중독 (Substance abuse) - LuMin
Title: 중독 (Substance abuse)
Genre: angst
Rating: R
Length: Oneshot (1,490w)
Warnings: Substance abuse (alcohol, weed, acid), implied hospitalization, undertones of emotional abuse
Disclaimer: Never done acid
Maybe it’s because Luhan is an adult sandwich.
Baby-faced on the outside, a functional adult beneath the surface, but in his heart of hearts, a great big baby.
A dangerous baby with ID cards valid in six countries, a salary just shy of six figures and a reputable lawyer for a best friend. A spoiled child nursing a broken heart and far too much spare cash.
“What is this,” a voice sighs, toeing the intersection of concerned, mirthful and cautious. “The ‘how-many-vices-can-Luhan-yield-to-in-one-go’ game?”
“Why are you here,” Luhan grunts through a haze of substances he has lost track of, running his hands over the carpet. He doesn’t remember carpeting his ceiling. Why would he have done that?
“To make sure you don’t overdose,” the voice says in answer to the question Luhan had already forgotten. “Because I care about you. For whatever god damn reason, fuck, Luhan.”
“Hm,” Luhan hums, thinking each syllable of the sentences over. “You’re the one-”
The carpeted ceiling swings around from the left side of his face to his right. He stretches his arm out across it and his knuckles brush against something cold and smooth. Something heavy comes down on his arm and it’s so heavy, this heavy thing, it’s holding him against the wall, it’s pressing him down through the carpet, down, down, right through the floor;
His eyes snap open and he frowns to realize he is still lying on his side and not half-submerged in the floor. He had been fully expecting to see his apartment through one eye and the apartment below through the other. The heavy thing suddenly feels only vaguely present as it grips his elbow. His fingers trace lazily over the cold thing until he realizes it’s a bottle. His knuckle bends of its own accord - or maybe he did bend it, he’s not sure - and the bottle comes rolling towards his face. Way way way too fast. Oh no. It’s fine. He pulls it close and it rams into his nose.
Fucking traitor piece of shit bottle.
“-who cares about me,” he finishes his sentence.
“Not the only one,” the voice sighs. Where the crap is that voice coming from. “But yes, I do care about you.”
That was a lot of words.
“Could you repeat the question?” Luhan begs, feeling tears well up in his eyes. It’s not his fault he doesn’t speak Spanish very well. It’s just really hard to understand, okay. There’s no need to make him feel worthless for asking that it be repeated.
“Luhan.”
The heavy thing drags back against his arm and the wall swings back around to reconnect with his left cheek. A face swims into view, wide eyes and tight lips and thick eyebrows veiled behind honey blond bangs. Luhan blinks in awe. He just recognized a face. Like how do you tell a face is a face just by looking at it?
“Isn’t that weird?” he gasps earnestly, laughing when the eyebrows tighten together. He just recognized movement from light hitting the back of his eyeballs. That is amazing. Weed truly does release all your stifled creative potential.
“Luhan, what have you taken?” the voice asks seriously.
Luhan frowns. “That was,” where did that bottle go? He lifts his chin until it hits the back of his head. There it is. He smiles in satisfaction. “A long time ago.” He frowns again. Why are these questions so difficult? And irrelevant? “I took,” he counts off on his fingers slowly. “Literature, standard math, English, Spanish, Korean, modern history, economics? No. that was college. My tongue is gone.” He panics for a terrifying moment. “Where is my tongue, I need that?” he raises his hand to his mouth and tentatively licks his palm.
“I found it. But it’s all dry or…” he trails off.
“Are you sleepy?” the voice asks.
Luhan considers the question. Sleepy. Sleepy is a good thing. Sleepy means he’ll be refreshed and alert in the morning. Sleepy means he can go to bed without any concerns-
Bed.
“NO!” he screams and the carpet flies away from his face, leaving his head in a terrifyingly empty expanse of air. He struggles to project his voice through it. “No one is allowed on my bed! Only me in my bed!” wait, that’s not quite right. There was something about that - oh.
