A little over six months ago, Minho would've never thought about drinking.

But here he is, lips pressed up against a glass of cheap vodka amidst the suffocating environment of the local bar. The bar where tuneless voices drunkenly shout along to the equally loud music, playing so loud it can be heard on the streets.

It's enough to give Minho the worst headache combined with a hangover of a lifetime.

Sour. Dirty. The distasteful sensation in his mouth is almost as dirty as the unwashed shot glass resting in the hold of his fingers.

He almost gags when the vodka burns and scratches at the inside of his throat, an uncomfortable dryness left behind. Minho can't recall the last time he enjoyed drinking—if there had ever been a time he enjoyed the bitter taste of hard liquor to begin with.

For the past few months, he's barely gotten by with how his bank account depletes.

Instant noodles, cheap alcohol, and tap water are keeping him going in the nourishment department, even if he gains no thrill from filling his stomach. He only tries eating to ensure he won't completely wither away in his pigsty of an apartment—clothes and other bits scrambled all over the floor.

He'd be lying to say he's never thought about giving up, and he questions why he tries sometimes.

With the emptiness of his emotions rippling through his body, and fatigue swallowing him whole, it's hard to reason with the sliver of will to survive.

Why he even bothers eating (and watching as the cheap ramen eats away at his wallet), or even trying to show interest in his job applications, is a mystery.

Believe it or not, there had been a time when Minho was happy.

An estimated six and a half months ago, where he had been in a blooming, frivolous relationship with the likes of upperclassman Kim Joonho.

In all fairness, Joonho is a good-looking guy, with a big smile and an even bigger dick, and Minho had no issue with giving himself up to him.

They were picture-perfect: a blend of everything sweet, saccharine, and sexy. They were a rollercoaster of undoubted love, every twist and turn of their relationship getting resolved with sweet–sweet lovemaking to end the night.

Joonho filled the hole in Minho's heart that was once unloved, once entirely unattended to.

But, all rollercoasters come to an ultimate end. Some crash.

Minho and Joonho crashed—blew up into a beautiful mess of sparks and ashes.

To make matters worse, he was completely blind-sighted by it all. For the entirety of their picture-perfect relationship, something sinister brewed beneath Minho's nose.

Minho vividly remembers the out-of-body paralysis he felt when coming home a tad bit too early after canceling on a coffee run with his friends. He remembers the happy jingle of his keys as he hummed along to the corny pop music blasting in his earphones.

He remembers how the pop music tuned out completely over the grunting, the moaning, the panted 'I love you's reverberating throughout his apartment.

Vulnerability. Disgust. Anger. Denial.

Minho remembers how he could hear his heart shattering in his chest. This isn't real, his brain clung to desperately, someone wake me up from this nightmare. That's all this was, right? A nightmare.

The rest of the events are a blur.

Minho knows he screamed, he knows he yelled at Joonho and the young brunet he had brought into his apartment—"a disgusting, filthy-fucking whore", he had called the paramour in question.

Minho remembers the heated argument that followed after the boy had scurried out of the apartment—a deep, pulsating incision left in their relationship that nighttime lovemaking couldn't fix.

Minho still has physical scars from that day.

They're healing, but the emotional scars have yet to follow suit.

Joonho and his new boyfriend are happy, happier than Minho and Joonho ever were. As an outsider obsessively peering in, they're the picture-perfect relationship Minho had been pretending his own was.

"Get me another, please," Minho manages to slur out. At this point, he's barely holding onto the thread of life—drowning away in the destructive comfort of alcohol in whatever sleazy bar's open to offer it.

The alcohol serves as a companion of sorts...when Minho's all alone and in need of something to make him feel better.

"You've had like—what—six of these?" the bartender asks him, a light chuckle weaved into his question. "I'd slow down if I were you, cutie."

"Please, I look like shit," Minho giggles back, his vision so blurred that he can't make out the features on the bartender's face. In fact, the bartender's voice sounds slightly distorted, echoing to Minho just how drunk he is: damn. "Just get me another, will you?"

The bartender, whose name Minho thinks is Felix (from squinting impossibly hard to read his nameplate), looks as though he wants to hesitate on pursuing Minho's request, but ultimately can't.

"Having a rough night, I presume?" Felix asks, his gaze scanning Minho's face as if to pull a wordless answer from him.

"You could say that," Minho slurs with a heavy-weighted shrug.

Yeah, I'm still not over my ex-boyfriend cheating on me with some cheap, 'street-whore'. But everything's fine.

"How about this...I'll call you a cab, you go home, and get some sleep?" Felix meekly offers, setting the liquor bottle to the side. "I don't want murder by alcohol poisoning on my record."

"Just get me another drink," Minho says, voice sharp with demand. Felix's eyes widen with shock, understandably so with the sudden aggression lacing Minho's tone. "I'm not paying you to babysit me."

"You're hurting," Felix tries, the professional facade slipping further. "Everyone in this bar can see that. You need a break, and honestly, I wish there was someone to tell me that way back when. Alcohol will fuck you up."

That much is true. Minho knows of the disease that is alcoholism by watching his father spiral down a similar path.

Alcohol is accessible for consumption, but if you have too much of it, it will consume you. It'll make you violent. It'll make your children look at you and see a monster instead of a man. Alcohol poisoned his father in more ways than one—taking control of his sanity and turning him into something inhumane.

Alcohol drove his father straight into an inevitable death.

