Escapism
Title: Escapism
Characters: Lay & Suho
Rating: PG
WC: 1448
Prompt: #1 (image)
Summary: Yixing's problems with alcohol is wearing thin both him and Joonmyeon
late to the party but it's for aideshou's challenge #11.
AO3 || AFF || DW
A drop falls from the rusty faucet, dissolving in the inch of water covering the bottom of the bathtub, unable to go further down the clogged drain. Yixing is surprised the water service is still running, he doesn’t remember when was the last time he paid the bills.
Still damp from a lukewarm and bubble-less bath, Yixing leans back, carelessly letting his head dangle upside down as he rests his arms on the sides of the tub and lazily taps a random tune on its surface. He blearily snaps back from his reverie when a familiar craving makes his skin buzz; it’s with disappointment that he discovers the bottle sitting next to the bathtub, right at arm reach where he left it in-between swigs of alcohol and restless naps in the slowly emptying tub, is sadly void of amber liquid.
With some effort, caused by both the hangover and the post-bath numbness in his bones, Yixing manages to step out of the tub without cracking his skull open and and leaves the bathroom, uncaring of the trail of water he’s leaving in his wake or of the empty bottles of various height, color and once-content he didn’t bother to pick up and throw away. Entering the single room present in his hole-in-the-wall flat, Yixing grabs the first virtually clean clothes he sees and, still wet, he steps into a pair of boxers and a pair of sweatpants, both grey, both quickly gaining darker patches where droplets of water were more concentrated on his frazzled, pale body.
As he shrugs on a loose, off-white tank top, Yixing pads barefoot to the fridge and snatches a beer bottle, then proceeds to waste at least five minutes looking for the bottle opener, which turns out to be underneath the TV cabinet.
Finally settled on the ratty couch, cold beer washing down his throat, Yixing is ready to spend another day in a drunken stupor. Usually Yixing’s afternoons and evenings consist of flickering from an infomercial to another, basking in the artificial light and the background noises coming from the TV; staring at without seeing the peeling patches of wall paper, chugging at whichever alcoholic beverage he put his clammy and slightly trembling hands on; waking up from random naps to discover the TV eventually settled on some corny soap opera or repetitive reality show; jolting awake whenever his phone or the doorbell rang, doing his best to ignore them and go back to drink or sleep. Not like it deterred his only friend left from trying again and again.
Like now. Yixing doesn’t know why Joonmyeon bothers being so polite when he has the keys to Yixing’s apartment. Or why he bothers at all.
Joonmyeon eventually decides to enter with his spare keys, quietly opening the door to the miserable state Yixing’s single-room flat is in. His concerned and broken look, permanently stuck on Joonmyeon’s face when it come to his friend, either passes unnoticed or gets ignored.
“Hi,” he greets hesitantly, as always.
“Hi,” Yixing says back, if it’s a good day. He nods or hums in acknowledgement if it’s a decent day. He keeps doing whatever he wasn’t doing if it’s a bad day. Today is a decent day.
“Here’s your mail,” Joonmyeon puts a handful of papers on the table, the ever present flier to an Alcoholics Anonymous group on top of the meager pile, “and these are the receipts of your bills, I paid for them yesterday,” he informs offhandedly. He doesn’t want Yixing to pay him back nor is he sure his friend could, considering how much the younger spends in, quote unquote, his hobby, or how he’s been unable to keep a job for more than a month in the earlier stage, for more than a week in the past three years, before holing himself up in this rathole. He can’t deny how much paying for someone else’s expenses is starting to take its toll on him, though, especially for someone who doesn’t appear grateful in the slightest. Joonmyeon keeps hoping Yixing is still in there somewhere.
“Mhm,” Yixing hums, probably thankful, possibly indifferent. At least now he knows he’ll be able to fall asleep in a full bathtub and won’t have to worry about warm beers for a while longer.
It’s painful. Watching your friend turn from a playful, kind, and generous man to a shadow of himself, who’d rather push everyone away and drink himself unconscious, is torturous. Even more so when everyone, from the friends left behind to Yixing himself, tells Joonmyeon to give up.
“Yixing…”
“Yes, thanks, bye,” comes the groggy dismissal, as the chinese man was on the brink of falling asleep again.
Joonmyeon sighs, “Why, Yixing--”
“Are we seriously having this conversation? Again?!” Yixing is feeling more awake, irritation and maybe anger making his blood boil, “I already told you that I don’t want your sympathy or your money or...hell, I don’t know why do you keep doing this. Why do you keep paying for my shit, are you trying to rub in my face that you have a successful job and can afford wasting some grand on lil’ ol’ me?,” Yixing barks, splashing a bit of beer in his haste to sit up.
Joonmyeon pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales deeply, “On the contrary, Yixing. I’m going to be truthful and say I’m not sure for how long I’ll be able to support you, it’s a bit of a critical period for the economy,” he says, unable to look at Yixing in the eyes because he knows the other man hates being pitied and because he isn’t sure he won’t burst out crying if he so much as locks eyes with the younger.
