6:20AM

—

Well, in the end, it was pretty funny. At least Chanyeol thought it was funny. He ended up to be the person who he had vowed to never be. A druggie, and a failure. The first one hurt the most. If he was just a failure, he could just build himself back up again. You can always get out of failure. Getting out of being a drughead, well…

That’s a vastly different story.

Point is, Chanyeol had given up.

It was sad; truly. Childhood to adulthood. There was just never a point where he was happy, or greatly enjoying life. Maybe it lasted about a year or two, and then everything would just come down into crumbles and life just loves to a rub a muddy boot onto his cheek until his face was raw.

He stood next to Zhang Yixing’s grave. He didn’t have any black clothes, because he sold most of his things to support his habit, so he’s wearing a trodden-down grey jumper that looked borderline brown. He wasn’t tearful, or sad, or anguished. He just felt… like, nothing. He tried to muster up tears—he was so good at it all those years back—but now he just couldn’t feel anything anymore. If he were to die tomorrow he would just accept it without comment.

A few attended the funeral—the ones who still respected Yixing, anyway. Mostly his friends from college. Sehun, Kyungsoo, and Jongin were there, and maybe a few couple of others who knew Yixing at one point in his life.

He died of overdose. Like most of the druggies do.

It’s not hard to remember how he died. A few years ago, Yixing got him hooked. Every weekend, they’d each other to forget how cruel life is. Flash forward to last week, Chanyeol came in, and Yixing’s flat door was ajar and he was just… there.

It was like how his mother looked, if Chanyeol remembered properly. She’d get high every day and she would just be lolling off onto the sofa with her eyes open, and sometimes Chanyeol wondered if she was breathing or not. When Chanyeol came in that day, it was like that. When he touched Yixing’s body, it was cold. So, so cold.

Chanyeol remembered that panicking about Yixing’s death wasn’t even the first thing on his mind. He checked around his apartment for stuff that might have belonged to him, afraid that they’d be linked up to him when the police comes round to investigate. He cleared his own apartment out of the sniffies and buried them far off in the dirt. Then he dialed for an ambulance and the police.

It’s a sad death. You’re all on your own in the dark and there won’t be no light at the end of the tunnel because God won’t forgive you.

So he stood, staring at the grave. It’s kind of a funny re-union, because Chanyeol hasn’t seen Kyungsoo or Jongin in a while. They turned out great; Chanyeol could see a ring peeking from Kyungsoo’s fourth finger, and he seems well off. None of them has said a word to each other.

The police linked nothing from Yixing’s death to Chanyeol, but by now everyone would know Chanyeol’s a drughead. He can see it from their eyes; they’re disgusted by this kind of lifestyle choice. Chanyeol was supposed to lead a capitalist life; get a job, get married, settle down and have kids and grow old to die happy. Well—he did all of that—and then it just went downhill on the “grow old” part.

“The college days are over, boys,” Kyungsoo murmured, and Chanyeol knows that he’s taking a jab at Chanyeol. They all did drugs in college. It was part of growing up. But Kyungsoo was referring to the fact that it was all for fun, but taking it as a lifestyle is way too far. Nobody else said nothing. No hey, I haven’t seen you guys in a while! or anything like that. Yixing’s death was like a warning sign to them all before the ledge of a cliff that lead to deep waters. The difference was that everyone else was far off at the safety in the distance, while Chanyeol sat at the edge of that very cliff, rocking his legs back and forth.

Everyone else left, one by one. Chanyeol remained with Sehun, the former’s hands pocketed deep into his tattered jeans. Sehun puts a hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder and patted him.

“Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol gulped.

“If you need help,” Sehun murmured, “Please. Know that I’m here for you.”

Sehun had been Chanyeol’s crutch ever since he’d split with B… B…. Baekhyun (it was hard to even say his name anymore). Sehun regularly called him up, offered him help, and even stuck through with Chanyeol when the latter had started to become dependent on drugs just to go through daily life.

Chanyeol denied everything Sehun offered. At this point, he just wanted to pass away quietly.

Chanyeol walked home. He sold off his car a long time ago to support his habit. He had sold mostly everything—he slept on a mattress on a floor because he sold off the frames of the bed. He moved out to a cheaper apartment that his minimum-wage job could afford. He lived by the very basics now, sometimes going through days without food just so he could buy his drugs. There was just no positive outlook to this anymore.

He could go to rehab—but what would he do after that, when he “healed” up? Before he got hooked on , he had a nice job, his own apartment, he could afford his car insurance and he had more than enough to feed himself. Those were the most miserable days of his life. His drugs just made him feel normal—like he was actually human. Sometimes Chanyeol tried to stop and the amount of times he tried to cut out drugs from his life, it just comes back like a persistent mosquito, slowly the very life out of him. was the mosquito repellent; he needed it not to get high, but because he just wanted to feel normal.

