noah. ‣ mariko.
there was definitely a downside to renting an art studio right above a nightclub. sure, noah got it because it was trendy, the windows were huge, the view was nice, but most importantly because he only needed to go down a few stairs if he were to be bored. it appeared he got bored every night. that wasn’t calculated.
he wasn’t to blame though. how could he resist, when the music was booming through his floor, rattling his paint brushes and his buckets of paint? right. this particular night was even more enticing, seeing as his day could not have gotten any worse. pulling the muscle of his thigh at rugby practice, collapsing to the ground and eating a fistful of sweat-induced mud. and then trying to finish the day with a bit of painting, only to step on his freshly coated canvas-- brrr. tonight, you’re forgetting everything, noah.
he finger paints a line or two over his cheek, rearranges his hair and descends to his own personal hell-- to the nightclub. his switch from miserable fucker to dancing idiot feels almost too natural. and his injury? that’s gonna be sore as fuck the next morning. he’s already planned to skip the rest of the week’s classes, poor boy is too wounded physically and mentally, so nothing’s really stopping him from consuming more than he can handle.
literally nothing stopped him because he only remembers blanking out. ( which wasn’t too far off his main goal, at least that was something he could achieve. )
he opens his eyes, doesn’t have time to look around before his body is launched upwards as he runs to the closest toilet bowl, vomiting whatever he ingested a few hours ago. as his eyes get used to the darkness, he recognizes parts of his bathroom-- surprising that his own body took care of getting him back to the comfort of his own home. noah is practically patting his own back as he limps back to the living room, bumping into the most random furniture; huh. he snuggles back into the couch, unbuttoning his shirt a bit more and then his pants because whew, he could feel the spectre of an evil stomachache lurking just around the corner, plus the warmth of the booze just evaporating out of his skin- d i s g u s t i n g.
through half-open eyelids, noah makes out a small silhouette ( @ssumariko ), but he promptly ignores it. probably some girl he brought over; and if she is babbling on ( he couldn’t really tell; everything felt like it was screaming at him, even the pillow sounds angry that he’s drooled over it ), he swats her off. yet again, his body was taking over, taking care of his sad, sad mind that was lost somewhere, who knows?
he finally raises his head at her, because between the walls, the pillow and the human being, only one could shut the fuck up.
“listen, uh..., babe,“, one could fall asleep just looking at his struggle to keep awake, his words mumbled through a deep & mellow voice, “the door’s right fuckin’--“, a yawn, “--there. you’re free to fuck off.“ his tone held no aggression, it was almost too welcoming.
