#avtkris

@avtkris​

Even on his off days, Chanyeol often found himself surrounded by plants in one way or another. One could honestly say his life revolved around them, his own apartment over run by houseplants. Not that it bothered him in the slightest, as he fancied it as his own personal jungle, several varieties of plants called him room home. While his living room also mirrored his personal bedroom in the sense there was no shortage of plants, he did keep his favorites right by his bedside. 

Smiling warmly, the youth wraps up his daily chores at the park, making a bold choice to visit a flower shop not too far from his current location. He had heard the nursery owners’ speak highly of it before, even bringing up becoming a possible supplier for the shop. However that was months ago, and Chanyeol was pretty sure they never went through with it. He couldn’t recall seeing the shop’s name on the list they kept of retailers they distributed to. 

Though evening drew near, the male was pretty sure he still had some time before shop closed up, quickly approaching the storefront in an attempt to get a glimpse of it at the very least. Eyes wide with excitement, he lets out a small gasp as he’s greeted with bright tulips and lilies. He gently brushes over them, smiling softly as his gaze sweeps over the vast variety of flowers. This was impressive, even for a flower shop, Chanyeol recognizing flowers even the nursery didn’t sell. 

@avtkris

icarus doesn’t drink very often, doesn’t have a lot of practice with alcohol—none in fact, which means he’s particularly susceptible to getting very drunk very fast. this being his first time ever, he’s surprised that he’s not able to hold his drink down better, given everything he’s been through, given his high pain-tolerance levels and the amount of shit those scientists have put into his bloodstream.

perhaps he should just be grateful he doesn’t spontaneously combust into flames upon contact with alcohol. god only knows what kind of concoction is in his system.

then again. maybe combusting would be preferable to this; going outside the bar to vomit up everything in his stomach that he’s probably ever ate in his life, and then not being able to get back in through the alleyway door. why is it locked now? what’s he supposed to do? he’s not done testing his limits yet, he has to… he has to… this is for science! it’s also possible that the people inside the club have locked him out on purpose—given the amount of strange, staring looks he’d been getting from them inside. he feels dejected now, sad and pathetic and his wings are super heavy.

he can’t do this anymore; his wings feel like they’re suffocating. he pulls off the coat, pulls off the belts and the strings and the harness meant to contain them. the alleyway is deep enough and dark enough and he’s too out of his mind to really care if anyone sees him. maybe they’ll kill him. maybe it’ll be a nice favor and he can stop worrying so much about everything in the afterlife.