⚠️ sensitive content warning: mentions of alcohol and drugs, toxic behaviors and cheating. read at your own discretion.
you only ever text him when the room spins and the music gets too loud, when the smoke burns your throat and the liquor tastes like regret. tonight’s no different. it’s past 3am, your eyeliner smudged, your pulse racing as someone hands you another shot. you don’t even know whose lips you kissed an hour ago in the bathroom stall. all you know is that yeonjun’s name crashes against your mind like a drunk confession.
he picks up on the first ring. he always does.
you stumble out of the party, heels in hand, voice slurred, “can you come get me?” he sighs, something tired and familiar in his tone, but he still says “where are you?” like he hasn’t done this a hundred times before.
by the time his car pulls up, you’re half gone, glitter stuck to your face like lies you never cleaned. he looks at you like you’re both his salvation and his downfall. he says nothing as you slide in, reeking of smoke, tasting like someone else.
you used to swear you weren’t that kind of girl. the one who destroys what loves her. but yeonjun sees the bruise on your neck and flinches. he doesn’t ask. you don’t explain.
back at his apartment, silence sits heavy. you watch him pour you water like it’s ritual. “do you even remember what you did tonight?” he mutters, and you shake your head, though you do. flashes of hands that weren’t his, laughter too close, lips pressed against yours. you cheated again. he knows.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking, but it’s empty. he runs a hand through his hair, swallowing whatever anger he has left. he’s past anger. he’s somewhere between love and ruin.
you hate how he still looks at you like there’s something worth saving. you hate how you only feel something when you’re breaking him. he sits beside you on the bed, close but not touching. “why do you keep coming back to me when you’re high?” he asks, eyes glassy.
you stare at the ceiling. “because sober me can’t handle you.”
there it is. raw, ugly honesty. he nods slowly, like he expected it. maybe he did. he always said you were intoxicating, and in return, you made an addiction out of him.
you lean in, kiss him like apology, like habit. his lips taste like restraint. he doesn’t kiss back immediately. then he does, like surrender.
clothes hit the floor but it’s not love, not really. it’s desperation, the kind that feels like punishment. your nails dig into his skin as if trying to anchor yourself. he whispers “i love you” against your mouth, and you nearly choke on it.
after, you lie beside him, heartbeat uneven. dawn creeps through the curtains. you’re still buzzing from the drugs, but the guilt stings sharper.
he traces your arm gently, almost hopeful. “will you stay this time?”
you don't answer.
you only ever call him when you're high. sober you never stays. and yet, when sleep finally drags you under, you find yourself wishing you did.