Nothing brought him pleasure or enjoyment. Not even .

So most days, he’d just stay home and sleep. Sleep, to him, was like discount death. It was dying without the repercussions; just feeling the blissful nothingness, and sleep can’t hurt him more than a gentle breeze upon his skin. Then he’d snort some lines, like a diabetic with insulin just to survive, then he’d sleep again. God knows how he manages his bills but he was just barely there, hanging by a thread that was surely about to snap.

The loneliness was the worst part. He had no friends. Well, there was Sehun and his girlfriend, but they had busy adult lives. He could go to the bar and catch a body but that’ll only last a night. If he tried to reach out to his old friends, they’d disrespect him to no end. His family is now nonexistent. And Baekhyun—

Baekhyun, and his lovely little son Loey…

Chanyeol wasn’t sure how long he had went without contact with them. It must’ve surely been months… years, maybe? The last time Chanyeol met Baekhyun was when the latter was underneath him, panting and squirming in blissful pleasure, with the hot wetness between his thighs. Then after that, it was as if Baekhyun had vanished from planet earth. Or maybe the other way round. Chanyeol must surely be dead to the world.

Chanyeol missed Baekhyun terribly—he couldn’t move on. Baekhyun was the largest part of his life and now that he was gone, a hole was left in Chanyeol’s heart. He wondered if they had any chances of being back together again; but Baekhyun had hurt him over and over again and he preferred being a drug addict than being heartbroken for every day of his life. And Loey…

Sweet little Loey, his baby boy. Chanyeol constantly wondered how he was doing at school. What he liked doing now. What he looked like. It must be so painful to Baekhyun to have a child so reminiscent of his ex-lover. Chanyeol missed them both to the ends of the world, but it was the exact thing he missed that would hurt him. It was like a beautiful rose; but with unplucked thorns. The rewards are simply not worth the effort.

__

Chanyeol woke up in cold sweat.

His body was halfway through the floor, and he was sweating heavily. He groaned at the pounding pain in his head, biting his lip to somehow alleviate the pain. He reached under his mattress, where he kept his bag. He shakily poured out lines on the floor, rolling up a bill and stuffing the powder quickly up his nose. He laid with his eyes open, rigid, waiting for the symptoms to disappear. He trembled for a while before he sighed, his trembles subsiding, and he collapsed to his mattress. He felt glum. used to get him high, and now it was like some sort of antidepressant to make him feel normal again. He had gotten used to the feeling of shame.

He laid still, closing his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep again. He was halfway through unconsciousness before a loud knock sounded and he jumped, fearful, wondering whether it was the bastard cops.

It’s one of his fears now—someone ratting him out to the cops. He knew nobody who would do it, but he can’t trust anyone with that knowledge without being paranoid anyway. He made sure his bag was hidden and peeked through the curtains.

He cursed through Dante’s seven circles of hell and closed his eyes.

“Go away!”

“Chanyeol, please.”

That voice. That cursed, awful voice that reminds him of the times when he used to feel at home. Chanyeol pulled on the skin of his face, groaning, digging his fingernails into his cheek.

“I don’t—“ Chanyeol swallowed, “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Chanyeol, please…”

There was a pause, and footsteps. Chanyeol hoped that the bastard had gone away, but the footsteps only returned. There’s another knock, then a shuffle of footsteps followed.

“Dad?”

Chanyeol lost it.

Chanyeol’s jaw began to tremble, and he tried to stifle his sobs. He put his hands in front of his mouth trying to muffle himself of sounds. He rubbed his face repeatedly, taking deep, harsh breaths. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want them to see him like this. Not now.

“Dad, please, open the door.”

They left Chanyeol no choice.

With trembling hands, Chanyeol quickly unlocked it and turned his back to the door. Chanyeol couldn’t see their faces, but he wanted it that way.

“Chanyeol,” he said. His voice was soft and tender and Chanyeol felt so homesick.

“Chanyeol, look at me.”

“No, no,” Chanyeol’s breaths hitched up, “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Chanyeol was covering up his face, his elbows raised to crumple himself in. Soft, warm hands came in contact with his own and he trembled as those hands gently pried his own hands off his face, and Chanyeol immediately burst into tears.

Crybaby Chanyeol never got old.

Chanyeol looked upon Baekhyun’s dewy, sunkissed face, and wondered how he could stay so perfect, so beautiful. Baekhyun’s face had shifted into sorrow because he was probably shocked at how much Chanyeol had changed. The latter’s eyes were now sunken deep into his sockets, and his eyes were bleary and red. His cheeks were gone and his skin pulled taut on his face like latex, and it was heavy with shades of hopelessness and sadness.

“Oh, what have I done to you?” Baekhyun whispered sorrowfully, and Chanyeol crumpled to the flo