𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗼 --- 𝗳𝘁. 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝘂`𝘀 𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗷𝗼𝘀𝗵𝘂𝗮.
sometimes, he doesn't think.
sometimes, he can't think.
blank.
he's seated at the dbsd table. he doesn't know how he got here, but that doesn't matter, shouldn't matter. yujin's seated to his right. he trades a few friendly words with her -- in english, in korean -- and sounds pleasantly sober as he goes on about absolutely nothing.
to his left seats a faceless trainee. pretty, but not as pretty as yujin. they chat about the dbsd members, then the blazing members -- some of which he had the joy of personally meeting when he had gone over to pester jaehwa earlier. it's mostly boring talk, so he turns back to the other side and snags another piece of chicken off yujin's plate.
his head spins. he suddenly remembers.
where's alice?
he finds steadiness a few moments later: distant from the dbsk table, closer to the other side of the restaurant, his gaze catches two familiar figures engaged in what seems like small talk.
his jaw locks.
what is she doing?
( never have i ever dated a fellow trainee. beside him, alice drank. he raised an eyebrow. "who?" yonghwa. )
his grip tightens around his empty glass.
she leans in.
he finds himself gritting his teeth, his fingers digging into his already tattered knee. something, something stirs within him---something that knaws on his insides, something that crawls into his throat, threatening to suffocate, threatening to strangle him of all sense of reason. drumming, drumming, he hears it getting louder as the world seemingly falls silent around him.
the glass trembles in his grasp.
or perhaps he's the one trembling.
he doesn't avert his eyes. can't avert his eyes. he lets himself feel it, lets himself thrive in the twists in his stomach, in his knuckles, on his tongue.
sometimes, he can't think.
blank.
it breaks.
shatters between his fingers.
he yanks his hand back, hisses fuck in succession. and suddenly, it's loud again. it's too loud now---people gasp, people scrambling to grab napkins, people asking are you okay? over and over and over again.
yujin's holding his hand now, holding it so carefully, so gently.
he sees glass shards. sees red. he doesn't feel pain. strange. he should feel pain, should feel frightened---but no, he feels something stronger, something sharper. heat. burning, burning, it scathes his skin, makes him restless.
blank.
he's pulled into the restroom. he doesn't know how he got here, but that doesn't matter. when does it ever matter? yujin's standing to his right. she's still holding his hand as she runs it under cold, cold water. he stares at her the entire time. if she says anything, he doesn't acknowledge it; he hears nothing but discordant drumming.
it still doesn't hurt.
he catches her gaze.
there's heat. a different type of heat.
his eyes drop to her lips.
he steps closer. leans in.
blank.
he's got her hoisted on his hips and pressed firmly against the stall walls. she scathes him, burns his skin with her now rougher touch. they make him restless. she makes him restless.
blank.
she leaves first at his insistence.
his head spins, his hand throbs. fuck, it hurts.
blank.
‘you all right?’
he looks up from the sink. yang joshua. of course, it's yang joshua. “yeah,” he answers.
joshua reaches over and shuts off the water. ‘should go home.’
“‘m tryin' to.”
( beside him, alice drank. he raised an eyebrow. "who?" yonghwa. he went quiet.
of course, alice dated. she came here years ago, made a life for herself here. how stupid of him to think that nothing had changed since their time in seattle.
--- but still, she reminded him of home. )
joshua speaks, the words are silent.
“. . what?”
footsteps resonate within the empty restroom. they bring joshua closer. he looks away.
‘i asked, do you want to be here?’
he knows what's coming. another lecture. another nod your head if you understand. his fingernails dig into his palms. it hurts.
“do i have a choice?”
‘you always have a choice.’
it warrants a scoff. he remembers the last time his parents called him: april 25th, to tell him not to come back home.
‘you're not the only one. we all have personal matters to deal with. so grow up and deal with yours.’ he catches ezra's gaze, pins it down. ‘the company has choices too.’
the warning hangs over his head, hangs a little too close. his grip tightens along the edge of the sink. he’s gonna puke.
blank.
blank.
blank.
he somehow manages to stumble back to his dorm where he falls onto the bed, flat on his face. it’s not as comfortable as his own bed back in canada. it’s not as warm, not as welcoming. but it’s second best.
( and that’s all he has right now. )