Glass after glass, Jongin downed the sweet red wine as if it were water. The waiter gaped, his free hand reaching for the artist to try and stop him, but Jongin paid the other male no mind and emptied the five glasses on the metal tray in quick succession. His throat burned from the sudden rush of alcohol, but he welcomed the feeling as electric sparks flowed through his veins, starting from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He breathed heavily while slamming the fifth empty glass on the refreshment table, his chest noticeably heaving and his eyes screwed shut. Both of his hands were now clutching the edge of the table and his bangs fell over the top half of his face as droplets of sweat began beading across his smooth forehead.

“Um, s-sir?”

“What?” Jongin growled sharply as the familiar pounding sensation ravaged his head now that the alcohol was starting to take effect.

The waiter squeaked as he flinched backwards, holding the metal tray protectively across his chest. “D-do you n-need anything? P-perhaps a s-seat or some w-water?”

No, he didn’t want that. All he wanted was more. More alcohol. More of a buzz. More of this wonderful numbness to flow through his tired body.

The artist lifted his head and turned to the waiter with a piercing gaze. “Where can I get more wine?”

“I, uh, d-don’t think that’s such a g-good idea, s-sir. L-let me bring you a g-glass of w-water instead—”

“I don’t need water.” Jongin narrowed his eyes as his cheeks began burning and his mind began blanking. “If you aren’t going to give me more wine, I’ll find some by myself.”

“But, s-sir, I really d-don’t think—”

Before the waiter could finish speaking, Jongin pushed himself off of the table and began walking towards another refreshment table in search of more alcohol. On the way, he spied a gigantic platter topped with foie gras appetizers. The last time he had eaten duck or goose liver was more than a year ago in Paris and the prettily garnished food seemed to be calling out to him. The tea sandwiches that he had snacked on earlier were long forgotten, and Jongin decided he would feast on foie gras and wine while he was here. At the very least, this overrated after-party could feed him well.

The artist messily swept a handful of appetizers onto a new plate, not caring that they were falling on top of each other and ruining the aesthetic. The food would eventually become waste in his body, so who cared what it looked like if the final product only ended up in the sewage system anyway? What a waste of time and effort to painstakingly create something that would eventually turn into rubbish.

As he ambled towards the next refreshment table, keeping his eyes peeled for any wine glasses, Jongin mildly thought to himself that he had missed the rich, buttery taste of duck and goose liver after popping an appetizer into his mouth. He wondered why he hadn’t eaten this in so long, because it seemed absolutely criminal to not gorge on delectable food like this whenever he wanted to.

His mind was already fogging up from the alcohol, so it took him several minutes to finally recall that he and Yixing had sworn off foie gras after realizing how immoral it was that so many ducks and geese were being force-fed to appease the greedy appetites of humans. Well, it had been Yixing’s idea and Jongin had gone along with it to avoid being guilt-tripped any further by the manager. Nonetheless, it was for a good cause, so the artist hadn’t minded.

But right now, he could care less about animal rights.

His life . Their lives . The entire world .

So the artist wouldn’t deny himself these delicious treats tonight, especially since they were free; anything free always tasted much better. And paired with some wine, he’d be set for the night.

Who needed Yixing or Sehun? Who needed anyone, in general, at this godforsaken party?

Not Kim Jongin, king of impostors and failed artists.

All he needed were his best friends: unlimited red wine and foie gras appetizers.

--

Yixing couldn’t believe it had taken so long for him to find the restroom in this gigantic ballroom. He had been forced to climb the giant winding staircase at the other side of the room to reach the second floor, where he had been confronted with three identical hallways and no signs to point him in the right direction. It was like a maze on the second floor, completely contrasting the openness of the first floor, and the manager had made more left turns in his search for the restroom than he had ever made in his life so far.

At the very least, the restroom had been relatively empty when he finally found it. But then there was the dilemma of finding his way back to the staircase leading down to the first floor. Yixing silently cursed the building’s designer for making this so inconvenient and he couldn’t wait to grab some food after running around virtually every corner of the second floor.

The first floor was even more packed upon his return, most likely due to more people arriving, so the manager carefully weaved his way through the crowd. Along the way, he spotted Sehun and Donghae in deep conversation with a number of fashion designers, and Park Jimin was still attached to the model’s arm as he animatedly jabbered away to the group. Yixing wished that more artists or museum patrons were at the after-party instead of fashion designers; it had been months since he’d last made any sort of professional connection with anyone and he was itching to network. If only Jongin weren’t such a stubborn mule.

When he finally reached the area that he had left the artist at, Yixing scanned around for Jongin, who was nowhere to be seen. Where could the artist be? He had promised to stay put, but there was no sign of him in the immediate vicinity.

His heart began to race as the manager anxiously looked for Jongin. His pace also quickened as he walked around, briefly glancing at every person he passed in his search. Yixing continued reassuring himself that his friend couldn’t have gone far; Jongin was most likely sulking in a corner to avoid speaking to anyone at the party. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something like that lately.