“Minseok,” he spits out. He doesn’t quite know who he’s talking to but he is certain they don’t understand how very important this information is. He fights back a sob, doing his best to convey the seriousness of his explanation. “Minseok is allowed on my bed. Okay? Only Minseok. And me. Me and Minseok together. Preferably.” He watches a painting on the wall tilt to the side. He can’t stand wonky paintings. “Minseok is going to be here soon,” he murmurs.
The corners of a mouth turn down.
Minseok is not here now, though.
His absence is stifling.
Luhan counts loops in the pile of his carpet in front of his eyes, drags his toes back.
The apartment swings around and around and around.
“Luhan.”
The voice is very quiet.
“Luhan, it’s me.”
Luhan groans. Does this voice not know how many ‘Mi’s he knows? “Zhou Mi?” he asks, frustration slipping off his tongue, “Sunmi? Mijung? Hyemi?”
“No, it’s me. Minseok. Luhan, look at me.”
“Minseok will be here soon,” Luhan tells the television. Tingles run down his arms as he pushes his face away from the floor. He flips onto his back, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Ceiling, up. Check. Floor, behind, check. Couch, below, against feet. Check. His brain is far too coherent.
Luhan sits up and crawls onto the couch.
He should definitely not be able to do that. Usually he can’t physically lift himself from the floor by n- he checks his watch - yeah, by now. Usually by now he’s too heavy to move a muscle, helpless to do anything but wait for Minseok to come and pick him up and take him to bed.
He reaches with trembling hands for the sheet of smiley faces on the coffee table.
“Minseok will be here soon.”
Sehun’s nose wrinkles as he nudges wine bottles aside to kneel next to the older man. “Luhan, can you hear me?”
“Oh good,” Luhan snickers happily. “Voice. That means Minseok is on his way.”
“Luhan, did you drink all of these tonight?”
“I don’t like shiraz.”
“I know you don’t, Lu.”
“Is Minseok here yet? I’m bored.”
A stream of air flows through the room. Maybe the beginning of a cyclone or a tornado, a heavy autumn gust, did Luhan close the window? Perhaps a helicopter is flying past the apartment and messing everything up.
Or it’s just a sigh.
“Minseok can’t make it, Lu. He’s not coming.”
Luhan screams.
It’s not enough.
It’s nowhere near enough.
“I feel sick.”
“Jesus fucking-” Sehun hauls him to his feet and drags him as quickly as he can to the bathroom.
“I’m-” Luhan cuts himself off with recycled shiraz.
The patterns on the little pills are not all upright and Luhan wants to cry as he forces his hands to nudge them into position. He just wants it to be neat. He just wants it to be pretty. M-I-N-S-E-O-K. Useless.
Ready for him to get here.
He can’t taste the pills but he can feel them, small and round and unstable on his tongue.
M-I-N-S-E-O-Y
The kitchen tiles are cold against his palms, the grout clings at the ragged edges of his fingernails.
No one drags him to the bathroom before he vomits.
M-I-N-S-E-O
“Minnie, you love me, right?”
“Luhan!”
Shit that is loud.
No, no shaking.
“God, I wish I didn’t.”
“I love you though.”
“Luhan how many? How fucking many, fuck- Sehun, go call an ambulance.”
“O-okay.”
“Minseok-”
“The ambulance is on its way… how many did he take?”
“I don’t know, he won’t - Luhan please-”
“Luhan please look at me, Luhan, what are these please tell me what these are- Joonmyun do something!”
“What even are these?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why the fuck would you put it in your mouth if you don’t know, Luhan…”
“What do you want me to do, Sehun!?”
“I don’t fucking know just… just get him up so he doesn’t choke…”
“I can’t take care of both of us, Luhan. I just don’t have the strength. It has to be you or me.”
Wailing.
“I… I choose me.”
Flashing.
“I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry
“Minseok-”
“LUHAN!”
“Joonmyun they’re here I can see them they’re here,”
Minseok I’m sorry
“I don’t know what-”
Luhan,
Minseok-
“Or how much- ”
I’m so sorry
“Just help him please Jesus fuck Luhan-”
A/N: hashtag-NotAsFuckedUpAsItCouldBe
I'm sorry for this.
