#drabble 1.

“fuck, man, we know, okay? we know! but- but it’s hard--”

“you people are unbelievable. how come she can do it, but you can’t? fuckin’ weak--”

“hey!”

“weak. shit, you couldn’t even bother to set her right? she could’ve choked! acting like fucking amateurs, jesus. god, the one night she lets herself go--- shit, she’s waking up,”

“somi?” the voice is closer now, you can hear it clearly. it’s too loud, though-- god, way too loud, and the ringing in your ears won’t quit. for christ’s sake, you just want to keep sleeping. “oh, somi, baby, i know you’re tired, but you gotta wake up now, okay? somi? please, babe, you’ve been asleep forever. you need to drink water, eat, come on.”

you grumble, whine, hear a soft chuckle as a response. you finally manage to start opening your eyes, and your ‘boyfriend’ ( that’s what he is, right? technically ) has the decency to partially shield your eyes from the sun shining through the window. he only pulls it away when your eyes are fully open and you’ve blinked away as much as the bleariness as you can, his hand instead trailing down to gently cup your cheek. eyes focused on him, brows slightly tugged together, lips pressed into a line, and you are hit with the crushing realization that you are one hundred percent, absolutely, completely and undeniably sober.

“shit,” you barely recognize your own voice, cracked, broken, scratchy from lack of use. “how long have i been out...?” you’re met with various shrugs, while your boyfriend shakes his head, gesturing that he wasn’t entirely sure either. “enough to get yourself sober, apparently. you’ve got that look in your eye, sweets.” and his smile is so, so charming, awake and bright that you would swear on your life that he was just as sober as you were.

“c’mon, up, we gotta move. someone” he looks pointedly at one of your mutual friends, junji, “made too much noise, someone might’ve called the cops. you’re always telling us we can’t risk getting caught, remember, baby?” and it’s as if a switch flips at the mention of being caught; you’re bolting up with your heart in your throat, feeling ready to throw it up at any moment. his arms are wrapped around you in a heartbeat, pressing you tightly against his chest to ease your anxiety. he shushes you softly, pets your hair and murmurs for you to relax, before he’s helping you up on your feet.

“go wash up, okay? it’ll help wake you up, i’ll pack your things,” it feels like the world is moving around you too fast, everything is happening around you while you fight to catch up. two of your friends are at your side, guiding you to the tiny bathroom. they’re apologizing, you realize, but you don’t really care, and your nonsensical mumbling manages to get that point across. 

 it takes you a few minutes to wash up, and you mistakenly take a second to look at yourself in the mirror while you’re sober. you’re barely recognizable; the circles under your eyes have never been darker, your face is sickly slim, cheeks terribly hollow. you’re so, so pale; you haven’t been this pale in so long. you used to be so youthful looking-- you used to glow, you used to be wonderfully tan, sunny, healthy. you don’t remember ever seeing yourself so frail, so fucking sickly. for fuck’s sake, you used to be an athlete. a talented, agile, strong athlete. you used to be such a happy person over all; you wonder with a heavy conscious where the excited, bright ten year old you is. you wonder when was the last time you looked genuinely joyful and excited to live your life. 

your heart sinks to the bottom of your chest. you need to get sick all over the sink is overwhelming. “hey, babe, we gotta-- jesus, you’re green!” your boyfriend rushes into the bathroom behind you, eyes trained on your physique on the mirror. “don’t worry, baby. when have we ever let you go through withdrawal? take a second to breathe, i’ll meet you outside. we’ll get you something soon, babe, i promise.” and he disappears with a promising smile.