Khunyoung. PG-13 (language). Angst. 676 w.

This time he finds him slumped over in a ty bar in a ty part of town. He doesn't know how the other ended up here, or even quite sure who found him; a friend of a friend of someone who knew someone, or something like that, and the message got to him. He tugs his cap a bit lower on his face, not that it mattered. There were 4 people in this bar, including himself and the one he came to collect, and the other two surely did not seem to care as they puffed on what he hoped was a hand rolled cigarette.

He takes a quick tally of the discarded bottles and glasses on the table and pulls out a few crinkled bills, probably more than enough to cover the tab but that's not important. What is important is gathering up the shell of the man that was once his best friend and dragging him out into the brisk night air. He pours him into a cab with himself close behind, silently praying that he doesn't throw up in the car again because he is really not in the mood to hear any from another cab driver. As they quit that part of town for a neighborhood better suited to their idol images, the city lights outside the window get blurry and distorted. He thinks it must be raining outside, but the persistent stinging in his eyes tells him differently.

Fifteen minutes later he’s dragging a near lifeless body through the threshold of a darkened apartment as the man in his arms lets out a groan that sounds a lot like “Khun hyung”, but he can never be sure. He’s tired and frustrated and he wants to throw that body down on the bed hard but he cant. Something wont let him and he hates that. But he’ll deal with that later, because right now he needs to pull off shoes and socks and pants and shirt from a man that is slowly gaining consciousness.

“Khun hyung...” the other struggles again, but he doesn't answer. They’ve done this song and dance countless times before, and Khun knows all the steps and exactly how this will end.

“Khun hyung, you found me,” the boy will slur.

“I always find you, Wooyoung-ah,” he will answer.

And he will lay that sad, broken body in the bed as soft as he pleases, crawling in after it and wiping a few errant hairs from that sweaty forehead. Wooyoung will reek of the bottom of whatever bottle he found him in, but Khun wont care, because at least he’s not in that ty bar anymore. Wooyoung will look at him through heavy eyes that speak a familiar apology, and his cheeks will be a shade of pink that is mostly alcohol but sprinkled with the little bit of shame he can still feel. His bottom lip will tremble a bit, because he wants to tell Khun that he knows that he’s broken and that he disappoints him, but he cant find the words because his head hurts and his heart hurts and everything is just too ed up right now.

So they just skip to the part where Wooyoung lets out a single choked sob before Khun catches the rest with his own mouth, swallowing them whole because this is all he can do. He cant fix Wooyoung tonight but he can hold him together for a bit longer with lips and tongue and fingers that graze along a shivering ribcage. Khun finds it ironic how the alcohol on Wooyoung’s tongue mixes with the salt of his tears, a lot like the very cocktails that have them there in the first place.

And so it always is.

Wooyoung falls asleep with his arms tightly around Khun’s neck, and as Khun rolls him over and snuggles him into his chest, he tells himself that they wont have to go through this tomorrow, because he’ll find a way to fix his little broken bird and get him flying again.