Jiyong awoke to the distant sound of Gaho barking wildly, his brain feeling as if it was going to explode all over his bed.  He gradually cracked open one eye, and then the other. His room was pitch black, and the only source of light was the angry, red numbers on his tiny alarm clock. He failed at reading the time displayed on the clock, his vision unreasonably obscured and blurry. His velvety, blue sheets were tangled and twisted around him, effectively trapping him. The blonde sat up delicately, swaying as if he would keel over at any given moment. His throat was raw, and his stomach was doing back flips, and his memory was impaired. Jiyong massaged his temples, trying to evoke at least the tiniest recollection of what happened the night before. But, to no avail, his efforts were met with only the lurching of his stomach.

       Hightailing it as if his life depended on it, the boy reached the bathroom in record timing. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet on the cold, hard tile. His palms sweating and his head pounding, he dry-heaved over the porcelain toilet bowl, clutching at his stomach. He sputtered and coughed, his throat ragged. Then it hit him: All of the memories, rushing back to him, violent and vivid. At first all of the memories were jumbled beyond comprehension. Blue tiles. Dancing. Intense eyes. Women. Music. Sobbing. Then, piece by piece, it all came together. The drinks, the drugs, the puking. The husky voiced stranger. 

       Jiyong quickly stood up, gripping the counter as he teetered precariously. He gazed into the mirror, and what he found staring back at him scared him. A corpse, an empty shell of his old self glared back at him loathingly. His cheeks were gaunt, and his eyes, empty. Is this what he had been reduced to? Last night he was near death, and it barely fazed him. And who was that man? Those exquisite eyes, delicate lips, prominent jaw line and deep voice.  He had saved his life, and then simply vanished the next day.

      Leaning over the sink, Jiyong  the tap and splashed his face with the chilly water. The liquid stung his face, but in a refreshing way. Was it just a dream? Maybe he had actually just gotten wasted, came home, fell asleep, and had some crazy- realistic dream. The guy didn't leave him a note, a phone number, nothing. For all he knew, it could've just been a weird fantasy induced by drugs. Turning off the tap, something on the counter caught his eye. Spinning his head in that direction, he realized the object was a ring. He retrieved it off the granite, inspecting it. Black, and pyramid shaped, light shone off every facet on its surface; Jiyong didn't recognize it to be one of his numerous rings.  

      Relief washed over him; He be hadn't been imagining it after all. His rescuer must have removed his ring and set it there when he decided he was going to shove his fingers down Jiyong's throat.  He slipped it onto his thumb, the ring too big to fit any of his other fingers. He fiddled with the it, twisting it and its surface, almost as if he were assuring himself that it wasn't just a facet of his imagination. 

      Jiyong managed to stumble into the kitchen, his feet betraying him and causing him to trip every couple of steps. His kitchen was extremely modern and up-to-date, with all sorts of electronic devices and stainless steel or expensive granite covering every surface. He squinted at the little numbers displayed on the stove, attempting to read the time. He rubbed his tired eyes and checked again, making sure his eyes weren't betraying him, too.

7:30 p.m.

Holy crap.

      He slept the whole day away. Jiyong hated that feeling. The one that occurred after over-sleeping or doing nothing all day. Feeling like a day of his life had slipped through his fingers, wasted. Feeling like time was whizzing by him, and that he won't realize it until he's old and grey and it's too late to do anything. Finally remembering his own mortality.

       His tail waggling fervently, Gaho ambled into the kitchen, glancing at Jiyong who was rummaging through the cabinets. Approaching his empty dog bowl, he sniffed it, and then planted himself right beside it, his tail still vigorously wagging. He gazed up at Jiyong, who was returning the stare as he guzzled an enormous glass of water. The water was freezing and it soothed Jiyong's burning throat. Sighing and wiping his mouth, he set the empty glass on the counter.

