips, I regretted them.

"Not that you could do so anymore. I divorced her," he shot back, the amusement fading from his expression.

"Is that why you sought therapy?" I probed, sensing an opportunity to delve deeper.

"Yes. She ruined me," he replied flatly, his gaze turning inward as if lost in painful memories.

"But you appear quite well-off, sir. How could a homemaker ruin you when she didn't even demand alimony?" I challenged, my brow furrowing in confusion.

"Did she have the right to demand alimony? What good is a housewife if she can't satisfy her husband's needs when he does all the hard work?" His dismissive tone sent a wave of disgust rippling through me, as if I were suddenly submerged in murky waters.

"What does hard work have to do with sex?" I retorted, my voice tinged with incredulity.

"Why, are you a virgin?" he asked, his tone dripping with condescension.

"I fail to see how that is relevant," I replied, maintaining my composure despite the revulsion rising within me. Each exchange felt like a tightrope walk, precariously balancing on the edge of propriety and unmasking the insidious nature of his thoughts.

"It does matter. Because had you experienced sex, you would know the tremendous joy it can bring. A boy like you should indulge in it often. Would you like me to arrange a meeting with one of my favorite... acquaintances?" His tone was laced with condescension, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"Sir, I'm in a loving romantic relationship with a woman I deeply appreciate and cherish," I replied, forcing the words out through gritted teeth, hoping to deflect his crude insinuations.

"Oh, so you resort to masturbation, then. Is that how you satisfy yourself?" He smirked, a glimmer of mockery in his eyes. "You poor child. You should seriously consider investing in better sex toys. Some of the professionals downtown are rather exceptional-you'd forget all the stresses of life in an instant."

"Gerald, Mr. Cha, if you could just maintain some-" Jimin's attempt to interject was abruptly cut off, his voice trailing off as Mr. Cha's gaze sharpened.

"In fact, boy, you have a good one, I see." His eyes bore into me, predatory and unsettling, lingering on my groin with a disconcerting intensity.

The atmosphere grew dense with tension as I felt a flush creeping up my neck, a mix of anger and humiliation flooding my senses. Jimin's face tightened, his expression shifting to one of quiet indignation as he attempted to regain control of the conversation.

"Mr. Cha," Jimin began, his voice steady but firm, "I think we should steer this discussion back to more appropriate topics."

"You could let me use it as well." Mr. Cha merely chuckled, dismissing Jimin's words as if they were inconsequential.

The room felt stifling, and I struggled to hold onto my composure, caught in the throes of an encounter that had quickly spiraled into something utterly uncomfortable.

"Or, maybe I could use your woman."

His casual dismissal of intimacy as a mere transaction left me reeling. I couldn't believe I was trapped in a conversation that devolved into such grotesque banter.

In a split-second decision, I bolted from the room, urgency propelling me forward as I headed straight for the washroom. An overwhelming sense of vulnerability enveloped me, unlike anything I had ever experienced before; I had never been so blatantly preyed upon. The visceral discomfort of Mr. Cha's gaze lingered like a foul stench, clinging to my skin.

I stood before the mirror, staring into my own reflection, my eyes wide with disbelief. Water cascaded from the faucet as I splashed it across my face, desperately trying to wash away the taint of that encounter. My fingers tangled in my hair, pulling at the strands as I fought against the rising tide of nausea that churned within me. Each drop of water felt like an inadequate attempt to cleanse the filth I felt coating my insides.

I felt dirty-soiled by the insidious nature of his comments, by the way he had stripped away my dignity with nothing more than a glance. My skin crawled as I recalled the predatory glint in his eyes, and a wave of revulsion crashed over me. It wasn't just humiliation; it was a profound sense of violation, as if I were marked by his lewd observations, a target for his contemptible desires.

I leaned over the sink, trying to steady myself, the metallic taste of bile rising in my throat. I could almost hear Mr. Cha's derisive laughter echoing in my mind, a chilling reminder that this man found amusement in the degradation of others. I turned on the tap again, allowing the cold water to flow freely, hoping it might wash away not only the sweat but also the heavy weight of disgust lodged in my chest.

"JK, are you okay?" Jimin burst into the room, his voice edged with concern. He was worried-of course, he was. He knew exactly how I felt. But I couldn't understand, couldn't fucking wrap my head around how the hell he could be so calm with that man. My thoughts screamed inside me, a whirlwind of rage and confusion, and everything in front of me started to blur, like the world was closing in.

"JK, listen-Jungkook," Jimin called, his voice trying to reach me through the haze.

"I hate him, Park Jimin!" I exploded, my voice raw with fury.

"I know," Jimin replied softly, his eyes filled with understanding. "I hate him too."

"Fucking bastard," I spat, my voice trembling with rage. "I don't understand how a man can be such a worm, how he can twist himself into something so vile. How could he? How *can* he? How the *fuck* can he!" The words tore from my throat, each one sharper than the last as the fire inside me roared.

Jimin was trying his best, desperately trying to calm me down, but I couldn't hear him. My mind was a storm, a hurricane of anger, disgust, and frustration. It had been so long since I had felt like this-since I had lost control like this. The trip incident, back then I hadn't even realized I was becoming violent. But this time, this time I could feel it coursing through me like poison.