Genre: angst
Rating: R
Length: Oneshot (1,490w)
Warnings: Substance abuse (alcohol, weed, acid), implied hospitalization, undertones of emotional abuse
Disclaimer: Never done acid
Maybe it’s because Luhan is an adult sandwich.
Baby-faced on the outside, a functional adult beneath the surface, but in his heart of hearts, a great big baby.
A dangerous baby with ID cards valid in six countries, a salary just shy of six figures and a reputable lawyer for a best friend. A spoiled child nursing a broken heart and far too much spare cash.
“What is this,” a voice sighs, toeing the intersection of concerned, mirthful and cautious. “The ‘how-many-vices-can-Luhan-yield-to-in-one-go’ game?”
“Why are you here,” Luhan grunts through a haze of substances he has lost track of, running his hands over the carpet. He doesn’t remember carpeting his ceiling. Why would he have done that?
“To make sure you don’t overdose,” the voice says in answer to the question Luhan had already forgotten. “Because I care about you. For whatever god damn reason, fuck, Luhan.”
“Hm,” Luhan hums, thinking each syllable of the sentences over. “You’re the one-”
The carpeted ceiling swings around from the left side of his face to his right. He stretches his arm out across it and his knuckles brush against something cold and smooth. Something heavy comes down on his arm and it’s so heavy, this heavy thing, it’s holding him against the wall, it’s pressing him down through the carpet, down, down, right through the floor;
His eyes snap open and he frowns to realize he is still lying on his side and not half-submerged in the floor. He had been fully expecting to see his apartment through one eye and the apartment below through the other. The heavy thing suddenly feels only vaguely present as it grips his elbow. His fingers trace lazily over the cold thing until he realizes it’s a bottle. His knuckle bends of its own accord - or maybe he did bend it, he’s not sure - and the bottle comes rolling towards his face. Way way way too fast. Oh no. It’s fine. He pulls it close and it rams into his nose.
Fucking traitor piece of shit bottle.
“-who cares about me,” he finishes his sentence.
“Not the only one,” the voice sighs. Where the crap is that voice coming from. “But yes, I do care about you.”
That was a lot of words.
“Could you repeat the question?” Luhan begs, feeling tears well up in his eyes. It’s not his fault he doesn’t speak Spanish very well. It’s just really hard to understand, okay. There’s no need to make him feel worthless for asking that it be repeated.
“Luhan.”
The heavy thing drags back against his arm and the wall swings back around to reconnect with his left cheek. A face swims into view, wide eyes and tight lips and thick eyebrows veiled behind honey blond bangs. Luhan blinks in awe. He just recognized a face. Like how do you tell a face is a face just by looking at it?
“Isn’t that weird?” he gasps earnestly, laughing when the eyebrows tighten together. He just recognized movement from light hitting the back of his eyeballs. That is amazing. Weed truly does release all your stifled creative potential.
“Luhan, what have you taken?” the voice asks seriously.
Luhan frowns. “That was,” where did that bottle go? He lifts his chin until it hits the back of his head. There it is. He smiles in satisfaction. “A long time ago.” He frowns again. Why are these questions so difficult? And irrelevant? “I took,” he counts off on his fingers slowly. “Literature, standard math, English, Spanish, Korean, modern history, economics? No. that was college. My tongue is gone.” He panics for a terrifying moment. “Where is my tongue, I need that?” he raises his hand to his mouth and tentatively licks his palm.
“I found it. But it’s all dry or…” he trails off.
“Are you sleepy?” the voice asks.
Luhan considers the question. Sleepy. Sleepy is a good thing. Sleepy means he’ll be refreshed and alert in the morning. Sleepy means he can go to bed without any concerns-
Bed.
“NO!” he screams and the carpet flies away from his face, leaving his head in a terrifyingly empty expanse of air. He struggles to project his voice through it. “No one is allowed on my bed! Only me in my bed!” wait, that’s not quite right. There was something about that - oh.
