#ce;

[mariokartdui]

hey my names chris and i get bullied my 12 year olds in video games daily @ juicedcheetos

[archivedobliviting]

— Curiously enough [junhyung-dsmp]

 He could compare his feelings to a car accident that night — dull and boring, quiet, typical, until boom it happens and you're gone for a moment and then you're (if you're lucky) back again. He was resting on the couch, leg slung over the other, novels to magazines, encyclopedias to dated pornography strewn over the disgustingly tacky carpet of his apartment floor. A few (empty but not recently consumed) beer bottles littered the coffee table as well as cigarette butts. He doesn't know why he didn't just put the remains in the ashtray — why he put them out in the ashtray and tossed them absentmindedly about the glass surface of the table. He also doesn't know why he refused to leave his apartment that day instead of going to the company like he usually would. Something was terribly, terribly wrong and for a reason he wasn't even sure of.   Well, eventually, he did find out what was wrong with him that night and although it seemed typically harmless, it was a tragically miserable realization. He is so dependent on alcohol that he feels somehow not whole without having just a mere trace of the damned poison in his system. Oh, he won't ever admit his strong dislike for such awful habits, though, he'll instead explain himself with metaphors he knows no one but himself will understand.  You can't help but pity the boy as he drinks himself to death nearly every night. Some believe it's because he's depressed but Abel believes it's nothing like that at all — it's completely within his own control and he can quit whenever he wants to (this isn't true). Eventually, he drank to the sound of a strangers name being repeatedly moaned and  grunted  above him as well as an old Johnny Cash record. He thought of perhaps prodding at the ceiling with the end of a broom to quiet them down but he didn't have the nerve to embarrass them. Somehow, the moaning was relaxing and it oddly went along with the occasional instrumental break. That's when he figured this "Junhyung" character must be really good at what they do because there was such thing as a round two in the apartment above him and unfortunately, he passed out before he heard the second climax. Bummer.  It's morning now and even though morning birds are chirping their morning-bird-song and the sun is breaking through the clouds, Abel feels like complete shit. He probably looks like complete shit, too. He's outside the apartment for a breath of fresh air and to contaminate it with the smothering smell of cigarette smoke, hair disheveled (when is it not), clad in some pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt that has a pizza stain on it. Or maybe Chinese take-out. He doesn't remember. Oh, gosh, if that sun decides to peek out from behind the clouds and shine it's eye-mutilating rays down on him one more time he's going to throw up. Maybe it isn't such a good idea to be out here, he thinks.   He vaguely notices another step outside and situate a few away from him. He thinks they're going to walk past, head to their car, and leave for some sort of uppity businessman job (which doesn't make sense because a successful businessman wouldn't be living in such middle-class apartments unless he was very, very modest) but he doesn't. He stays put. Abel, being curious, spares a moment from silently observing an arrangement of brightly coloured petunias to instead observe the other and boy, does he look familiar. Yes, he must have seen him before. He does live in the building, right? That would make se — then it hits him. Last night he (against his own will) had a dream about that face. Well, a dream about Junhyung and fuck, if this guy is actually Junhyung he knows for sure he's going to throw up. He doesn't ask him because of that.