       Sluggishly making his way to a modest-sized pantry, the boy was cautious to not trip over himself. He slowly opened the door, flinching as the hinges let out an piercing creak, and then swiftly disappeared inside. In mere seconds, Jiyong was exiting the tiny closet, lugging a bulky bag of dog food with him. 

"Don't worry, Gaho. I didn't forget about you." Jiyong cooed as he filled the dog bowl to the brim with food. Simply cocking his head to the side, Gaho continued to watch him with a bemused expression. Jiyong wondered if the dog had given the stranger any trouble when he entered the house.

So much for a guard dog, he mused, laughing to himself.

Tipping his head at the sound of the man's laughter, Gaho let his mouth open and his tongue loll out the side, still peering at him. Jiyong stopped at the sight of him, and silently stared at the sight before him.

Oh my God, he thought, Gaho is smiling at me.

       And with that thought, he burst out into a fit of giggles, grasping at his sides. He didn't know what had possessed him to act that way. It wasn't even that hilarious. It just felt so relieving, to be able to laugh for real. It wasn't for show, like it usually was; It was for himself, and it was genuine. Jiyong gasped for breath, a stitch forming in his side. After calming himself, he wiped his watery eyes and sat next to Gaho.

       Gaho, who had finally noticed there was food in his bowl, was scarfing it down like there was no tomorrow. Jiyong gently his fur for a few moments, then stood up and returned to the cabinets.

        He wasn't necessarily hungry; He was actually quite the opposite of that. Just the idea of food was causing his stomach to revolt.  But, Jiyong knew he had to eat something, so he grabbed some food and dragged a stool up next to Gaho, who was still indulging in his dog food. After choking down a few saltine crackers, an immense amount of drowsiness clouded Jiyong's brain. His eyelids where weighed down with exhaustion, and they had trouble remaining open. He knew he still shouldn't feel this lethargic, but he did. So he shuffled out of the kitchen, with Gaho trailing silently behind. Collapsing into an extremely comfortable couch in the living room, his mind gradually drifted. He fell asleep on the couch, his limbs sprawled out at odd angles and Gaho curled up at his side.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

        He didn't know why he was going back; He just knew that he had to.  The need burned so badly in Jiyong's gut, he felt as though he was going burst up in flames. He didn't want to go there for the women or drinks; He needed to know who that dazzling man was. He needed to know why he left with out a trace. Why he saved his life. It had been tugging at his mind all day, morphing into an obsession. He had thought that -- just maybe -- there was a miniscule chance that he was there. So, with some invisible force in the deep recesses of his mind pulling him, before he knew it, he was at the entrance of the club.

       He was already past the huge metal door; Now all that stood between him and the club was the thin, black door. The pulsating music was clearly audible, only muffled slightly by the obstruction. Jiyong felt slightly intimidated. The club was why he had almost died.

No, he corrected himself, I was the reason why I almost died. Cause of my destructive ways.

        He stepped past the threshold of the door as he had a million times before, but it wasn't the same. This time, he had a different reason to be there.

The music seeped into his core as he gravitated toward the bar. Seating himself, he ordered a light alcoholic drink, not wanting to get drunk. He only ordered it to make it appear as if he wasn't just sitting there doing nothing. Within minutes, the drink was set down in front of him. He scowled at it, but picked it up and took a tiny sip of it anyway.

       As Jiyong sipped at his drink, he scoped the room, searching for any signs of of the his mysterious savior. But there were none. Only nearly women and drunk men. No elusive, beautiful stranger. Jiyong sighed, dragging his hand through his hair. He hadn't thought this through; What if he didn't show up? Was he just going to perch here on this stool and wistfully observe everyone else until the sun comes up? What if he did show up? Would Jiyong even have the guts to approach him? The boy closed his eyes and imagined how awkward that would be.