My nerves felt like they were being pulled apart, stretched to their breaking point, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't contain the fury pulsing through my veins. I swung blindly, punching at the air as if it could somehow absorb my anger, as if hitting nothing would make it all go away. My body crashed against the walls, fists flying, my muscles tense and trembling as the storm inside me raged.

Jimin's voice was there, somewhere, but it was drowned out by the sound of my own heavy breaths, the pounding of blood in my ears. I was spiraling, wild, out of control, my fury spilling out in waves, unable to be contained. I was breaking, and I knew it.

Jimin's hands reached for me gently, but with firmness, trying to steady my wild movements. "Jungkook, you need to breathe. Look at me," he said, his voice low and soothing, yet threaded with urgency. My fists were clenched so tightly that my knuckles had gone white, my whole body vibrating with the rage I couldn't contain. I couldn't look at him, couldn't focus. The room spun, and all I could hear was Mr. Cha's voice, dripping with condescension and filth.

"JK, breathe," Jimin urged again, closer now, his hands on my shoulders, grounding me, pushing me back from the brink. "You're not alone. I'm right here. Focus on me. Just me, okay?" His voice was like a lifeline, cutting through the chaos inside my head.

My chest heaved with the force of my breaths, but slowly-so slowly-his presence started to break through the haze. He guided me back, his hands gently squeezing my shoulders, pulling me out of the violent fog. His calmness was like a balm to my shattered nerves, his steady gaze silently urging me to follow him back from the edge.

"Come on, Jungkook," he whispered, his voice soft but commanding, drawing me in like a lighthouse cutting through the storm. "Focus on my breathing. We'll do this together." He inhaled slowly, deliberately, and I tried to match him, the ragged breaths in my chest gradually slowing to something resembling control. The wild thrumming in my body began to still, though the anger still simmered, hot and furious beneath the surface.

Jimin's hands slid down my arms, grounding me further, keeping me tethered to reality. "You've got this. You're stronger than him. Stronger than this," he murmured, his voice so soft, but it reached deep into me, into the part of me that wanted to fight, not lose control. "You're with me. We'll handle it. Together." His words wrapped around me, steadying me as I felt my body begin to loosen, the tension slowly unraveling from my muscles.

I looked at him, finally, meeting his eyes. There was something solid in his gaze, something that pulled me back-anchored me in a sea of turmoil. "We're okay," he reassured. "We can go back in. I've got you."

I nodded, though the fury still flickered, threatening to resurface. But Jimin kept his hand on me, guiding me out of the washroom and back into the hall. Every step felt like a battle, my feet heavy with the weight of lingering anger, but Jimin stayed close, his presence like a shield. He kept whispering calming words under his breath, a constant stream of reassurance that held me together.

When we entered the room again, Mr. Cha was lounging in his chair, his eyes gleaming with that same predatory glint as before. The moment his gaze landed on us, a twisted smirk curled on his lips. "What took you two so long?" His voice dripped with mockery, an insidious grin spreading across his face. "Were you both having sex?" His eyes flicked between Jimin and me, a disgusting sneer playing on his features. "Could have called me. Or perhaps... your woman, Gerald."

The vile insinuation hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating and venomous. My breath hitched, the rage that had been barely contained threatening to erupt once more. His words slithered into my mind like poison, the lecherous tone in his voice stoking the flames of my anger all over again.

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, but before I could react, Jimin stepped forward, his body angled protectively in front of mine. "Mr. Cha," he said, his voice cold and controlled, though I could sense the underlying tension. "That's enough."

Mr. Cha only laughed, a low, vile sound that sent another wave of disgust crashing over me. "Oh, come on now, don't get all shy. I was only joking. You know how close you two look." His mocking tone was sharp, cutting through the room with vicious ease.

My vision blurred again, the heat rising in my chest, but Jimin's hand on my arm kept me tethered. "Let it go," he murmured under his breath, his voice firm but steady. "You're better than him, JK. Don't give him the satisfaction."

I wanted to scream, to punch something, anything, to unleash the fury that was still simmering under the surface. But Jimin's voice held me. His hand, still steady on my arm, kept me grounded. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking toward me, a silent reminder that we had control-I had control.

I swallowed hard, the fury still there but restrained, trapped behind the walls Jimin had helped me build. He glanced back at Mr. Cha, who was watching us with a twisted smile, clearly amused by the tension he'd caused. But Jimin didn't waver, his expression unreadable, cold.

"We're here to help you, Mr. Cha," Jimin said evenly, his tone measured. "But if you can't respect the people in this room, this session will end now."

Mr. Cha's eyes narrowed, the amusement fading slightly as he realized he wasn't going to get the reaction he wanted. He leaned back, his smile faltering, but the malice in his gaze remained. "Fine," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "Let's just get on with it."

Jimin nodded, his hand squeezing my arm one last time before letting go. I stood there, my heart still racing, but the storm inside me had quieted, kept at bay by the sheer force of Jimin's presence. I wasn't sure how I'd managed to hold back, but I knew one thing-if Jimin hadn't been there, I might not have been able to. There would be blood streaming this mental hospital today and I would be the new patient.