“Minseok,” he spits out. He doesn’t quite know who he’s talking to but he is certain they don’t understand how very important this information is. He fights back a sob, doing his best to convey the seriousness of his explanation. “Minseok is allowed on my bed. Okay? Only Minseok. And me. Me and Minseok together. Preferably.” He watches a painting on the wall tilt to the side. He can’t stand wonky paintings. “Minseok is going to be here soon,” he murmurs.
The corners of a mouth turn down.
Minseok is not here now, though.
His absence is stifling.
Luhan counts loops in the pile of his carpet in front of his eyes, drags his toes back.
The apartment swings around and around and around.
“Luhan.”
The voice is very quiet.
“Luhan, it’s me.”
Luhan groans. Does this voice not know how many ‘Mi’s he knows? “Zhou Mi?” he asks, frustration slipping off his tongue, “Sunmi? Mijung? Hyemi?”
“No, it’s me. Minseok. Luhan, look at me.”
“Minseok will be here soon,” Luhan tells the television. Tingles run down his arms as he pushes his face away from the floor. He flips onto his back, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Ceiling, up. Check. Floor, behind, check. Couch, below, against feet. Check. His brain is far too coherent.
Luhan sits up and crawls onto the couch.
He should definitely not be able to do that. Usually he can’t physically lift himself from the floor by n- he checks his watch - yeah, by now. Usually by now he’s too heavy to move a muscle, helpless to do anything but wait for Minseok to come and pick him up and take him to bed.
He reaches with trembling hands for the sheet of smiley faces on the coffee table.
“Minseok will be here soon.”
Sehun’s nose wrinkles as he nudges wine bottles aside to kneel next to the older man. “Luhan, can you hear me?”
“Oh good,” Luhan snickers happily. “Voice. That means Minseok is on his way.”
“Luhan, did you drink all of these tonight?”
“I don’t like shiraz.”
“I know you don’t, Lu.”
“Is Minseok here yet? I’m bored.”
A stream of air flows through the room. Maybe the beginning of a cyclone or a tornado, a heavy autumn gust, did Luhan close the window? Perhaps a helicopter is flying past the apartment and messing everything up.
Or it’s just a sigh.
“Minseok can’t make it, Lu. He’s not coming.”
Luhan screams.
It’s not enough.
It’s nowhere near enough.
“I feel sick.”
“Jesus fucking-” Sehun hauls him to his feet and drags him as quickly as he can to the bathroom.
“I’m-” Luhan cuts himself off with recycled shiraz.
The patterns on the little pills are not all upright and Luhan wants to cry as he forces his hands to nudge them into position. He just wants it to be neat. He just wants it to be pretty. M-I-N-S-E-O-K. Useless.
Ready for him to get here.
He can’t taste the pills but he can feel them, small and round and unstable on his tongue.
M-I-N-S-E-O-Y
The kitchen tiles are cold against his palms, the grout clings at the ragged edges of his fingernails.
No one drags him to the bathroom before he vomits.
M-I-N-S-E-O
“Minnie, you love me, right?”
“Luhan!”
Shit that is loud.
No, no shaking.
“God, I wish I didn’t.”
“I love you though.”
“Luhan how many? How fucking many, fuck- Sehun, go call an ambulance.”
“O-okay.”
“Minseok-”
“The ambulance is on its way… how many did he take?”
“I don’t know, he won’t - Luhan please-”
“Luhan please look at me, Luhan, what are these please tell me what these are- Joonmyun do something!”
“What even are these?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why the fuck would you put it in your mouth if you don’t know, Luhan…”
“What do you want me to do, Sehun!?”
“I don’t fucking know just… just get him up so he doesn’t choke…”
“I can’t take care of both of us, Luhan. I just don’t have the strength. It has to be you or me.”
Wailing.
“I… I choose me.”
Flashing.
“I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry
“Minseok-”
“LUHAN!”
“Joonmyun they’re here I can see them they’re here,”
Minseok I’m sorry
“I don’t know what-”
Luhan,
Minseok-
“Or how much- ”
I’m so sorry
“Just help him please Jesus fuck Luhan-”
A/N: hashtag-NotAsFuckedUpAsItCouldBe
I'm sorry for this.