regret.
@idjowi, san’s apartment, a few days after kcon, late.
he shouldn’t be doing this. this as in drinking. too much. an overflowing amount that flood his body, his system, blurs at his vision and leaves him stumbling. elbows knocking against marbled kitchen counters and stomach twisting violent until he half-makes some ramen and chokes down a mouthful of too-hard noodles just to make it stop. it hadn’t ended well at kcon. in fact, it had been the complete opposite. a goddamn miserable time, and drinking definitely hadn’t helped much aside from common sense. if he hadn’t been that far gone maybe he would’ve told milo to fuck right off when he’s jammed that question between them. sharp-edged and forceful.
san hasn’t yet figured out who he’s more pissed at -- himself or milo. at least it’s so terrible and awkward now that he doesn’t even consider sending him vitriol in the form of drunkenly put together kakao messages. instead he reaches out to jowi. clumsy fingers skating across his phone asking her what she’s doing like preamble. it inches into asking if she wants to come over. not that he has much to offer aside from the rest of the now-bloating ramen still sitting in the pot, a collection of half-finished wine bottles, and his own charming presence.
but he she gives him affirmation anyway, and it’s somewhat comforting. he’s in a mood. feels like a balloon stuffed too-full with air. about to burst, and a strong intention to rise higher. rip itself away from the twine holding him in place. keeping him on earth. he often calls jowi in an attempt to keep himself grounded. sometimes it’s jaehyun. and lately milo, too. and then, sometimes he bursts. a violent snap of a sound, and that’s when he pulls back. runs. snaps out angry and isolates. but he hasn’t hit that point yet. he’s just fluttery uneasy in the gusty winds of panic and he wants to pretend that jowi can try to help solve that problem.
she can’t, that would be asking too much. but he knows that she’d at least be willing to call milo names with him until san grew bored of it at three in the morning. that’s what friends are for, after all.
he hears the telltale beep of his door as the correct code is punched in, makes a noise from his place on the kitchen floor. he’s slumped against the cabinets, at an odd angle, a bottle tucked between his thighs. he knows he looks like a goddamn mess. he feels like a goddamn mess. “just kill me.” san decides, voice heavy and melodramatic as he pulls another sip from the bottle, lifts an arm and offers it over to her.