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wolf x suicidal reader ch. 6

description: she thinks she can handle alot of things. spoiler alert: she cant. and wolf is there too i guess

tags: salf deprecation, lots of talks of suicide, implied self harm, suicide attempt, hwangmo my goat, clubs, wolf typical violence, out of character, really... bad...., feel free to not read this chapter, anxiety, reader has many a issue lol, SOO MANY TYPOS

a/n: im tired. this is really. awful. im using this series for what i intended it to be. and you know. so shes really ooc. and hes really ooc. and im really sorry. this also took forever to come out.. im just reallt sorrry. i also write kinda preachy so dont mind that.

pls accept this playlist i made for this fic... feel free to tell me to add songs onto it. it’s wolf and reader’s dynamic and then mostly reader’s characterization

and thank u to my good friend bin for drawing me this too.

enjoy it in all its glory

hopefully ill be able to worko on my requests now

word count: ~10,000

previous chapter

there’s a loud noise blaring through the dark of his room. it’s way past 2am and hwangmo is a good student if he says so himself. he tries to go to sleep before 10pm on a good night after all. although, he kinda sucks at english and is absolute ass at math. but he’s a good student if he has nothing else on his mind.

“and a growing boy needs his sleep!” his mother nags him all the damn time.

but something is obviously disturbing the quiet peace of his room. for once, his little siblings are asleep and out of his room. often they clamor to his room when they have nightmares or they hear his mom yelling the shit out of their dad on the phone.

his phone is playing some jingle from a show he thought was fucking awesome in middle school and he snatches it off his desk. not even looking at the name as he swipes the accept button. holding the phone to his ear and turning over in his bed. assuming it’s one of his stupid friends from middle school.

they’re the only ones who’d ever call him this late anyway. whether it be because of drunken nights or them pulling all nighters for their test.

“what? it’s ass o’ clock, man.”

there’s silence on the other end before a voice pipes up. and in his tired haze, he doesn’t recognize the rasp of the boy on the phone with him. doesn’t recognize the same voice that drawls out yawns and tells him to fuck off when he’s not needed.

“what the fuck do you get girls if they hate your guts?”

hwangmo assumes it’s his older friend who constantly complains in his middle school groupchat about ‘shitty girls he definitely doesn’t care about.’

(even though half of his texts are crying about wanting them to come back to him.)

“are you serious, hyung? can you not search it up for something?”

“who the hell do you think…whatever. nevermind. don’t fucking tell anyone about this.”

he can almost see the embarrassment on his friend’s face. in fact, he can even taste it through the phone and laughs leave his mouth in the dark of his room. why is he so humiliated? he talks about shit like this all the damn time.

man, when was the last time he’s even laughed like that? it’s been really fucking stressful since he was scouted to be in The Union. he can’t even begin how terrified he is of wolf.

his friend is probably going to end the call but hwangmo speaks before he can. he hasn’t talked to his old friends much, he might as well help as much as he can.

“just get her something she’d like. you’re into the popular ones right? they get stuff like flowers and chocolate all the time. don’t get her some basic shit.”

“the fuck? i don’t-“

the voice on the other end takes a deep breath before speaking again. defeated. hwangmo thinks his old friend must be really fucking it up with a girl he likes. he sounds absolutely miserable.

“yeah? what’s not fucking basic then?”

“hey man, i don’t know your girl. just think about something she likes. you know her that much, don’t you?”

there’s silence again. before his friend ends the call and hwangmo grumbles before immediately knocking back out. not realizing who the real person who called him was. and not realizing that wolf keum is lying on his floor and is begrudgingly grateful for the opinion of his subordinate.

…

lately, you’ve been extremely anxious.

you don’t really know why.

but when you sit in your house alone, you’re okay. when you’re alone, you can focus on things that matter to you. like wondering what things you’re going to donate. or pondering how you’re going to take your own life.

sometimes you like to do your hobbies. contrary to how lazy your parents think you are, you really do like to do things. you swear you do. you like to be productive.

you can focus on the things that make you happy.

there’s nothing but you and silence. and maybe that’s scary to other people. but it doesn’t frighten you. you feel at peace when you’re alone. maybe a little lonely, maybe only that.

but when the front door opens and you hear your parents’ footsteps, your heart starts to sink. it’s heavy in your chest and you wish you could remove it. but it forms into a cinder block.

your skin prickles and you instinctively curl in on yourself. you want to lock your door but your mom would probably yell at you if you did. your phone magically appears in your hand and you start doom scrolling.

this cinderblock rests on your diaphragm, forcing your lungs to take shorter breaths. it starts to asphyxiate you with no physical blockage. you stop thinking about things that are important to you. you stop thinking at all.

it’s an odd feeling, you’ll admit. there’s nothing that’s physical about the condition. nothing you can tell someone that’s easy to grasp. no features on yourself that you can point to and say, “i’m hurting.”

you’re still breathing. you are breathing right now. but at the same time, you can’t.

your one goal is survival. to remove this feeling that’s blocking your conscious mind.

so you scroll on your phone. to fill your mind with short entertainment that’s just enough for tonight. just enough to distract you. you switch from app to app. when one starts to wake on its dopamine effect on you, you switch.

your eyes dry and the videos get monotonous. but you don’t stop. even if you never see your parents. even if they never come into your room. you occupy yourself with only this.

you can’t be bored.

because if you’re bored, you’ll start thinking.

and your hobbies require thinking. and you can’t think. no no, if you try to do your hobbies the thoughts will come back.

and if you start thinking, you might-

…

you’re really…

scared.

you’re scared your mom is going to come into your room. you’re scared your dad is going to start asking about school. you’re scared they’re going to start talking to you. you’re scared they’re going to start talking of the future.

your future.

