#disquiet.

@witchhcnt | woo jini & han minjoon, post-war hp au  past midnight in a hospital room right after joon’s failed his first big case as an auror

he doesn’t need to be here.

in fact, he shouldn’t be here. in some private, hidden hospital room tucked away in the fourth floor, wearing striped hospital wear that his small frame drowns in. his exhaustion runs deep, settles into his bones, but what can healers do about it that he hasn’t tried already, anyway? and the scratches on his face, around his lip, on the edge of his forehead? they barely sting. the minor hexes casted on him? already broken before he stepped foot into this suffocating room. but the case files stockpiled at home? he needs to pore through them for the millionth time, because this can’t happen again and his mind’s been running through so many what-if’s that he’s convinced himself the dark wizard they caught wasn’t working alone.

so, he shouldn’t be here. joon’s insisted as much, repeatedly, irritation obvious in his voice. but, ‘protocol,’ they say. ‘just use this time to rest, you’ve just gone through something traumatic,’ they add and he wishes he had his stupid wand to show them ‘something traumatic’. he doesn’t need to rest, he needs a damn drink. he needs to get out of his head. he needs to visit mister ahn again even though he doesn’t know what else he can do or say at this point. he needs -- 

he doesn’t know what he needs anymore. 

what he does know is that the last thing he needs is another visitor coming in with pity written all over their face and tiptoeing around him like he’s made of eggshells. but as the world would have it, this is exactly what he gets in the form of light knocks against the door. he stares at it from the couch for what feels like eternity (then again every second feels that way, now) with half a mind to pretend he’s sleeping to encourage them away. he doesn’t, though, instead coughing to clear his throat before mumbling a, “come in,” that he’s not sure whoever’s behind the door can even hear.