Story is not mine. Credits to deathbyeyesmile at asianfanfics

.

.

.

Her lungs felt heavy, as if there was an anvil suspended on a rope above, slowly descending. Her eyes darted around the room; vanilla walls surrounded her, several frames gracing it for feature. There were no windows, and that made her panic. She felt the walls closing in on her, felt them coming closer, and closer. Her chest tightened, her heart hammering, constricting against itself.

She dropped her head, distracting herself with her nail polish. She picked and picked at it, the hot pink colour beginning to fade and shrivel into a sickly cherry. She continued picking, though her mind was now somewhere else entirely.

She had no idea why she was here; maybe because her father suggested she go, maybe because she had watched her best friend cry over her confessions and demons, maybe because she actually wanted to get better.

But what was getting better, anyway?

Getting better is something sick people do, but she wasn't sick. No, not really. She was worse than sick. She didn't know exactly what she had, because there were so many things to face. Maybe that's why she was here today, to get some answers. Words had been tossed around before about what she had, the main ones people suggested being depression and anxiety. But they were such broad statements, such generalisations. It wasn't like her to fit under such a large umbrella of topics. There had to be more to it than those diagnoses, there just had to.

"Hwang Miyoung," A voice called out, making her raise her head. It was a short lady, as wide as she was tall. Though, through her chubby cheeks you could see bright eyes. She remembered that she had eyes like that once; apparently they looked even livelier when she smiled. But she forgot what smiling was like, or at least, she forgot what a real smile was like. Everything she did now was hollow, as if she was just a visitor watching over her own body. "Hwang Miyoung."

"Ah, yes," She stood from her seat, neatening her skirt as she looked at the woman properly. "That's me."

The woman smiled at her, and it was genuine, which surprised Tiffany. Her pen pointed down the hallway, signalling for her to follow its path. Tiffany stood still in her spot, her legs not wanting her to move. The walls felt like they were closing up again, her hands balling into fists as her mind argued with itself.

"Doctor Kim will see you now," Her voice was like honey drizzling over ice cream, infinitely sweet. But again, the word doctor didn't sit well with Tiffany. It made her sound ill, and maybe in a way, she was. But there was no way she was going to admit that. She looked down, watching her feet as they began to charge forward.

She didn't know if she bowed at the woman or not, but she hoped she did, because she was really sweet, even if there was only two sentences exchanged.

She trudged down the hall, her eyes not focusing on anything in particular, but at the same time they focused on everything. They noticed the oil paintings on the walls, how every face was smiling and all the scenery was green and fresh; they noticed the bits of fluff sticking into the carpet, and if she were to take her shoes off, the fluff would get stuck to her socks; they noticed that there was one window at the end of the hallway, giving it a saint-like glow.

But before she knew it, she stood in front of the door that the woman had directed her to.

And then the fear got her.

It seeped through her pores like mist, digging and burrowing her way under her skin until it felt like it crawled. It snuck its way through her ribcage, wrapping around each bone, snapping them like twigs as it made its way towards her heart. It coiled around her heart like tendrils, strangling the air from her body until it wheezed out of her nose. She felt heavy, felt weak, felt like everything was weighing against her. And she hadn't even knocked yet.

The door clicked, and she only just raised her head in time for it to bump into someone else's. The pain didn't last very long, just a dull throbbing on her forehead. She reached up to it, her hand rubbing on the skin to soothe the sure to be rising bump.

"I'm sorry,"

The voice made her eyes widen, not expecting what she heard. It was light, almost like the voice could flutter away and fly. She opened her eyes, unable to take the curiosity any longer.

The voice matched the doctor perfectly. Her blonde hair was illuminated by the light of the window, making her appear to be an angel. But Tiffany wasn't so easily fooled, because behind those dark, long lashes, her eyes were full of spark. The kind of spark that tells you she's not as innocent as she looks. Then again, she found that endearing about the girl.

"You must be my next patient, please, come in."

She nodded, her tongue tied and voice dead in her throat.

She followed the doctor inside, noting that she must be higher up in the workspace hierarchy. The walls were flawlessly spotless, the oak floorboards un-scuffed and glamorous. She allowed her eyes to wander, just a little bit; there was only one photo frame in the entire room, sitting upon what she assumed to be the girl's desk.

"Alright, you can sit here if you like."

The girl directed her to the leather couch, and Tiffany couldn't help but realise how cliché this part of the room actually was. She nodded again, cautiously feeling out the softest spot on the couch before sitting on it.

She stared at her hands once more, picking at her nail polish. It had always been a bad habit of hers, one she hadn't been able to break since she was a child. Her mother always chastised her for it, but now, it was even harder to stop.