(what future?)

you’re scared.

you’re really fucking scared.

sometimes, you act like you’re asleep if you’re home before your parents. sometimes you

force yourself to go to sleep because you can’t face them.

sometimes you cry in your bed because you’re so terrified.

you don’t want to face the reality you’ve created for yourself. that you don’t focus on anything right now at school. that tomorrow, you’ll have to get up. that you’re scared because today you haven’t studied for your tests. that tomorrow, you’ll have to face it.

you’re scared.

this future you’ve concocted in your mind is comforting but not in the present. it’s so distant in the future. it’s too far away to grasp onto. it doesn’t change your circumstances.

if anything, it’s ruining your life.

the expectation that you’ll no longer be alive.

that tomorrow doesn’t fucking matter.

it thrills you. it makes you ecstatic and you have jitters in class. to be free of these circumstances. you can finally relax. you can finally not think anymore.

but in the present, you’ll have to suffer. and you’re scared, because you can’t run from it. because you’ve always been that lazy, stupid daughter your parents talk of. you can’t run from tomorrow.

and tomorrow might consist of your parents yelling at you over your grades. and tomorrow might consist of them talking about you. comparing you to relatives. and how stupid, ungrateful, pathetic you are. how fucking worthless your birth is to your parents.

the future frightens you.

you’re only soothed when you’re not home. you try to pick up as many shifts you can and walk around outside. any reason to not face your life. any excuse you can find.

what a sorry excuse of a human being you are.

to be so pathetic to not face your own life when there are others who have it worse.

and you’re running.

…

you really….

…

you look around at the decrepit walls that surround you. it looks like a random abandoned building. graffiti so graciously decorated on the walls and filth encompassing the floor. you cock your head and rock back and forth on your toes.

when you hear a sharp exhale, you snap your head to where it came from. your eyes searching over the ground. and there you think you see a whimpering dog in the corner.

its body is covered by a conveniently placed filing cabinet. which is funny because there is quite literally nothing else blocking the way or on the floor. other than general litter delinquents probably put.

but you see its legs sticking out and that’s enough.

your grin is small as you skip up to the dog. it’s quieted down now but you still hear weak breaths leaving its mouth. there’s a window on the wall adjacent to it and there’s midday sun shining directly onto its eyes. but it doesn’t seem to notice since they’re closed.

it’s glasses are hanging on a random rusted nail in the wall. there are breaths leaving its lips as if its out of oxygen. wheezing as its hands lie limp between its thighs. it’s legs spread out in front of it.

you think it’s kinda nasty that its sitting on the floor but you lie down on the school rooftop during lunch. and well, wolf keum goes up there. so you’re probably lying in ash and nasty ass spit boys your age cough out for no reason.

it’s purple hair is messier than usual. which isn’t saying much. but there’s blood coming from its temple and its eye is swelling shut. it’s lip is busted and it’s knuckles are stained it’s usual blackberry color.

you crouch inbetween its legs and wrap your arms around your knees. smiling at its despondent face to your presence.

“did you lose, wolf?”

there’s a beat between you and him. and the sun is starting to get in your eyes as well. but you don’t mind. because it lights up the bruises and blood muddling his usual pale skin. and you wonder if he’s even conscious.

“guess you passed out.”

theres no reply from him. you stare a little longer but you don’t think he’s awake. your hand reaches out to wave in front of his face. alas, it yields no response from your fighting dog. you pout a little as you go to stand up.

“poor wolfie.”

before you can turn to leave, a hand shoots out to grasp yours. and its unyielding. squeezing your knuckles together so hard you gasp in pain. your voice is shrill as you whip your head back to the tyrant of ganghak high school. knuckles making a very concerning crunching sound.

his head is hanging low but his other hand is balled into a fist. and you can’t see his expression. you wonder what kind of face he’s making.

“i didn’t.”

his voice is raspy and tortured when it makes the claim to you. the one that juxtaposes his appearance. if he won, then wouldn’t he be smiling? he loves doing that after good beatdowns.

his face whips up to look at yours. and you mistook him for passing out. you think he was probably just capturing his breath when he had his eyes closed. one of them are swelled shut and the other is bloodshot. his lips twisted into a feral grimace.

“i didn’t fucking lose.”

“well, you look like you lost.”

he responds to your snark extraordinarily poorly. yanking your hand down with force you’re surprised his battered body can muster. and you stumble as you hunch over to stare back in his bloodshot eye.

you wonder why he’s so angry. has he never lost in his entire life? no, that can’t be the case. if that was the case, then he wouldn’t be able to handle being hit so often.

he wouldn’t have pain tolerance if he was an unstoppable machine.

so why is he so upset that you even eluded to him losing?

“i’m fucking serious, bitch.”

you scoff as you try to shake his tight grip off your wrist. but he doesn’t budge. his eye glaring at you. the sun is shining straight into his eye now but he couldn’t care less.

“you lose when you’re knocked out.”

his tone is absolute. as if this is a fact written in a book somewhere. and maybe it is. but you wonder where he got that notion from.

it’s probably a rule in sports. boxing? wrestling? you wouldn’t know, you’re not all that interested and if you were, you don’t remember now.

but he stared at you like he’s trying to prove something to himself. to you. to someone else that’s not in the abandoned building.

as long as you’re awake, you didn’t lose.

a sigh leaves your lips. knees bending and you crouch on the ground while his grip on you loosens. his lips press into a thin line with bated breaths as you lean forward. the sun reflecting on your skin and a smile rises on your face.

a cat necklace swings from your neck when your hands clasp on either side of his face. patting his bruised cheeks with firm hands.

“okay, it was a tie then.”

you don’t know if that quells his hurt pride that’s bleeding out of him like a physical wound. don’t know if that patches up the wound that’s spilling his nonchalant nature out onto the dirty floor.

“does that make you feel better?”

but he bites his lip at the look of your face. at your smile and the creases under your eyes. at the cat necklace he bought to apologize a few days earlier.

the implication makes him embarrassed and angry. that you need to reword your sentence to not make him so upset. and the worst part is that hearing his fight ended in a tie does make him feel better.

“whatever. just don’t- fucking rub it in.”

“aye aye, captain.”

your voice drawls out sarcastically. he gets up easily after when you pat his face. he always does. he hates when he faints during fights and getting too close pisses him off. he needs full autonomy over his body.

his ribs ache and his face fucking hurts but he forces his legs straight to keep walking. fingers push his glasses onto his face and he can see you clearly now. a teasing expression and an amused smile.

you do your usual routine, one that was lost after he had joined the union. he really hasn’t been in any big fights. he usually slaps around his subordinates but that doesn’t bruise his face or break his nose.

so you two go back to the convenience store and sit at one of the tables in the front. you buy him a cold energy drink and tell him to press it to his swollen eye. and you unpack your bag to start cleaning him up.

it’s as easy as it always was. only the sounds of the store door bell dinging and the cars passing by. your hands on his face and something inside you misses moments like this. when he used to get into scraps for no reason and he’d come get you.

you stand between his legs, fingers dabbing his cuts and wiping away the blood. and it looks pretty bad. you try to dodge memories of a furry creature leaving between your legs. try not to think about the screech of tires and a garbled meow.