But then the manager’s gaze finally alighted on a drunk male sitting alone at a table while surrounded by dozens of wine glasses, some empty and some filled with red wine. Anger began coursing through him like wildfire as he marched over with his fists balled tightly at his sides.

“What are you doing?!” Yixing screeched when he saw the state that the artist was in.

Jongin blearily looked at his friend through half-lidded eyes before picking up another glass of wine, his hand uncontrollably shaking from how much he had already consumed. “Oh… You’re back… Took you…long enough…” he slowly answered, his words slurring thickly, as he held up the glass to his lips.

The manager’s right hand immediately shot forward and grabbed the wine glass away. The sudden action caused the red liquid to slosh wildly and several droplets flew onto Jongin’s face. “How much have you had?!” The volume of Yixing’s voice had elevated even more, causing others who were nearby to turn and stare curiously at the pair. Whispers traveled around as they pointed at Jongin, not trying at all to be subtle. With that, the manager realized people were watching and gossiping, so Yixing consciously exhaled in an effort to calm down before saying in a dangerously low tone, “We are going home right now.”

Jongin ignored him and tried to take back the wine glass, but his hand-eye coordination was completely butchered by the copious amounts of alcohol in his system. “Give it…back, Yixing…”

“No,” the manager immediately responded through gritted teeth. “Do you even know what state you’re in at the moment?! I was only gone for fifteen minutes—fifteen freaking minutes—and I come back to see you like this.”

His friend’s barbed words stung and Jongin’s expression turned stormy as he glared at the one person he thought would support him wholeheartedly instead of attack him. It wasn’t his fault that he had been left alone, left behind as if he were a piece of garbage. Maybe if Yixing hadn’t left in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. A good manager would have made sure the artist was happy and well. Yes, it was all Yixing’s fault.

And it was Sehun’s fault too. His best friend was off gathering numbers and contacts like the superstar he was, and forgetting about the one who had helped him jumpstart his extremely successful modeling career in the first place.

How ungrateful.

And Donghae had never even glanced once at the artist to appreciate his work. The scout had only used Jongin to find the gem that was Oh Sehun and hadn’t even bothered to say thank you.

What a leech.

And Park Jimin, who was the most overrated fashion designer he had ever seen, even had the gall to try to be chummy with the artist. As if Jongin would ever collaborate with the likes of Park Jimin.

That was the joke of the century.

Jongin threw his head back to laugh derisively, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. The world was filled with parasitic fakes. People were only using him to further their own agendas and wanted to out all they could from him, leaving him dry and empty when they were through. They didn’t care whatsoever about his feelings or what he wanted. It was all about their selfish desires.

Well, too bad for them.

Because he had nothing in him in the first place. So they were just wasting their time with a loser like him.

“I’m going…to drink more…wine and…you can’t…stop me…” Jongin declared as he unsteadily stood up from his seat and towered over his manager, whose eyes flashed darkly. The artist was so inebriated at this point that he almost tripped over his feet and if Yixing hadn’t been there to catch him, the drunk male would have fallen flat on his face.

“You’re creating a scene, you dolt!” the manager hissed as he buckled slightly under Jongin’s weight. “I’m calling a taxi right now and you’re going straight to bed when we get home.”

“But I said…that I don’t want…to go home yet…” the artist answered while struggling to get out of Yixing’s grasp. “So let go…of me…and find…Sehun instead… Everyone…loves him… There’s no one…who loves…or appreciates me…”

“I don’t want to find Sehun. I am taking you home, because you are drunk out of your mind and speaking absolute gibberish. Don’t fight me on this, Jongin. I’ll force you into the first cab I see if I have to.”

“But I want to drink more!”

And after that outburst, the artist began to feel the contents of his stomach bubbling upwards and he lurched forward while hastily covering his mouth. Yixing quickly hauled Jongin out of the ballroom, praying that the drunk male could delay the inevitable for a few extra seconds, and the pair managed to pass through the large double doors without any incident. Once the cool night air hit his face, Jongin angled his head towards a bush and noisily threw up a disgusting mixture of semi-digested red wine, tea sandwiches, and foie gras.

Yixing sighed loudly as he soothingly patted the artist’s back. When the retching sounds finally ceased, the manager used a napkin that had been in his pants pocket to gently clean the remnants of puke on Jongin’s face before tossing it into a nearby trash can. The artist’s face looked deathly pale now and there were noticeable dark circles under his eyes. His gaze was unfocused as he stared off into the distance while his arms hung limply at his side.

It didn’t take long for Yixing to flag down a taxi and he had to lead the artist into the car, since Jongin seemed to be mentally checked out. After quickly sending a short text to Sehun, letting the model know that the two were leaving early and thanking him for the invitation to the fashion show, the manager faced Jongin, whose eyelids were fluttering to a close. Yixing wordlessly shifted so that the drunk male was leaning comfortably against the manager's body and soft snores soon filled the car as the artist fell fast asleep.

He gently smoothed his friend’s dark hair, since it was slightly mussed after the artist had vomited, while murmuring, “Oh, Jongin, what am I going to do with you?”

♈♈♈