“Good, I never asked for your or anyone else’s help. I put myself in this situation and I’ll pull myself through it,” Yixing spits bitterly, spitefully, berating both Joonmyeon and himself.
“It hasn’t worked in years!” Joonmyeon doesn’t even try to hide the tears slowly tracking down his pale face, blotched pink in contained anger and frustration, “Why did you do this to yourself? How could you get to this point? Only because he left--”
“Don’t. Say. His name,” Yixing hisses, clutching the neck of the beer’s bottle harder. They shoot daggers at each other, glare with heated eyes for what feels like an eternity, until Joonmyeon surrenders -for good. He leans against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom, taking deep breaths to regain some composure and wipe the tears away, and finally grabs his messenger bag, heading to the main door where he wears his shoes back on.
“I wish I could’ve done more, but I guess what they say it’s true, we can’t help who doesn’t want to be helped,” Joonmyeon hesitantly looks one last time at the shell of the chinese man he once knew, “Goodbye, Yixing, I wish you the best,” he bids a wavering goodbye and closes the door behind himself without sparing a glance back; he doesn’t want this to be the last image he has of his friend.
Silence, at last. Yixing keeps looking at the door expecting Joonmyeon to come back, but the air of finality of that speech registered even in his alcohol-fogged brain. Part of him is happy his intent to drive every single one of his friends and family members to leave him has worked, at long last; part of him is finally catching up and starting to despair over what his life has become and being left alone as result of his actions; part of him regrets the way he’s treated Joonmyeon, who supported him through thick and thin even before Kris left him and he subsequently fell in a spiral of alcoholism and self destruction.
The fear of being too late to beg Joonmyeon to come back isn’t enough to sober him up, however: he feels the bottles of beer, wine, whiskey, vodka, calling for him, asking to be drunk, including the secret stash hidden in a nook behind the kitchen counter. With a heavy spirit he heads to the cabinet beneath the TV, takes a half empty bottle of clear liquid and turns back towards the couch, but something on the table catches his attention: it’s the bunch of spare keys Joonmyeon left behind.
Yixing grabs the keys and falls heavily on the couch, his left hand’s hold firm on them while the right is already directing the bottle to his mouth. He plans on drinking his sorrows away, maybe already bidding farewell to this detrimental lifestyle; he can only hope he’ll remember his intention to apologize to Joonmyeon and start taking measures about his condition, tomorrow.
Characters: Lay & Suho
Rating: PG
WC: 1448
Prompt: #1 (image)
Summary: Yixing's problems with alcohol is wearing thin both him and Joonmyeon
late to the party but it's for aideshou's challenge #11.
AO3 || AFF || DW
A drop falls from the rusty faucet, dissolving in the inch of water covering the bottom of the bathtub, unable to go further down the clogged drain. Yixing is surprised the water service is still running, he doesn’t remember when was the last time he paid the bills.
Still damp from a lukewarm and bubble-less bath, Yixing leans back, carelessly letting his head dangle upside down as he rests his arms on the sides of the tub and lazily taps a random tune on its surface. He blearily snaps back from his reverie when a familiar craving makes his skin buzz; it’s with disappointment that he discovers the bottle sitting next to the bathtub, right at arm reach where he left it in-between swigs of alcohol and restless naps in the slowly emptying tub, is sadly void of amber liquid.
With some effort, caused by both the hangover and the post-bath numbness in his bones, Yixing manages to step out of the tub without cracking his skull open and and leaves the bathroom, uncaring of the trail of water he’s leaving in his wake or of the empty bottles of various height, color and once-content he didn’t bother to pick up and throw away. Entering the single room present in his hole-in-the-wall flat, Yixing grabs the first virtually clean clothes he sees and, still wet, he steps into a pair of boxers and a pair of sweatpants, both grey, both quickly gaining darker patches where droplets of water were more concentrated on his frazzled, pale body.
As he shrugs on a loose, off-white tank top, Yixing pads barefoot to the fridge and snatches a beer bottle, then proceeds to waste at least five minutes looking for the bottle opener, which turns out to be underneath the TV cabinet.
Finally settled on the ratty couch, cold beer washing down his throat, Yixing is ready to spend another day in a drunken stupor. Usually Yixing’s afternoons and evenings consist of flickering from an infomercial to another, basking in the artificial light and the background noises coming from the TV; staring at without seeing the peeling patches of wall paper, chugging at whichever alcoholic beverage he put his clammy and slightly trembling hands on; waking up from random naps to discover the TV eventually settled on some corny soap opera or repetitive reality show; jolting awake whenever his phone or the doorbell rang, doing his best to ignore them and go back to drink or sleep. Not like it deterred his only friend left from trying again and again.
Like now. Yixing doesn’t know why Joonmyeon bothers being so polite when he has the keys to Yixing’s apartment. Or why he bothers at all.