“the guy must’ve been pretty strong hm?”

“tch. not a fucking issue.”

“you look like you’re one bad punch away from the ICU, wolf.”

“hey, remember when you didn’t open your goddamn mouth all the time?”

“didn’t you get pissed off when i didn’t?”

“go to hell.”

you laugh when he sinks down further into his chair like the petulant child he is. night bleeds in quickly and you feel present for this moment. physically you’re patching up wolf keum. and mentally, you’re wondering if his face will be alright by tomorrow.

when you’re with wolf, you don’t have to think about stupid things. you don’t have to think about the uselessness of your life. you can think about the annoyance tugging his lip down and the way his hair tuffs up like ears on his head.

you guys don’t speak about much. you ask about the union and he rolls his eyes. telling you not to ask about shit you already know about. you kick his ankle and he pinches your healed hand. it’s normal and you realize you haven’t been alone with wolf like this in front of the convenience store in a while.

you’re too busy working and he’s busy controlling ganghak and doing donald’s orders. you have no idea that he was threatened after beating up forrest lee. and you have no idea that he’s staring as you pour antiseptic on a washcloth.

ultimately, you finish up quickly and wolf buys a melona for you. he shoves it into your hands when he comes back out of the store. you open your mouth to question him but he gives you a look that makes you think he’ll take it back. so you shut your mouth and smile as you peel the wrapping. and you both lean against the glass wall of the convenience store as he cracks open the energy drink you bought for his swollen eye.

you play with your necklace that he got you. caressing the figure of your late kitty between your fingers. and you don’t see the way wolf glances at you. when he sees the stupid necklace he bought being caressed like it’s the real thing, he hides himself choking on his drink with a cough.

and you’re busy staring at the cars passing ahead.

a week later, you and wolf watch donald na beat the absolute shit out of myles joo. wolf’s face had magically healed by then, as it usually does. and you could hear the gasps that oh so wanted to leave everyone’s mouths.

you watch behind wolf’s back and it feels right to keep hidden. this isn’t something you’re particularly part of. you’re not part of the union officially, you just happened to have free time today and didn’t want to go home. your face half hiding as there’s a sickening crunch. donald keeps dragging myles back up from his collar but you think it’s cruel. a predator forcing its prey to stick out the entire beat down.

when you glance around, you see all the heads of each of the high schools staring in shock. petrified. jake looks around at his subordinates and the blonde one is gritting his teeth but can’t look away.

wolf’s own subordinates look the same. terrified and they yearn to run away from the truth that’s in front of them. but they stand there because they know the punishment might be greater if they do. maybe even worse than what myles did by betraying donald na.

you look up at wolf next. his face isn’t betraying anything. eyes flat and eyebrows only slightly raised. as if he’s used to things like this. he sniffs noncommittally as he stares at the display. as if he’s not being particularly drawn to it for any reason. just because he has to.

you wonder what kind of expression you’re making. but the “fight” isn’t amusing to you. it’s not interesting. because donald na is ranked the strongest and you already know what will happen. it’s not happening to you nor is it exciting to watch him fight.

it’s painfully predictable.

you wonder vaguely if you’d care if wolf was in that position.

but you have a little more faith in your dog than that.

after it’s all done, donald does a motion to kingsley and the boy in glasses hands him a washcloth. and when he looks around at his own dogs, he grins at their faces. they’re as they should be. terrified and frozen by seeing the way he rules in The Union. he can even see a twitch in wolf’s eye. the same twitch that showed when he had threatened him with the life of the girl next to him.

donald na expected her to start wailing and crying. to start hitting wolf to tell him to leave the union. it would’ve been a funny display and completely in character for what he’s already observed from her.

but to his surprise, she stands there with her chin high. eyes dry as she cocks her head at him. wondering why he’s giving her even an extra second. and donald na turns away and announces that forrest lee is the new head for hyeongshin.

he dismisses his chess pieces and he recognizes that their talks are lower and no one comes to aid myles joo in his state.

…

“hi hon.”

your mom says when you leave your room and she’s in the kitchen. you didn’t hear her footsteps. oh fuck, you weren’t careful. now she’s going to speak to you and you’re going to get irritated. you were having such a good morning too.

“hi mom.”

you greet back with a smile, your heart slamming against your ribs. clawing at you to get out. to run back to your room. to jump out the window to get away from this. you struggle to not clench your phone and you force a smile happy on your lips.

“how did you sleep?”

“it was okay.”

you need to distract her. you need to keep talking. because what if there’s silence and she gets the chance to ask about school? what if she starts digging too deep and you can’t lie?

be happier.

act like you’re content.

there’s no other worries in your life.

“you know i had this dream. it was crazy! you and dad were in it and-“

keep talking.

“is that so?”

keep talking.

“yeah! it was totally insane, we were-“

keep talking.

keep going.

keep stalling her.

you need to find a way out.

you check your phone when she laughs and it’s almost time to go to school. your feet step back automatically back to your room. and you hold back a breath of relief. thank god. thank god. thank god. thank god.

“i have to go get ready now.”

your mom smiles at you. is she lying? is she holding back anger? you’re scared all over again.

when she walks closer to you, you feel small. her shadow from the window in your kitchen paints you. half tinted shadows paint your body in your mom’s figure. and you force yourself to keep a neutral face. you force your shoulders straight to not curl in on yourself.

your mom hates when you’re upset.

