the back of the pen hit the counter, closing it, and benji took the sticky note in hand to make his way over to angel’s room. as quietly as he could, he opened the door, and stuck his arm through, so he could press the sticky note onto the inside of the door.
whether kisol was actually in danger, or just drunk-induced ‘danger’, it wouldn’t serve any good purposes to hang around. benji simply grabbed a jacket, and slipped on some outside shoes before heading out and down to his car.
so late at night, it didn’t take long to get to kisol’s apartment building. he was decently familiar with kisol’s place by now, enough that he easily slipped to the elevator and thoughtlessly pressed in the code to be brought up to kisol’s. he thought, on the way up, that he wasn’t even sure which bathroom he should head to. probably starting with the master was the best option. but, just in case, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, and sent out another text.
〚 𝘀𝘄𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗮𝗸𝗲 〛: heading up
〚 𝘀𝘄𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗮𝗸𝗲 〛: still alive?
〚 𝘀𝘄𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗮𝗸𝗲 〛: or should i call the coroner?
he didn’t wait for a response, mostly because the elevator dinged and opened a moment later. benji took off his shoes at the entrance, but left his jacket on as he made his way over to the ensuite bathroom, and rapped on the door with his fore and middle fingers. “you in there, man?”
he’s in recovery, in some ways. he’s in recovery in the way his cheek pressed against cold tile of bathroom floor helps to ground him from the dizzy spells that had put him there twenty minutes prior. he’s in recovery in the way his mood was technically up from where it was before as well, the way his heart had clenched earlier, the disaster that had been impending was impeded if only by the empty soju bottles littering kisol’s living room table. and maybe he had drank way too many, when it was just him alone drinking, he could have stopped hours ago. but that was the way of life. like how he had pulled open the curtains to let in the ambiance of dark blue skies and geometric skyline, gazed out at the passing cars and thought of how he was alone. and just when he had been doing better, too.
the way his stomach lurches forward suddenly as a result of everything. the liquor, the disquiet of his heart, his mood, all of it as suddenly the floor felt as though it had taken flight beneath him. kisol shoots up straight, curves into a hunch over the toilet and loses the final solid contents of his stomach into the bowl. kisol feels instantly better in a sickly kind of way, the cold sweats and tingles subsiding for a hazy ache and floaty feeling of his head. he promptly falls back over, scrambles clammy hands to his phone just enough to text: ( 〚 𝗯𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗶 𝗯𝗼𝘆 〛: 🥴🥴🥴 come ) and then promptly closes his eyes and passes out.
the sound pries his eyes open and he jumps in place, a sharp intake of breath that sounds like a groan, and then a gurgle. “i’m-” and he burbs and then groans again. “missed you.” he mutters out and rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. kisol has reached a lot of lows. so many that this doesn’t even make the count. he doesn’t even feel bad about it. “benji.” he whines, for effect.
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