ghost of you // minsung

dancing through our house

All Minho could really think in his drunken daze is why am I here?

Why am I not the one buried six feet under ground?

Why couldn't it have been me?

Minho just felt numb in his current state. Tears slid down his cheeks at the once pink colored memory, which had now muted and turned grey with despair written all over it. He didn't sniffle, nor did he flinch at the now familiar wetness that would pour down his cheeks.

The purple headed boy always hoped that whenever he drank his sorrows away, he'd feel something positive again. It never worked, but instead of quitting his problem, Minho would only drink more and more, hoping to find solace somewhere in the seemingly endless bottles.

Minho stumbled forward, his vision entirely cloudy and hazy, even with the lights on to guide him around. His feet couldn't even manage to walk in a straight line, and his liver was begging him to stop chugging such liquid. Minho's head felt like it was spinning, and his body felt like it was buzzing. His abdomen was in so much pain, and his body began to shake tremendously.

That didn't stop Minho from walking upstairs into the bedroom that once inhabited two people instead of one.

The room for the most part seemed like it still had two people, at least in Minho's eyes. The whole house did, because he saw Jisung everywhere.

Minho saw Jisung in the cabinets in the kitchen, because he didn't have the heart to pack up his mugs. He saw Jisung in the bedsheets, his ghost in the fragments of his mind tangled in the sheets on the left side of the bed. He saw Jisung in the rotten strawberries in the fridge that Minho had bought his husband days prior to the incident. He saw Jisung's clothes on the left side of the closet, unwashed and untouched. He saw him in the flowers on the lawn, the living room where he'd sing his heart out, the few kpop albums scattered across the bedroom with his bias photo cards decorated on the dressers.

Minho saw Jisung in the array of pictures that were on the walls of where they called home.

Jisung's beautiful smile that Minho could admire for days. His precious cheeks that Minho could only beg to pinch just one more time. His strawberry scented hair that only lingered in Minho's memory. His laugh that echoed around the walls of his skull.

Minho wouldn't dare erase the memory of him. Even if it would get rid of all the bottled up pain over the last few months, it was his greatest pleasure in life to be the one to hold Han Jisung's heart.

Minho stumbled to the closet that still contained an array of Jisung's clothes. The purple headed boy couldn't really feel his fingertips well, but he stabbed them through the minimal empty space between hangers. He blinked slowly as he shuffled around the hangers, finally landing on the one he was aiming for.

The drunken boy stepped back briefly to peel his current shirt off of his body. Minho struggled a little bit to tear apart the fabric from his chest, but eventually the shirt landed on the floor in one piece. Minho went back into the closet to get a grasp on a lilac colored shirt that contained a variety of graphic designs that melted together, such as a heart, rainbow, cloud, eyeball, and a couple of sceneries that fit into an older computer, pixelated aesthetic. This was Jisung's favorite shirt when he was alive.

It didn't fit Minho entirely well. Although his hair was purple, the vibrancy of the shirt didn't match his personality much. The shirt was a little bit big on Minho, but it was even bigger on Jisung, and that's one of the things he liked most about it.

Minho wanted to save a time to wear Jisung's clothes on nights he missed him most. It brought him a sense of comfort, and a delusion that Jisung was there with him. The alcohol didn't help this fact.

At this point, Minho couldn't see much anymore. Everything was spinning profusely, and the colors of his room blurred together. He could make out various shapes, such as his shelves and his door way, and that's what he relied on to get out of his room.

With a hand clutching the almost empty bottle and the other gripping the railing of the stairs, Minho made his way down as slowly as possible. At his current state, if he were to slip, he might die. Minho had a hard time keeping his eyes open and his stomach under control as he went down each step.

If anyone had been here with Minho, they would see how fucked up he had gotten.

Quite frankly, fucked up feels like an understatement.

Minho walked funkily into his kitchen, humming to himself and swaying, nearly falling each time. The purple headed boy felt around, lightly patting the surfaces of his kitchen, trying to find the cabinets that held the mugs. The one he was looking for was unmistakable.

Minho carried a lopsided smile as he grasped the bright blue mug and put it down on the counter a little too hard. It was Jisung's favorite mug. A vibrant blue mug that was meant to represent the color of the September birth stone, and the constellation for the Virgo zodiac sign was plastered in golden paint.

He'd scold me for this if he were here right now.

Minho lazily opened the cap of the bottle, and flicked it off, not sure where it landed. He poured nearly the last of the alcoholic content into the mug, and set the bottle down on the counter before taking a swig from the mug. Minho blinked slowly, feeling his stomach begin to churn. He knew he'd never gone to this extent before in his alcoholic binges, and a sober part of him was begging Minho to stop. But the purple headed wouldn't surrender now.

He stumbled into the living room, taking one more painful swallow of the liquor splashing around the mug. Minho almost rolled his ankle, but quickly regained his balance. He set the mug down by the TV, and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

"Hey Siri," Minho grumbled. The boy sniffled right before a noise sounded from his phone, signaling that Siri was listening.

"Play 'Older' by 5 Seconds of Summer."

"Playing 'Older' by 5 Seconds of Summer."

~~~