“have a good day at school.”

she goes back to her bedroom and you go back to yours. when your door closes, your breath hitches and shameful tears crawl their way into your eyes. bubbling up from guilt.

you’re so fucking mean.

your mom just told you to have a good day at school.

she didn’t yell. she didn’t even ask about school. you swear you have a reason to be so wary. because she’s yelled at you before. she’s asked and look at you that way. but the kind look in your mother’s eyes went against your expectations this time.

your eyebrows furrow as you get ready with angry jerky motions. wetness coating your cheeks as you struggle to control your breathing. shoving your suit jacket on as you hunch over. letting out a shaky sound when the winter uniform catches on your scabs.

you’re such a terrible daughter.

you hope you feel this guilt for the rest of your feeble life.

but then your heart is still pounding. something in you is still clawing to run away. to get away from your mom. your skin prickling and you listen to it anyway.

despite your guilt.

and despite your anger.

you’re still scared.

so you grab your school bag and calmly leave your room. stepping down your stairs and closing your door. before you start running to school.

your legs carry you all the way to the gate of ganghak where you break down and walk off to the side. you don’t say hello to your few acquaintances. and you’re glad they can’t see your face because you’re turned away.

why does your mom look at you so calmly some days and so angrily other days?

you look at her face between glances to see the furrow between her eyebrows. to check to see if wrinkles on her forehead. to see if she’ll burst out in anger at any second. or her eyes will be full of contempt and disappointment.

all of her years of hard work poured into you.

and for some reason, it never feels like pride.

…

“do you want to come?”

you’re snapped out of the blank stare you’re giving the blackboard when a voice finally breaks out to you. ah shit, you didn’t realize it’s turned into lunch. you really need to stop spacing out. when you look around, almost your entire class is gone. except for a few girls here and there chatting.

“hm? where?”

the voice that’s broken you out of your trance is one of the girls from when you did that group assignment. she’s the kinder of the bunch, soft look in her eyes as she smiles at you.

“to the club, silly! we were talking about it for the last five minutes!”

your eyes adjust to the other desks surrounding you and there’s the other two girls. you blink before cocking your head to the side and tapping your lip. you pretend you’re not dreading going home and you pretend you’re not agonizing about death right now.

“i might work tonight…”

“awww it’s friday night, though! you should totally come with us! it’ll be fun!”

you repress the urge to twitch your eye. and when you check your schedule, you’re actually off tonight. and the girl squeals and jumps up and down as she hugs your shoulders. and the other girls seem excited that you’re going to join them too.

how odd.

why does this matter so much to them?

you feel like you’re either going to be ghosted or horrifically bullied in approximately 7 hours. but these are your classmates and you still have a few more months to live. you haven’t made your goal after all.

…

when you show up at one of their houses, they gasp at what you’re wearing. you’re just wearing jeans, a jacket, and a tanktop. you don’t know what the big deal is. but one of the girls tsk as they drag you to her room.

you’re suddenly given an array of options to wear but you don’t know if they’ll fit you. and the girls hum as they shuffle through clothes to give you.

“hey .. what if they don’t fit me?”

“don’t worry, we’ll make them fit!”

wow.

is this the girlhood everyone talks about?

apparently it is because they’re also helping each other out. cooing about how good their makeup is and saying they’ll do yours. and they even say your outfit isn’t bad but the club they’re going to is super high end.

when you question how on earth you’re going to get in, the more serious one shushes you. and when you open your mouth to question how the hell you’re going to pay for drinks, she shushes you again and shakes her head. pressing a finger to your lips before holding up a credit card.

you can only dumbly nod before you’re whisked away to be fitted into a tight skirt and a top. and your jacket is almost ripped off of you with their giggles ringing in your ears but you gasp and snatch it back. your arm still flaking with scabs and old bandaids still sticking to the limb.

“i get cold easily! i’ll just wear my jacket!”

you say quickly as you cling the jacket to your body. and angle yourself away from the three other girls. a tingling feeling on the back of your neck as you try to control your breathing.

they don’t seem bothered by your request, most likely because you already look uncomfortable with the entire situation. the soft spoken one whisks you away to do your makeup. saying something about how you’re already pretty but they’ll just do some necessities.

when you look in the mirror, you barely recognize yourself. your eyelashes curled and your wearing a glittery lip gloss. they covered your eyebags from not sleeping properly because if you don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. your hair put in a style you never usually have it.

they come around you in the full length mirror and one of them snaps a picture. and you awkwardly hold up a peace sign as they pose around you. they’re relaxed and hold each other’s arms and hands. and one of them wraps their arms around your waist, grinning over your shoulder.

they show the picture to each other and talk about how cute you all are. you managed to muster a smile as you quietly agree.

it’s far too fast as they drag you to an uber and you all squeeze inside. it doesn’t feel real as you all get out and one of the girls attaches herself to your arm as you wait in line for the club.

you look around and you’re in a part of town you don’t think you recognize all that well. there’s lots of girls that look like you four. talking about men and boys. hyping each other up as you stare blankly around.

it’s so different that you don’t even feel real.

and you’re pushed inside of the club easily, you don’t really understand how you get inside without a card but you don’t focus on it. your legs feel like jello as they navigate you past the private rooms and into the main room.

it’s really dark but it’s interrupted with neon lights on the dance floor. the bass is turned to max as your ears very quickly start to ache. but when they guide you to a table, they seem so happy. so careless as the softer one grasps your hands.

the smile you had plastered onto your face dies at the sight of four boys sitting at a table.

“oh sorry! we forgot to tell you it’s a group date.”

your eye starts twitching as your heart starts flaming against your chest. and your feet seem to freeze and the soft one looks up at you with a stupid expression. dumbfounded and confused. and it makes your teeth clench as you stare at her.

“is something wrong?”

you shouldn’t have to deal with this.

why are you dealing with this?

you don’t know where you are.

how do you get out?

you’re scared.

“i’m okay. i’m just nervous.”

why did you say that?

why are you walking with them? why are you smiling? you told yourself you wouldn’t do stuff like this anymore. you don’t have time to feel uncomfortable. you don’t want to feel like this anymore.

but you sit down in a row with your classmates. and you look ahead of you and you’ve never wanted to see purple more in your life. it’s a guy who has looks that are forgettable. a voice that’s lost to the bass. and he holds his shoulders in a cocky way as if he’s ready to charm you.

your fingers won’t step trembling so you wipe them down your thighs. pop music is blaring through the speakers and your classmates sing along easily. you can barely hear the music. how are they even singing?

but you take glasses that have beer and soju drink it with a frown. and your match up laughs as he teases you. you murmur that you’ve never drank before and he laughs before clinking your glass. telling you it’s a celebration then.

it tastes awful and terrible and you have no idea why anyone would want to drink this. but you do it anyway because everyone else is putting their glasses to their lips so easily.

the conversations are surface level due to the pounding music. often screaming “what did you say?” and “can you repeat that?” fifty times. the guy tries to beckon you to sit next to him but you stiffly shake your head.