She heard the girl take a seat across from her, but to her surprise, there was no notebook in hand, nor was there a pen. She simply sat, her hands clasped together as one leg crossed over another. Tiffany looked up at her, and the girl offered her a soft smile. It was so contagious that she nearly smiled back.

Nearly.

"So, what's your name?"

Her thumb accidentally caught on her opposite one, scratching the soft skin. It didn't dig in hard enough to slice or bleed, but it stung. Tiffany gritted her teeth, gasping at the sensation. She trained her attention on it, attempting to soothe it with small circles.

"Tiffany," She whispered, but it seemed to be loud enough for the girl to catch.

"I thought it was Miyoung."

Tiffany shook her head, "I, uh," The pain had stopped in her thumb, but she didn't stop rubbing. It helped in a way, as if every circle was a huge one around her whole body. "I changed it."

"I see," The blonde said, nodding her head.

Did she, though? Tiffany really didn't believe that she saw, not at all. There was no way she would understand that, but of course, this is what she gets paid to say.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Tiffany," She said, although pronouncing her name with some difficulty. "I'm Doctor Kim, but you can call me Taeyeon if you prefer."

It was only then that Tiffany noticed that the girl's hand was extended, asking to be shaken. Normally, she would resist, not liking physical contact with people other than friends and family. But there was something about this girl – maybe her profession, maybe she just looked friendly – that put Tiffany at ease, that made her feel like she could actually grow to trust this girl.

She took her hand, shaking it carefully. She worried she might have shaken it too many times, but when the blonde smiled encouragingly at her, her worrying stopped.

"So," Tiffany started, her feet shuffling awkwardly beneath her. She had no idea how these things worked, only knowing what she's seen in movies. She hovered her hands over the couch, "Do I lie down, or?"

"You can sit up if you'd like, it just makes people feel more at ease if they lie down."

"Oh," She had no idea what to do next, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. But she was told a while ago that she thinks too much; so she tried to stop, ultimately laying down in an attempt to feel more at ease like Taeyeon had said. "So, what do you want to know?"

"It's more the question of, what are you willing to tell me?"

The corner of Tiffany's lips quivered, almost reaching a smirk. It had been a long time since anyone had parried her words, and she liked it. She liked that the blonde wasn't going to tiptoe around her mental state like the others.

"I guess that depends on what you ask."

"Alright, I'll start simply." Taeyeon leaned forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her now uncrossed legs. It creased her suit pants, and Tiffany desperately wanted to iron them in that moment. "Why did you come here today?"

"That's a really good question," A question she didn't even know the answer to. She had no idea what had tipped her over the edge, no idea what finally made her crack and accept that she needed help. "It's more than one thing."

"Go on."

"Well, my father had suggested that I see someone for a year or two now, because that's when everything got bad again. But then there's also the fact that my . . . Condition, I guess, is beginning to affect my relationships with people."

"In what sense is it affecting those relationships?"

"My siblings tiptoe around me, trying not to say things that might set me off. My father is always cautious, but that only makes me mad at him. And my best friend, she," Tiffany trailed off, clearing her throat, even if nothing was stuck except words. "She cries a lot because of me, even if she won't admit it, I know I'm stressing her out with my problems."

"So you came to put everyone's mind at ease?"

"Sort of."

"Let me ask you this, then," Taeyeon leaned on her hands. "Do you actually know what your condition is?"

"I've been told many things."

"Such as?"

"Anxiety," She stuck her index finger up, beginning to number the diagnoses. "Obsessive Compulsive Disorder," She sighed, furrowing her brows. "And depression."

"Do you think you actually have these mental states?"

"I . . ."

She had no idea how to respond. After all, how were you meant to tell a stranger you had depression, especially when she can't even admit it to herself?

"I think so," She mumbled.

"That's good," She whipped her head at Taeyeon's words, not understanding how having these conditions is a good thing. "I mean admitting it, admitting it is good."

"Oh," It was the only way she could respond, her mind racing far too quickly for her mouth to speak. Which was probably a good thing.

"I'm going to ask you a few more questions, if that's okay."

"Um," Tiffany bit her lip, not sure of what Taeyeon was really asking her. A few more questions could mean any variety of ways to find the root of her problem, but she wasn't really ready to find the root of it. She was still stuck in the branches, climbing her way down, far from the root. "Okay."

"Don't worry, there just simple questions. I promise that if you get uncomfortable, we can stop."

"I don't . . . I don't like stopping." She admitted, releasing her bottom lip.

"Alright, what about this, every time I ask a question you don't want to answer, you can ask me a question?"

"What kind of question?"

Taeyeon smiled; it was lopsided, and a hidden dimple arose on her chin. She had no idea why, but Tiffany found it cute, a contrast to her professionalism.