"Hey, I'm Jiyong, the guy who you had to shove your fingers down his throat in order to save his life, cause he almost killed himself. Yeah, that's me. I was wondering if I could at least know your name, or maybe we could get together sometime, cause y'know, you're really hot...." Jiyong shook his head, attempting to rid himself of that train of thought. 

       He massaged his head, clenching his eyes shut as he felt a headache coming on.

Then he heard it. That low rumbling voice that sent shivers up his spine and caused butterflies to erupt in his stomach. The source was less than fifteen feet away, he knew that. But what he didn't know, is how he could even hear it through all the chatting and the blasting music.

"...Yeah, I want the usual. Make it fast too, I'm going to need it tonight." He sighed, his husky voice sweet and smooth like honey.

       Jiyong gradually opened his eyes. Then, sluggishly, he turned his head toward the direction of the voice. He was met with a piercing gaze and upturned lips. His black hair screamed 'I just rolled out of bed' , even though Jiyong knew he had just styled it that way. The gorgeous man was attired in black, hugging jeans, a deep pink shirt, a black blazer, and his long fingers were adorned with a copious amount of rings. Gasping at what he saw, he swiftly swung his head back to stare at the grains in the wood on the bar, his face turning beet red. How could this man reduce him to this? It was like he was back in middle school. He began fiddling with the ring again. He didn't know what to do. He had no doubt in his mind that there was no way he was going to approach that man. At least not tonight. He quickly glanced at him again. He wasn't staring at Jiyong anymore, he was immersed deeply in a conversation with a group of people.

       Jiyong spent the rest of the night observing him. He watched his little habits; The way he moved his hands as he spoke, the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed, how he always crossed his legs. And this is how Jiyong spent the rest of the next four nights. Go to the club, buy a drink, attempt to build up courage to speak to the inhumanly beautiful stranger, go home, pass out next to Gaho. He just couldn't do it; He would scrounge up enough mental strength to approach him, and then right before he got up, the man would release the iest laugh to ever grace Jiyong's ears, effectively causing him to lose all control of his motor skills. At some point, Jiyong wondered if this was how he was going to spend the rest of his life; Because, even if he didn't have enough backbone to approach him, he would still be content  just going to the club and watching this phenomenon every night.

      But then, it was on the fifth night that it happened. It was occurring the same way that the past four nights had gone. Jiyong journeyed to the club, installed himself in a barstool, and ordered a drink.  Except one thing; It had been an hour and a half since his arrival,and the dazzling man wasn't anywhere to be seen. For the past half an hour, Jiyong scoped all of the club, nothing going unseen . He watched the people who left and entered, he searched the crowds of dancing people, the people conversing by the bar, and even the people face on the couches. He wasn't there, and Jiyong didn't know what to do. His mind raced, already conjuring up the worst possible scenarios.

What if he's sick, or got into an accident? What if he was mugged on his way here?......

What if he decided to stop going to this club?

His wandering mind had found the worst one. He couldn't handle the anxiety that was building up in him, it was tearing him apart. He quickly stood up, knocking the stool aside. He had to get out of here. He needed to go home. He swiftly squeezed through people who were dancing, drinking, and happily chattering amongst themselves, occasionally muttering a 'Sorry' or 'Excuse me'. Bursting through the large metal door, Jiyong gasped in the cool, night air, his heart instantaneously slowing a tiny bit.

       What was wrong with him? He didn't even know the guy's name. Yet there was something so unbelievably entrancing about the stranger. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jiyong began to stroll down the deserted street. This had to end; And it had to end today. It was an obsession, and it was unhealthy for his brain. He should move on: Maybe get a girlfriend and eventually marry. His train of thought was abruptly cut off as two large hands grabbed his front and yanked him into a tiny alleyway, darkness enveloping him and stealing his vision.

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Yeah! I'm pretty happy with this chapter. Sorry for the rushed ending though.  Please leave a comment~

How is my writing? Please leave a critique if you wish, I would really love that.

Thanks for reading, bye~!

  -Gee