the conversations between the eight of you ebb and flow. the girls seem far more comfortable speaking so loudly and the guys seem to flock to their more outgoing personalities. and you hold your tongue as your partner seems to ignore you in favor of your more relaxed comrades.

and your fragile smile turns bitter and self deprecating as you stare at your lap. the alcohol is kicking in little by little due to the small sips you were taking. you feel your cheeks flush a bit as you pick at your plain nails.

you glance to your side and see their nails are far more manicured than yours. pretty colors adorn each fingers of theirs and puts yours to shame.

look at you, comparing yourself to the kind girls who took you out tonight. and they even paid for you to get in. and your drinks. you’re so ungrateful.

the cycle goes on as you sip at your drink. everyone seems to filter you out of the conversation. you quietly fade into the bass blasting as your vision seems to double. you should probably stop drinking.

but something filters through the jargon, the boy who was matched up with you speaks up with a funny tone.

“oh yeah, i used to do that shit all the time.”

your head cocks as you follow the boy’s line of sight to a girl on the dance floor. she’s dancing carelessly under the flashing lights. she has shorter hair like a boy’s. adorned in a leather jacket and skirt that rides up when she dances.

when you look at her, there seems to be no strings attached to her shoulders. the ones that you feel on yours ever since you’ve been acting nicely with these acquaintances.

completely and unapologetically herself.

but your eyes focus and you can see the faint outline of scars on her thighs. colored against the rest of her skin. there’s a lot of them across both thighs. a sign of struggle you’re all too familiar with. and your non dominant arm starts to itch under your jacket.

“it’s fucking funny right?

your head whips around to the guy sitting at your table. and he has a smile on his face, leaning back against the couch you’re sitting on. it’s too humid and your makeup feels caked on for some reason. there’s awkward laughs coming from the girls and cackles from the boys.

but it all sounds the same to you.

“it’s just some shit kids do.”

“everyone tries killing themselves.”

“just a phase everyone goes through.”

your eyes widen as your teeth find purchase on your lip. breaking the barrier of fruity product and biting off layers of skin. nobody seems to notice the shackles on your ankles and wrists. tying you to this table of ignorant words.

is that what suicide is to people?

a joke?

a phase that everyone goes through and eventually gets over?

vaguely, you hear your classmates argue with the guys. telling them that they shouldn’t talk like that about it. shouldn’t bring down the mood with that. they try switching the topic to something else. but your tipsy mind is still lagging behind on the topic that’s so very dear to you.

you wonder if it’s uncomfortable for them. if the very word is sickening.

what?

like killing yourself?

…

are you disgusting?

are you sickening?

you stand up abruptly after they're already knee deep in another conversation. you don’t bother excusing yourself. you just bolt into the bathroom. it’s a nice bathroom you have to admit. you are in a high end club after all.

there’s a girl vomiting in the toilet and her friend is quietly consoling her. there’s various flushes but you stand in front of the mirror. your eyes are bloodshot but no tears have come out. that’s good.

your makeup sits nicely on your face. but your bottom lip is chewed raw. you’re sure if you kept biting, it would start bleeding. but you ignore it. because your main concern is that your lips are doing this terrible pout.

are you upset?

no, you can’t be upset.

you force a smile to spread across your cheeks.

you don’t know where you are and you need your classmates to get home. you’re not dying yet and you’ll still have to see them at school. you have to be happy or else other people will ask what’s wrong. and what will you tell them?

be that pathetic teenager who’s going through a phase?

no.

you’re gonna suck it up like a big girl.

just like how you talk to mom.

because you don’t feel anything.

isn’t that right?

your resolve hardens and you resign yourself to more fake laughs. more tasteless jokes. more brushing aside of topics you know far too well and your opinions are far too big for.

and you hear your name called by a familiar voice. your head turns with that smile on your face. and you see an old friend.

oh.

they speak useless things. saying how they were wrong for how they treated you. apologizing for what they did to you. and how none of the things they had said was ever true.

and you stare at your fingers in front of the sink. picking at loose skin with a tense smile.

you wonder how you’re supposed to feel about this.

are you supposed to be happy that they’re taking back all the hurtful words they said to you years ago?

what the fuck do they expect from you?

then they ask if you’ll consider talking again. like friends do. like how you used to. before. before they berated you. before they instilled all of your insecurities full force back into your body. and they say they’re sorry. they say how they would do anything to have you forgive them.

to give them a second chance.

they ask if you want to talk tonight.

but it’s up to you.

i would never want to cross any boundaries with you.

a smile twitches onto your face. and you wordlessly hum and nod at them. you hide your trembling hands behind your back and sigh a little.

there’s a ball of burning hot fire building in your chest. threatening to escape through your eyes and your teeth dig into your lip. finally breaking into the skin and blood seeps into your mouth.

you force out a laugh. strangled. but they don’t seem to care or understand how you feel about them. they care about their own retribution. their own guilt to make things right with you.

to be friends with you again.

because they’re so fucking nice. they’re so fucking kind to be able to own up to their mistakes, aren’t they?

it makes you sick to your stomach. the alcohol you consumed dangerously churning with your bubbling emotions.

“oh maybe. not right now, i’m a little busy.”

“of course. well, have a goodnight.”

when the bathroom door swings closed, you stare back at yourself in the mirror. not a touch of your makeup is out of place. just sweat beading in your forehead. and you fruitlessly try to brush your hair into a more kempt style with your fingers.

moving strands here, pushing it up, flattening it down. and nothing is looking good. nothing is fucking working. an unattractive noise is surging up from your lips. the heat escaping from your throat finally.

