♚ — d e s t r u c t i v e
how long has he been here? he can’t remember when he’d taken the bottle from the top of baekhyun’s closet, can’t remember when he’d locked himself in his room. he doesn’t even remember when the others had gone, but through his drunken state, he’s still grateful for it. he doesn’t know what he’d do if any of them saw him like this. doesn’t know what they’d think.
an unsteady smile pulls at full, red bitten lips. it feels forced, foreign, the way his face stretches, and he thinks it hurts, but he’s not entirely sure; he can’t feel much at the moment — nothing at all, really, besides the burning of the alcohol as it slides down his throat, as it sinks down in his chest. or maybe that’s just his heart? maybe it’s finally been incinerated, burned completely to ash like it should’ve been so fucking long ago. tired, he thinks as he shakes his head and tips the bottle back. he’s too tired, overcome with so many things at once that he feels like he could…
but he won’t. he’s not drunk enough to be that stupid, that reckless. not drunk enough to hurt him like that, wouldn’t ever be drunk enough to hurt him like that.
still. it’s perplexing, to say in the least; nothing has ever affected him this way. nothing. he’s so used to shoving everything down, to never letting his feelings get the best of him. to always focus on that one goal. but here he sits, glass bottle full of anger and alcohol in hand and feelings on his sleeve that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with, all of it because of one person.
the sudden urge to punch something wells up within him, not unlike anything he’s ever felt when it comes to this, but this time, it’s sharper, hits him square in the chest. there is no thought to what he does next, mind and body completely numb as he smashes the bottle into the floor. shards of glass fall like rain, bounce and skitter along the floor like crystals. he feels a dull, burning throb in his palm, but he pays no mind to it; only pushes stray hair from his face and rests his forehead against his knees, wishing, more than anything, that he could rip out the remains of his heart. maybe that would help.
soon enough.