The scent of lavender was overpowering.
In a small bathroom lined with lavender candles in intricate swirls, a man kneels on soapy tiles next to the side of the tub, staring at the tanned legs peeking out through suddy water. The quiet between the walls of this small space is so pure, so intense that not even the puddles beneath his knees stir as he shifts and this kind of quiet, this intimacy, makes him ache to touch. To feel, to run fingers against flesh and see goosebumps rise --but he knows better than to disturb his lover's sweet slumber.
Across from him, the mirror is fogged up and dripping condensation, and between the lines of the droplet's travels, he can see his pale reflection staring back at him. His eyes; bloodshot. His lips; chapped.
The tie around his neck is crooked and the cuffs of his white dress shirt are stained pink and when he looks down and studies his hands the bottle of bleach between his fingers is shaking. His lips part, searching for a name that he cannot even remember past his haze, and after a steady smile and a shallow breath, he turns away.
"Hyuk was looking for you again, you know." He murmurs, unscrewing the cap to the bleach, holding it carefully away from his nose; tipping it, watching it flow into the water beneath him. "I told him that you've been too sick to come visit-" Eyes look frantically past swollen wrists. "I don't like to lie to the kid but you've just been so tired lately, I thought maybe..." Throat catches on a gag. The water is turning red.
"Maybe, we could just take some time off together, a vacation! Just the two of us. You'd-" He stares into blank eyes, framed by sparse lashes that fall down to sunken cheeks. His fingers are pruning as they slide against the porcelain of the tub. "You'd like that, yeah?"
He goes for a smile and his lips crack and bleed against his yellowing teeth. He doesn't remember the last time he even picked up a toothbrush. He doesn't remember... he doesn't remember.
He doesn't remember the scent of lavender wafting through the apartment, permeating his senses. He doesn't recall the feeling of a rain-soaked afternoon of fingers intertwined underneath the covers. He can't remember the cold metal of a doorknob against his palm, he can't remember the warning creak of the door as it gave way. He can't remember the smile slipping from his face and the way his stomach fell to his feet.
He- he looks.
He really looks.
He absorbs the sight of Hakyeon, vibrant, jubilant Hakyeon, laying in a bloodstained tub. He takes in the pills spilled haphazardly on the sink. He stares at the puddles of blood on the floor, drying. Staining.
Hakyeon. No suicide note, no warning, no chance to prepare. Hakyeon. Wrists done bleeding.
Hakyeon, dead.
Hakyeon.
The scent of lavender is overpowering.
In a small bathroom lined with lavender candles in intricate swirls, a man kneels on soapy tiles next to the side of the tub, staring at the tanned legs peeking out through suddy water. The quiet between the walls of this small space is so pure, so intense that not even the puddles beneath his knees stir as he shifts and this kind of quiet, this intimacy, makes him ache to touch. To feel, to run fingers against flesh and see goosebumps rise --but he knows better than to disturb his lover's sweet slumber.
Across from him, the mirror is fogged up and dripping condensation, and between the lines of the droplet's travels, he can see his pale reflection staring back at him. His eyes; bloodshot. His lips; chapped.
The tie around his neck is crooked and the cuffs of his white dress shirt are stained pink and when he looks down and studies his hands the bottle of bleach between his fingers is shaking. His lips part, searching for a name that he cannot even remember past his haze, and after a steady smile and a shallow breath, he turns away.
"Hyuk was looking for you again, you know." He murmurs, unscrewing the cap to the bleach, holding it carefully away from his nose; tipping it, watching it flow into the water beneath him. "I told him that you've been too sick to come visit-" Eyes look frantically past swollen wrists. "I don't like to lie to the kid but you've just been so tired lately, I thought maybe..." Throat catches on a gag. The water is turning red.
"Maybe, we could just take some time off together, a vacation! Just the two of us. You'd-" He stares into blank eyes, framed by sparse lashes that fall down to sunken cheeks. His fingers are pruning as they slide against the porcelain of the tub. "You'd like that, yeah?"
He goes for a smile and his lips crack and bleed against his yellowing teeth. He doesn't remember the last time he even picked up a toothbrush. He doesn't remember... he doesn't remember.
He doesn't remember the scent of lavender wafting through the apartment, permeating his senses. He doesn't recall the feeling of a rain-soaked afternoon of fingers intertwined underneath the covers. He can't remember the cold metal of a doorknob against his palm, he can't remember the warning creak of the door as it gave way. He can't remember the smile slipping from his face and the way his stomach fell to his feet.
He- he looks.
He really looks.
He absorbs the sight of Hakyeon, vibrant, jubilant Hakyeon, laying in a bloodstained tub. He takes in the pills spilled haphazardly on the sink. He stares at the puddles of blood on the floor, drying. Staining.
Hakyeon. No suicide note, no warning, no chance to prepare. Hakyeon. Wrists done bleeding.
Hakyeon, dead.
Hakyeon.
The scent of lavender is overpowering.
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