Joonmyeon eventually decides to enter with his spare keys, quietly opening the door to the miserable state Yixing’s single-room flat is in. His concerned and broken look, permanently stuck on Joonmyeon’s face when it come to his friend, either passes unnoticed or gets ignored.
“Hi,” he greets hesitantly, as always.
“Hi,” Yixing says back, if it’s a good day. He nods or hums in acknowledgement if it’s a decent day. He keeps doing whatever he wasn’t doing if it’s a bad day. Today is a decent day.
“Here’s your mail,” Joonmyeon puts a handful of papers on the table, the ever present flier to an Alcoholics Anonymous group on top of the meager pile, “and these are the receipts of your bills, I paid for them yesterday,” he informs offhandedly. He doesn’t want Yixing to pay him back nor is he sure his friend could, considering how much the younger spends in, quote unquote, his hobby, or how he’s been unable to keep a job for more than a month in the earlier stage, for more than a week in the past three years, before holing himself up in this rathole. He can’t deny how much paying for someone else’s expenses is starting to take its toll on him, though, especially for someone who doesn’t appear grateful in the slightest. Joonmyeon keeps hoping Yixing is still in there somewhere.
“Mhm,” Yixing hums, probably thankful, possibly indifferent. At least now he knows he’ll be able to fall asleep in a full bathtub and won’t have to worry about warm beers for a while longer.
It’s painful. Watching your friend turn from a playful, kind, and generous man to a shadow of himself, who’d rather push everyone away and drink himself unconscious, is torturous. Even more so when everyone, from the friends left behind to Yixing himself, tells Joonmyeon to give up.
“Yixing…”
“Yes, thanks, bye,” comes the groggy dismissal, as the chinese man was on the brink of falling asleep again.
Joonmyeon sighs, “Why, Yixing--”
“Are we seriously having this conversation? Again?!” Yixing is feeling more awake, irritation and maybe anger making his blood boil, “I already told you that I don’t want your sympathy or your money or...hell, I don’t know why do you keep doing this. Why do you keep paying for my shit, are you trying to rub in my face that you have a successful job and can afford wasting some grand on lil’ ol’ me?,” Yixing barks, splashing a bit of beer in his haste to sit up.
Joonmyeon pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales deeply, “On the contrary, Yixing. I’m going to be truthful and say I’m not sure for how long I’ll be able to support you, it’s a bit of a critical period for the economy,” he says, unable to look at Yixing in the eyes because he knows the other man hates being pitied and because he isn’t sure he won’t burst out crying if he so much as locks eyes with the younger.
“Good, I never asked for your or anyone else’s help. I put myself in this situation and I’ll pull myself through it,” Yixing spits bitterly, spitefully, berating both Joonmyeon and himself.
“It hasn’t worked in years!” Joonmyeon doesn’t even try to hide the tears slowly tracking down his pale face, blotched pink in contained anger and frustration, “Why did you do this to yourself? How could you get to this point? Only because he left--”
“Don’t. Say. His name,” Yixing hisses, clutching the neck of the beer’s bottle harder. They shoot daggers at each other, glare with heated eyes for what feels like an eternity, until Joonmyeon surrenders -for good. He leans against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom, taking deep breaths to regain some composure and wipe the tears away, and finally grabs his messenger bag, heading to the main door where he wears his shoes back on.
“I wish I could’ve done more, but I guess what they say it’s true, we can’t help who doesn’t want to be helped,” Joonmyeon hesitantly looks one last time at the shell of the chinese man he once knew, “Goodbye, Yixing, I wish you the best,” he bids a wavering goodbye and closes the door behind himself without sparing a glance back; he doesn’t want this to be the last image he has of his friend.
Silence, at last. Yixing keeps looking at the door expecting Joonmyeon to come back, but the air of finality of that speech registered even in his alcohol-fogged brain. Part of him is happy his intent to drive every single one of his friends and family members to leave him has worked, at long last; part of him is finally catching up and starting to despair over what his life has become and being left alone as result of his actions; part of him regrets the way he’s treated Joonmyeon, who supported him through thick and thin even before Kris left him and he subsequently fell in a spiral of alcoholism and self destruction.
The fear of being too late to beg Joonmyeon to come back isn’t enough to sober him up, however: he feels the bottles of beer, wine, whiskey, vodka, calling for him, asking to be drunk, including the secret stash hidden in a nook behind the kitchen counter. With a heavy spirit he heads to the cabinet beneath the TV, takes a half empty bottle of clear liquid and turns back towards the couch, but something on the table catches his attention: it’s the bunch of spare keys Joonmyeon left behind.
Yixing grabs the keys and falls heavily on the couch, his left hand’s hold firm on them while the right is already directing the bottle to his mouth. He plans on drinking his sorrows away, maybe already bidding farewell to this detrimental lifestyle; he can only hope he’ll remember his intention to apologize to Joonmyeon and start taking measures about his condition, tomorrow.