“why are you crying, girl? i would kill for my ex friend to say something like that!!”

a girl calls out from the stall. and your eyes flare with tears once again. a hand covering your mouth to stifle the hideous sounds that threaten to crawl out even more.

why?

why does it matter what they think?

why does it matter if they didn’t mean it? what worth is it that they’re apologizing now? like it didn’t happen? like what you went through wasn’t real?

you should be happy.

you’ve waited years to hear this.

but….

why was it you in the first place?

why does it feel improper to be angry? why are you still angry? why are you so fucking mad?

you stare pathetically back in the mirror. your mascara is smudged around your eyelids and your pout is back. that disgusting thing that stops you from smiling. you try to pat your hair back into place since you had started pulling on it. and you realize something.

your eyes, your nose, your chin, your face.

your lips are pulled into an incredulous smile as tears fall down your face. your hands pause where they hold your hair.

you’re so fucking ugly.

you’d known it the whole night. of course you did. those pictures, the way the guys had looked at you all. the way your body looks in these stupid fucking clothes. your hair, your arms, your thighs-

you knew that.

you feel like your lungs are going to give out. your neck is burning. your head is going to implode.

why had you tried so hard to be nice?

why are you….

you burst out of the bathroom. not willing to look at yourself in that mirror any longer. you don’t need to. the disgusting reminder in your brain is enough.

and you immerse yourself back in the darkness. the music. the too loud bass. stomping back to your table as you grab one of the soju bottles and laugh as you down it. people say soju tastes better than all other alcohol, you don’t believe them.

it burns thick with the tears dribbling down your face as you drain the half empty bottle completely. your acquaintances ask where you’ve been and the boys gawk at your change in behavior.

“w-what’s up with you? don’t you think you’re acting strange?”

“mm…. hey.”

not even acknowledging their concerns, your fingers grip the girl’s shoulders. the closest one who was sitting next to you. the one who looped her arms around yours as she pulled you to the table. the one who had asked you to go out in the first place.

“whyd you ask me to go out in the first place? hm?”

your fingers dig into her shoulders with all of the feelings you’ve been holding back all night. it’s anger that’s not really deserved. there’s five thousand more things you’re more upset about. but you’re not thinking all that straight anyway.

“you’re not my fucking friend, yeah? all of you people are fucking disgusting.”

you gesture to the entire table. to these people who didn’t consider your existence as a real thing. and your lips quirk up before you laugh in her face. the girls gape and the boy who was sitting across from you grins something feral.

you almost forgot that you’re on borrowed time. who cares about any of this? why the hell should you spare anyone’s feelings? ruin their nights? who cares about any of that?

you twirl around laughing, your buzz from earlier finally feeling real again. you felt sober when you were in the bathroom. that’s not something you need right now! don’t people say you can blackout and forget things when you drink enough? that’s exactly that you need.

you need to forget!

your feet seem to read your mind and carry you to the dance floor. and you sway to music you don’t care for and bop your head to songs you don’t know. you think of that woman with scars. so free. alive.

and you throw your head back with a smile. the earrings your acquaintance lent dangling from your ears. you stare at the changing colored lights on the ceiling. not a single thought inside of your head.

just like when you doom scroll on your phone when your parents are in the house. just like how you listen to music so you don’t have to hear your thoughts. just like when you distract yourself with wolf’s injuries.

if you don’t think, it’s easier.

you don’t realize someone’s behind you. and your day dreaming is interrupted with someone grinding against you. the soju you downed is making you sluggish, unable to properly turn and hit whoever is rudely stopping your self soothing.

until you realize, there’s no more singing voices and there’s yelling. a hand wraps around your shoulders and you’re pulled away. and under the changing colors, you see hair that goes from purple to green to red to blue.

the person with the rainbow hair has pulled the nameless boy who was sitting across from you back up from the ground by his collar. a bruise that’s darkened under his skin. and you see a glimpse of those sharp eyes. teeth that dig into his bottom lip.

you see those stupid KANZO branded shoes and your heart lurches. the first smile you haven’t had to force all night.

ah.

…

“shit- wolf’s going to fucking kill that guy.”

hwangmo has his arm slung around the girl’s waist. because she’s stumbling around as she seems transfixed on his boss. or something. he guesses that is his boss huh?

wolf had called for everyone to go blow the money in the rec funds. the violet haired boy wanted to go to the private rooms but hayden asked if they could reserve a table close to the dance floor. hwangmo suggested they should just go to the private room like always but wolf interjected. shrugging with a yawn.

“just fucking reserve it. i don’t fucking care.”

well, that put the end to that conversation.

hwangmo doesn’t know if wolf hated it or vaguely enjoyed it. he hadn’t shown any change to his personality to being in a louder environment. just quietly sipped his beer like he would any other time they went to blow off the rec funds. and hayden did what he had planned to do since suggesting they blew off the rec funds in the actual club.

talking to girls.

and the two other boys had followed, chuckling to themselves with soju and beer on their breaths. all three of them stumbled like idiots toward the dance floor. and hwangmo wonders how the hell they’d pick up girls when they’re underage and some of them really look that part.

the bass is thumping and wolf already has a cigarette in his mouth despite the multiple no smoking signs. flashing lights blind his eyes intermittently but he busies himself with people watching.

hwangmo isn’t interested in picking up girls. he’s sure most of them want to be left alone on nights like this. he can tell from the many single girls on the dance floor just having fun. it reminds him of his mom in a weird way.

he takes another bite of the food as he thanks the waitress for bringing more. the club is kind of boring if he had to say so himself. he’d rather preferred to be in the private room like always where he can actually hear people speak.

but hey, wolf said “he didn’t give a fuck” and what wolf wants, wolf gets.

it’s a decently uneventful night. hayden came back pouting like a little bitch that a bunch of girls rejected him. to which hwangmo laughed, of course. exactly how it goes every single time. wolf had even ordered three servings of hwangmo’s favorite.

he’s sure it was just because wolf liked kebabs too but it still made him feel good as he drank a beer. and all was going okay until he saw wolf staring at the dance floor. and he’s confused because he didn’t think wolf was the type to leer at girls. hwangmo didn’t really think he considered them as people but he keeps that thought to himself.

as his eyes are drawn to what wolf sees, he captures a glance of the girl that seems to stick by his boss’ side. her face is flushed, clearly inebriated as she’s carelessly dancing in her own little world. not privy to the people who are staring at her as she dances away.

his vision splits between her and wolf. the person he takes orders from is staring with laser focus. eyes tracking her like a predator but his face stays monotone. his expression not betraying anything inside of the boy.

he can’t say hes surprised. the only emotions hes seen on wolf’s face has been detached amusement, anger, and nothing at all. wolf doesnt care for anything thats not money or adrenaline.

but hwangmo has a good eye. he’s been able to read his mom’s twitch of her eyebrow and know if she had a bad day at work or his dad called her. he can read the twitch in wolf’s lip and know to reassure that they triple counted the money.