Still, alcohol is the only way Minho knows to soothe his heartbreak.

After all, alcohol will never leave him. Just as Joonho promised.

On too many nights cuddled up in Minho's bed, Joonho swore he'd never leave Minho. He told Minho that if they fell apart, they'd come back together 'cause soulmates always find their way back to each other.

Joonho promised Minho that he'd always be Minho's, and vice versa. Joonho promised Minho that they would never, ever fall into ruin. And Minho believed him, albeit, foolishly.

Alcohol doesn't need to promise. Minho knows that no matter where he goes, his mind-altering companion will be there, waiting for him.

"It'll be the last one," Minho insists, his tastebuds begging for the sour taste of liquor rested upon it. "Then I'll go home."

Felix squints his eyes quizzically, untrusting.

Minho doesn't blame him. He, too, knows better than to trust the intoxicated mouth of a raging alcoholic. He learned that from his father. He learned that from Joonho.

The bubbly bartender hesitates, chewing on his lips in contemplation. "Fine, but if you want another drink after this one, you'll need to ask someone else."

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Minho's world stilled, the murky red of his favorite wine overflowing in its respective glass and spilling all over the counter. The red clashed beautifully with the white marbled kitchen counter Minho stood motionlessly at.

Blood. A part of him wished that his 'comfort wine' was blood.

What?!

"What did you just say?" Minho sounded downright murderous, his tone successful in startling his best friend far more than intended. "No, repeat yourself, Chan."

"Joonho's dating him, the brunet," Chan repeated, though Minho was painfully aware of every facet of Chan's sentence.

Minho heard Chan loud and clear, but the repetition solidified it all, making the rumors undeniably true, and setting Joonho's new relationship in stone. "They've actually been together for a long time now—"

"I get it, Chan," Minho spat, having emptied the wine bottle of its contents entirely. Blood. Minho wished the crimson-colored wine were blood. Joonho, the filthy-fucking cheater's blood. "Hah, I get it."

Minho had been trying his best to be an adult about everything.

He was twenty-five and old enough to be mature about getting his heart shattered into pieces—first, losing his father, and now, losing the one person he fought so hard to keep.

Minho was trying his best to be an adult, trying his best to tap into his maturity built from that same adulthood.

But it had been haunting him all month.

Fortunately for Minho, the weeks following his breakup went by fairly smoothly. Unusually smoothly.

Minho cried for a day or two before deluding himself into believing he was over Joonho, and hadn't cried since. He hadn't spoken with Joonho ever since their breakup, the only reminder of their failed relationship being the scab-covered scars and healing bruises littering Minho's body.

'You're mature, mature people don't cry' Minho would tell himself when dwelling on his relationship. 'You're over him, you're definitely over him' had become the mantra of his discombobulated life post-breakup.

"You said you were getting over him," Chan spoke cautiously, reaching out a comforting hand. "You said you were over him," he corrected, taking the empty wine bottle out of Minho's trembling, red-stained hands.

Blood. Minho wished the red on his palms was Joonho's blood. It terrified him.

"I am over him," Minho insisted, taking a smooth swig from his overflowing wine glass. "Just shocked, is all. Surprised anyone would date that slimy son of a bitch—"

"Right," Chan interjected, peering inquisitively at the spilled wine glass all over the kitchen. "You need help cleaning all that, Min?"

Chan's voice was calm, tentative, as if he knew he was treading in sensitive territory and didn't want Minho to crack.

Minho sighed, and shook his head. "No, I've got it."

Minho knew he was over Joonho. He was mature and mature people don't cry—or wish for someone's blood.

He had to be over his ex, even if his heart still felt like it was breaking every time he thought of his ex-boyfriend with that brown-haired, brown-eyed, slimy son of a bitch.

He was over Joonho, and he was getting better.

Minho was finally getting over Joonho. He had to be.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Minho knows that Felix (the cute and bubbly bartender) is only looking out for him, but he's too far gone to heed the warning.

So he simply nods his head, and with a heavy sigh, Felix passes him the drink.

As Minho takes the shot glass and brings it up to his lips, he can't help but wonder why he continues to do this to himself—why he continues to drown himself in a pool of self-destructive thoughts and actions.

Maybe for the same reason why he's still buying drinks at the bar, or why he's still living in his shitty apartment, that's still graced with Joonho's lingering touch, or why he's still applying for jobs he doesn't want.

Maybe it's because he's still holding onto Joonho's promise, that soulmates always find their way back to each other.

Maybe it's because he's still waiting for Joonho to come back.

Minho closes his eyes and brings the drink to his lips, taking a sip. He can feel the burn of the liquor in his throat, his mouth, and the regurgitating nausea in his stomach.

Minho knows that drinking won't make Joonho come back, but it's the only thing that will ease the pain of his broken heart—the only thing that will keep him from completely shattering and disappearing into a pile of dust.

So, he'll drink.

Because maybe, just maybe, if he drinks enough, he'll forget that Joonho ever existed.

Minho takes one final sip before placing the shot glass back on the counter.

He knows he's had too much to drink, but he can't help but take one last shot before Felix whisks him away to his apartment.

author's note.

Thank you for reading! I would like to reiterate
that this story gets VERY dark in this act.💔

In future acts, not so much.

But this provides all the context and is the
heaviest read/tallest hurdle. I hope you
enjoyed!

Let me know your thoughts!