"You can ask me any question you want," Taeyeon leaned back from her knees, beginning to lounge on her arm chair. It made Tiffany more comfortable, but that was probably the point. "But first, I have to ask my questions."

"Okay."

"When did you start showing symptoms for each condition?"

"I was diagnosed properly with OCD when I was thirteen, but my parents had been wondering whether I had it since I was eight."

"Mhmm, and what about the other two?"

"Um, I was told I had depression just after I was told I had anxiety, it was on the same day."

"And when was that?"

"I was fifteen." She said, her throat beginning to close up. "But I beat depression after I started taking meds."

"Then what made it come back?"

Tiffany looked down at her hands, noticing that since her depression was mentioned, she had picked off two thirds of her nail polish. In her mind, she could imagine her mother scolding her, telling her that the effort was wasted. But then she imagined her mother sighing, hugging her and apologising for yelling. Her mother really was a sweet lady; she just had a short temper.

Just like she did.

"Why did you become a psychologist?"

Taeyeon's eyebrows shot up, she clearly hadn't expecting Tiffany to ask her any questions, or if she did, none that personal.

"I wanted to help people get better."

There it was again, getting better. It was said so often that it may as well be taboo; at least, it was in Tiffany's mind.

"But why psychology?" Tiffany sat up from her seat, her back leaning against the soft cushions. "Why not a doctor, or a surgeon? They help people, too."

"Nice try, but you're only allowed one question at a time, just like me." The blonde wagged a finger, winking at Tiffany with a smile.

She felt her cheeks heat up.

"Now," She started, raking a hand through her hair. "If you don't want to talk about the depression, let's talk about something else."

Tiffany opened the door to her home, the musky scent of her brother's cologne filling her nose as she walked inside. It had been not long since his last visit, but she assumed it was because her first session was today that he came.

She was not surprised in the slightest as she walked into the lounge area, the familiar faces entering her line of vision. Her sister sat on the left of the couch, legs dangling over the arm as she chatted with her friend, Jessica. She was seated on a pink beanbag nearby, legs crossed and smiling. Her brother was opposite her sister, although he sat with manner, one leg folded over the other as he leant back. He was talking with her father, who was as always, sitting in one of the armchairs. But of course, there was still one armchair, though no one ever dared to sit in it.

Tiffany made her way over towards them, sitting in between her siblings as she was immediately bombarded with questions. She decided to ignore them all until they settled down, propping her feet up on the coffee table. Her father would normally reprimand her for that, but for the past few months, she's gotten away with it.

Once the yelling had died down into a murmur, she looked at them all. Their faces were all full of worry, but anticipating an answer.

She shrugged, "It was okay."

"That's it, just okay?" Her sister shook her shoulders, not allowing her to shrug them any further. "What did you two talk about?"

"You make it sound like we were on a date."

"Well, that depends," Jessica started, a smile tugging at her lips. "Was your doctor cute?"

Come to think of it, yeah, she was. But there was no way Tiffany could say that, no way would anyone even begin to understand where that thought came from.

"I don't know," She said, not being able to think of another answer. "I guess she is, but we'd have to get Leo to make sure."

Her brother smiled, "Ah, a girl doctor."

Tiffany nodded, "On second thought, don't go near her. I don't need my psychologist rambling on about how suave my own brother is."

"So you admit that I'm suave?"

"Only in your dreams, buddy." Tiffany ruffled his hair, not remembering the last time she was this close to being happy.

Conversation was light throughout everyone's stay, but as the night died down, so did Tiffany's almost happiness. Her family had left, and only Jessica remained. Which was a given, seeing as the two were housemates.

Tiffany had since laid across the couch, her feet nearly touching the end. She blew her hair from her face, the red strands suspended in the air before crashing down beside her. She heard Jessica scoot forward on the beanbag, coming closer towards her.

"So, how was it really?"

Tiffany sat up, throwing her hands into the air.

"It was horrible!" She yelled, crumpling back down onto the couch in a tangle of her own limbs. "She asked all these questions, and I mean, they weren't bad questions . . . But she's just so good at her job, I'm pretty sure she has me all figured out already."

"So what if she does?"

"Then that just means more questions. And the more questions there are, the more I think, and the more I think . . ."

She trailed off, her body beginning to shake uncontrollably. She felt the familiar fear, felt the walls closing in, smelt the dread in the air.

But then she felt warm arms circle around her, bringing her back to reality.

"Whoa, slow down." Jessica rubbed circles onto her back, and it felt like the same safe circles she was tracing onto her thumb hours ago. "It's okay, no need to panic."

"Sorry,"

"It's alright," She pulled back from Tiffany, a warm smile on her face. "But now you really have to answer me honestly."

"What?"

"Was she cute?"

Tiffany laughed, and for the first time that week, it was a real laugh.