and wolf right now, even shadowed under the dark of the club, he can see fondness in his eyes. but there’s a twitch in them too. irritated. he wonders why. maybe it’s her clothes and maybe it’s the fact she’s in a club.

wolf doesn’t talk much about his life. hwangmo only knows about the girl on the dance floor through her presence stuck to wolf’s side every so often. the delinquent doesn’t mention her presence. when asked, his eyebrows raise and he rolls his eyes. other times, he just says she’s fucking annoying.

but everything peaceful in hwangmo’s life always fades away sadly. and the next second, wolf bumps into the table from shooting up like a torpedo. and hwangmo stammers as he sees some guy rubbing up on her from behind. disgusted but he’s beat to the punch literally by wolf as he practically flies from their table to the jaw of the guy.

which takes hwangmo to outside of the club. he hadn’t drank a lot, thank fucking god. because carrying a drunk person is like carrying santa’s 7 billion presents slung across your shoulders. and these presents keep giggling and stumbling around, trying to get away.

“ohhhh oh! you’re aaahhhh that guy! that guy my dog liiiikes.”

a snort leaves him as he hoists you up against him. very careful where he puts his hands out of respect for you and for his own safety from wolf.

he keeps forgetting that she thinks of wolf as her dog. which is insane to him because he thinks wolf is the scariest fucking dog that ever walked the earth then.

“you’re funny.”

“well- i mean yer haircut’s kinda ugly- oh wait why’d you cut your- pahahahaha!!”

…

you don’t even bring up anything you were talking about before… just catching a glimpse of the hair his sisters had cut in his sleep and bursting out laughing. hwangmo isnt very acquainted with you, so he doesnt know your habits.

but you dont laugh like this in class. and when you have spoken with people other than wolf, youre quiet. withdrawn. bored even. he’s seen it at the meetings you’ve attended and when you talk to your classmates.

but like this, so outspoken and casual, he can see why wolf keeps you around.

wolf is addicted to adrenaline and the fact you can say such things to him- someone who’s taller and a little wider. it probably satiates wolf’s need for something to shoot into his veins. whether that be cigarettes or fighting.

you seem to fit the category.

you lean against him as he tries to help you back to a part of town you hopefully know.

“do you have your phone?”

“yeaaaahhh but it’s dead hehehe.”

“what the hell- what did you even use it on?”

“doomscrollingggg duh!”

jeez.

she’s a handful.

he tries asking for your address but you mumble that you don’t wanna go back there. he’s getting desperate here and wolf isn’t answering any of his texts. he hopes wolf runs before he gets caught as a minor in the club.

as he’s on his 7th “she’s drunk and she doesn’t know where she is” text. he gets a phone call from his mom. and as you’re mumbling song lyrics, he presses his phone to his ear.

and he goes rigid as his mom is shrill. sobbing and crying that one of his sisters has an awful fever and has been throwing up all day. that she needs to get medicine but she can’t leave his sisters alone.

and he bites his lip and tells her to hang on til tomorrow. he can’t possibly abandon the only person who ever gets to wolf in a way no one else can. wolf had told him to get her somewhere safe. and who knows what wolf would do to him if he just left her alone.

but his mom is screaming in his ear and he’s starting to sweat.

fuck.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

what is he supposed to do?

unbeknownst to him, the girl next to him has gone quiet. listening to his conversation with a sobering feeling. that this boy has a life he needs to attend to. and you’re someone else’s dirty laundry.

oh.

you see.

you’re being a nuisance.

before your eyes can gloss over, you force a smile on your lips. biting back tears with all of the drunken will of a sailor trying not to fall off their ship.

your arm slips off hwangmo’s shoulders. your wobbling feet are suddenly straight as an arrow. and they carry you forward. you turn and face hwangmo with a grin. and he’s standing there with his phone still clutched to his ear.

it’s so easy.

“hey- you shouldn’t be-“

you flash jazz hands and a grin at him. sauntering to him confidently as that same feeling it’s pouring down your chest cavity like a kid being told they’re too loud. and he’s surprised and confused. but you see it, a flicker of it.

relief.

…

you are completely fine.

“i’m okay! you should go see your family.”

he seems conflicted over the prospect of leaving you. and you can tell it’s his own good heart that’s unwilling to just leave a vulnerable girl alone. and he looks around, worried.

but you flash your most confident smile. flicking your hand away, telling him that you’ll get home in your own. you didn’t drink that much anyway. you just really like being drunk.

the taller boy gives you a smile. exhausted but grateful.

“okay, get home safe.”

pressing his phone to his ear as he runs down the sidewalk. you hear him soothing his mom, telling her to wait til he’s home so he can take care of his sister.

no wonder he’s good at providing for wolf.

your brought back to your own reality. heels in your hand. borrowed clothes that smell unfamiliar. and a part of the city you’ve never been in.

…

your feet carry you down the sidewalk. you can vaguely tell you’re in the city still. the buildings loom over your stumbling figure and no one takes a second look your way. no grandma asks what’s wrong and no kind passerby points out that you look like a minor.

the signs are blending together and you can barely tell the characters apart. to be honest, every billboard could have the hit actor Lee Jun Young on it and you probably wouldn’t be able to tell. which is crazy because you love Lee Jun Young.

…

you’re don’t… really know where you are.

you were brought here as an extra for a group date you didn’t consent to. put makeup on you that doesn’t fit. approached by old friends who don’t realize their impact on you. used by others to appease their own feelings.

is that all you’re good for?

your mind rings back to your mother’s kind face. to your phone that’s been dead since you arrived at the club. these clothes that fit you awkwardly. and your jacket that hides your most humiliating secret.

you’re going to die anyway.

so why aren’t you just doing it already? why don’t you just lie down in your bed and die? why can’t you?

your body is really really tired. all the weight from the night is crushing you to the ground. your feet trip on an awkward piece of the sidewalk and you stumble onto the ground. flakes of dirt hit your arms as you skin your knees. these clothes not doing any favors for you.

so you slump against this random building. with skinned knees and an arm that never heals. and all of the tears that had pooled into your heart seem to crack you open. all the anxiety from hiding from your responsibilities break the dam of emotionless you claim to have.

stubborn tears roll down your face as you bury your face in your arms. hiccuping and wailing muffled cries into your sleeves.

is this not too much for one person to handle? haven’t you been through enough? why are you being punished?

