If I drink enough I swear that I will wake up next to you.

Seeing her face never got easier. 

It was sunny again, the bright rays washing the room in a brillliant white. Jongin lay on the bed, his head resting on her lap as he felt her fingers his hair. These types of noons were his favourite, not that he didn't enjoy actually going out, but he rarely had time to afford to be lazy, and he enjoyed her company more than anyone else's; she was the only person who he didn't mind sharing silence with. It was always comfortable, familiar, peaceful. She always smelled of peach and vanilla, and every now and then, when she thought he was asleep, she would croon a quiet song. She always got embarassed when she found out he was listening, so he'd taken to faking sleep to hear her sing. 

He wished time would stop.

"Soojung?"

She didn't answer, probably too engrossed in the novel she was reading on her phone. He told her that the small screen would strain her eyes, but like always, she stuck out her tongue in refusal. He opened his eyes to look at her, reaching out to touch her.

All too soon, the sunlight faded into darkness and he was falling again. The brilliant white room distorted, darkened back to the somber grays, and he was alone. 

This silence was different from before. It was the type of silence that made him want to scream, the type that drove him to the brink of desperation. No more was the perfect pristine room with him and the person he loved most. 

He was utterly alone.

The creak of the door opening in the room didn't so much as cause Jongin to move a muscle. He could hear Sehun sigh and push the door open wider, kicking the piles of clothes and rubbish that cluttered the room. 

"Jesus, Jongin, how much have you had to drink?" Sehun asked as he picked up bottle after bottle, the soft clinks unable to stir Jongin, "This isn't healthy. When's the last time you showered?" 

The past few days had been a blur of blended days, dreary nights, and booze. Jongin knew that Sehun and the other members had been patient with him, but he couldn't function. He couldn't stop seeing her wherever he went, so he shut himself in his room, but to no avail; with every drink he washed down to forget her, he always remembered. She always came to him in the throes of his worst drunken episodes and soon the alcohol became less of a vice to forget and instead became entirely the opposite.

"Grow the up, Jongin," Sehun snapped, "It's been weeks since you guys broke up." 

Jongin mustered up all his strength, ignoring the his spliting headache and aching muscles, to sit up on the bed and face Sehun. 

"You'd better ing watch yourself, Sehun." 

Sehun rolled his eyes, holding his hands up defensively, "Alright, sorry. Too soon."

Jongin lay back down in response. 

"I brought you some water and an apple. You can't eat this all day," he said and Jongin imagined him gesturing towards all the takeout containers and leftovers he had Baekhyun get for him. "You need to get out. Watch a movie, go for a walk, laugh. Anything really. We've been looking at your sour puss of a face for weeks now."

"Thanks," he said into the pillow.

Sehun lingered for moment before leaving, closing the door gently behind him. With that, Jongin's mind to wander again. He couldn't help but wonder what she was doing? Was she over him? Maybe she rebounded with someone. He'd seen it happen afterall. ing a stranger when you're heartbroken's always been a remedy. 

Was she that type of girl? Of course not. Jongin knew her and it wasn't something she'd ever do, but after days cooped up in misery, his mind couldn't help but wander. Had someone else held her since? Had someone else had their hands on her body, seeing the face only he ever saw, kissing her in places only he'd ever kissed? The thought had rage and grief building inside the pit of his stomach, threatening to explode; it made him sick. 

Or maybe, even worse, she wasn't grieving. Maybe she was fine and had already moved on in her life while he stayed where he was, agonized and lethargic.

He turned to face the window, staring at the pane and its subtle blurry reflections of his room. 

For a moment, he thought he saw her in the blur of bookshelves.

Tired, he turned back to face the wall. This was not out of the norm; there were times when he thought he could see her, lounging at the foot of the bed, playing with her phone or curled up with her latest favourite novel. There were times when he thought he could see her dancing her silly little dances when her favourite song came on, or times when he'd roll over in bed and think that she would be in his arms when he reached out to hold her like he always did.

Of course, she never was. 

He could still sometimes smell her scent as a passing linger, but within seconds, the flits of peach and vanilla would be gone. He missed her so much it ate at him from the inside out. 

Was this considered wasting time? Jongin was never one to waste anything, but he couldn't stop himself. How many perfectly good days had passed him by? He didn't know. Was it wasted time if it was spent on her? He wasn't sure. 

How many times had he buried her? How many times had she clawed her way out of a shallow grave back into his mind?

Countless. 

***

The next few days were the same. He would go out when prodded by s, or if there was an event. His sister made him go out several times and Taemin finally had some time and he came over to hang out as well. As much as it was, Jongin could handle it all; it was his job to put on a front, like everything in his life was fine even if it wasn't. One month was a long time, true, but he was never given a proper grieving period. They broke up during a time when promotions were high and he was still shooting his drama; he couldn't afford to break down at that point. 

Underneath it all, Jongin was still human. He needed time to process and to get over her, and it was one of the hardest things he'd had to do to date. There were certainly harder days, but this breakup took more of a toll on him than he could've ever imagined. 

The bottom of a bottle became the only sight he longed for, because that would mean he could finally see her, lounged on his bed or taking his hand as they strolled through the park.

This night, like the many before, was no different; Jongin needed to see her. Even if it was just for a moment. Even if it was all in his head. 

His fingers found the neck of his last bottle of whiskey and he sat up groggily. Half a bottle. More than enough.

He did what he did best at that point; he drank. He drank until the familiar blues and greys of his room turned into a haze of all the colours imaginable. He drank until the silence became white noise and when the white noise became silence again- back and forth. He drank until everything spun and whirled around him in a dance of colours and sound and he wouldn't stop until she came.

Then everything stopped. 

The sun w