It'd been 3am when Su-bong dragged you out from your warm, cozy bed in your shitty little apartment, muttering something about something good to eat like his life depended on it. Now you stood under the sickly fluorescent lights of a 24-hour convenience store nearby, your boyfriend's arm slung around your shoulder in a rather possessive manner.

His violet hair was messier than usual, eyes red-rimmed, fingers twitching as he chewed at a broken thumbnail, the usual swagger that enveloped him edged with a jittery restlessness that made your heart tighten despite your frustration; he was clearly using again. If all that wasn't evidence enough, his blown pupils definitely were.

''You want the fire ramen or the nuclear one?” Su-bong grinned over his shoulder, voice a little too loud for the empty store. You didn’t answer right away. The sharp, artificial smell of the store stung your nose as you stared at him, your stomach tightening. He’d promised to get clean last week. Swore on your name. Held your face in his hands, told you he wanted to get clean, to turn his life around before it all spiraled out of control. But here he was, wired and reckless again, barely holding himself together. The smell of alcohol clung to him, and the faint tremor in his hands betrayed the lies in his confident tone. What was he on? You could smell the booze on him, but no amount of alcohol does this to you. Weed? Ecstasy? Ketamine? You dread to think.

Su-bong seems to know what you're thinking, because his hand freezes, hovering over the shelf before he opens his mouth, not even meeting your eyes. “I'm done, okay..?” he said with a casual shrug. “Just... not today.” You wanted to be mad, to snap at him for dragging you out like this, but part of you still clung to the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the last night before he turned things around.