because you’re not a good person? because you’re not a good daughter? that’s not fair. no one ever listened to you like it mattered. that’s not fair. you never got a chance to say your feelings in the first place.

you just smiled and took it all. you always take it all. you feel like pieces of your heart don’t even belong to you anymore. you’re not a person. you’re something to be used and thrown away when you’re not useful anymore.

a fist balls in your hand and you hit your head over and over and over and over again. it’s not going away. why isn’t any of it going away?

two sides of your consciousness push and pull at your head. screaming at you. crying at you.

you hate yourself

you deserve all of this.

but none of this is fair!

everyone makes mistakes!

but you’re the exception.

you don’t deserve kindness. you don’t deserve a second chance. other people do, but you don’t. because at your core- you’re nothing but a rotten person. and you ruin everything you touch. everyone else is better than you.

none of this makes sense and it only deserves to make yourself even more confused. and angry. angry at yourself and angry at everyone else.

you hate that you think like this. you hate that it’s so confusing. you hate that you can’t sort out your own emotions. you hate everyone else for treating you like this. you hate that you feel bad for being angry.

you want your dog.

why isn’t he coming? doesn’t he always come when you’re like this? he beat up that guy in the club, why can’t he come get you now? he came when kitty died. he came to give you that necklace.

at the thought of the necklace, you grip onto the ashes of the stray like a lifeline.

just fists hitting you instead of these tears would be better. him kicking you to the side would be like falling into a bed. him pulling your head up by your hair would feel soothing.

you want your dog to bark at other people again. you want him to snarl and bite everyone who’s ever hurt you. you want him to try fruitlessly to pick you up. you nuzzle your cheek so you wake up from this terrible dream.

you want wolf keum.

why isn’t he coming to save you?

…

your head picks up from where you’ve been sobbing into your arms for the past 30 minutes. the cars whirring past. how is it still so busy? is it because it’s a friday?

it’s a long street with lots of lanes that stretches in front of you. and you realize something. something you always think about when you’re alone with your thoughts.

your eyes measure how fast each of the cars are going. you look at the speed limit and calculate if it’s fast enough. it looks like it is.

maybe if you keep walking, there’s an overpass. maybe if you keep walking, there’s a bridge. maybe you can run to the subway. the alcohol is making you antsy. and your mind runs with possibilities but your body isn’t obeying.

you can only sit there with makeup that’s run far down past your face and a heart that refuses to stop beating.

maybe this is enough.

maybe it is fast enough.

you can’t hold on anymore. you don’t care about how many months you have left. you can’t do it anymore. you keep working to pay back everything you’ve taken for being alive but if you die now, wouldn’t that be less money wasted in the long run?

how much farther do you have to keep going?

what if you lose your nerve when you’re sober? what if you find a reason to keep going? you can’t have that. because deep down, it’ll always be there. even if you get better. even if you can smile and your heart won’t be so bitter and angry and anxious.

even if you get better, you still won’t be allowed to live.

slowly, you stand up.

and your vision swims.

you leave the heels that were put on your feet behind. you don’t need useless shit like that now.

one foot forward.

you feel asphalt.

one more foot forward, you feel the wind of a car whizzing by.

one more, you hear cars honking.

then you’re yanked backwards.

people are flipping you off through their windows. there’s so many cars honking and you’re stumbling back onto the sidewalk. a warm hand gripping your wrist hard enough to leave bruises.

“are you a fucking idiot?! don’t tell me you’re fucking blind and deaf now!”

the voice you’ve been longing to hear.

boyish and raspy. why is it raspy? has he been yelling at his subordinates lately?

“wolf.”

what do you want to say? that you don’t have a lot of time? that you think about dying everyday? that his words when you were crying on that convenience store floor still echo in your head and make you think twice?

what do you want to tell wolf?

“you stupid bitch! do you know how fucking long i was looking for you?! why the fuck did you tell hwangmo to leave?!”

should you tell him that he’s been your one motivation for living for months? that you’d probably fall apart if he left you? that you were so close to giving up on staying alive for even a messy few more months?

wolf is a rude and mean person but rude and mean is all you have. an asshole is all you find comfort in. and somehow, his harsh personality curls you deeper. hiding yourself in the wolf’s mane and being consumed by the warmth.

you want help.

you need help.

“what?! can you not fucking talk again?! why the fuck did you do that?!”

it’s the first time you’ve ever seen wolf really lose his temper with you. his cheeks are flushed and his ears are red. his glasses slipping off his nose from sweat. there is no smile to hide his frustration. there is no detached nonchalance.

you want to ask him why he looks so scared.

your dog does not beg. your dog not whimper in defeat. why is he biting your shirt and dragging you away from the inevitable?

oh, your dog is so pretty. the whites in his eyes are turning bloodshot. you wonder if he drank too much. he’s yelling at you but it rings hollow in your ears. the alcohol swimming in your head. the words you want him to know jumble in your mouth.

you open your mouth.

im scared.

i’m scared.

please help me.

tell me to keep going.

…

“i like you.”

the whisper leaves your lips and you grab both sides of his face. you watch his face twist into an emotion you can’t name. maybe dumbfounded by your words. confused. unable to tell how he can even react to it.

“i like you, keum seongje.”

no pleading leaves your lips. a clumsy lie you tell wolf to cover up the real secrets you want to spill so badly. and you’re sure, he wouldn’t like you back. how could he?

and you smile gleefully as he stops scolding you. he freezes in place as you curl your fingers in his hair and lean forward.

you kiss keum seongje.

drunk and scared and wanting to end your life.

chasing the lie on your lips with something that will convince him to forget about your feet that had walked so easily in front of so many cars. checking off another box to do before you kill yourself.

because no, you’ve never had your first kiss before.

and no, you don’t actually like wolf keum.

///

taglist: @cielopain @lov3vivian @seonloveskeumseongje @leejieum112 @2zombvee @megumikeeptalkingimalmostthere @beomgloo @t4nghulu @v1yuk11 @waywardjellyfist @xiaos-pretty-eyes @juliebluu @hollowpure @ivyzhere @screwschooliloveanime @lingxio @gisellena @bimbosvt @kkbooks0813 @mel-0-n @lane-kim-reincarnated @ireallywanttokmsrn

sorry this chapter took like two montjhs.

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