My Wicked Destiny

Down The Drain 🔞

Crimson nails tear through my skin, 
I choke you out, then draw you in. 
No escape from my heart's dead drum, 
To fall for you is to be undone.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM

The bathroom was as pristine as the bedroom, but unlike the stark minimalism elsewhere, it revealed more of Kim's personal tastes. A myriad of shampoos and conditioners lined a sleek shelf on the wall, each bottle labeled with unfamiliar names, hinting at the luxury they held within. The air was thick with warm, spiced scents, filling Porchay's senses as he sifted through the bottles, each fragrance more intoxicating than the last. They spoke of Kim's preferences-rich, complex, and almost overpowering, much like the man himself.

Stepping into the shower, Porchay let the warm water cascade over his body, standing beneath the steady stream far longer than necessary. The sound of water hitting the tile was almost hypnotic, a steady rhythm that allowed his mind to wander. But it was a dangerous place for his thoughts to linger.

The image of Kim's eyes, darkened with something unreadable whenever his father was mentioned, lingered in his mind like a shadow. It mingled with the violent memory of the other night-the raw heat of Kim's hands dragging across his skin, igniting something within him that was equal parts desire and fear, and the sickening crack of the gunshot as the bullet tore through Kim's shoulder.

In his vision, the water swirling at his feet began to tint red, an illusion of blood staining the pristine tiles. He blinked, trying to shake the image, but it clung to him, just as the grime clung to his skin. No matter how hard he scrubbed, how long he stood under the relentless stream, he doubted that even a year beneath this water would be enough to cleanse the pain and hurt that had been sown deep into his flesh.

"Porchay?" Kim's voice, low and edged with worry, came from the other side of the door. "You've been in there for a long time. Are you okay?" He waited, straining to hear any sound, but the silence was deafening. The absence of any response made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Porchay?" he called out again, more urgently this time, but was met with the same unnerving quiet. Kim took a deep breath, his hand hovering over the door handle. "If you don't answer me, I'm coming in." Still nothing.

Kim pushed the door open and stepped into the bathroom. The steam hung thick in the air, the room bathed in a hazy warmth, but his attention was immediately drawn to the tall, crystal-clear shower door. Through it, he could see Porchay standing motionless under the water.

Kim's eyes widened, not at the sight of the young man's body, but at the thin, crimson trails of blood running down his arms. Porchay's eyes were distant, empty, as if he were trapped in some dark, unreachable place. His nails were digging into his flesh, carving deep marks that bled freely, the red mixing with the water before spiraling down the drain.

"Fuck," Kim whispered, a cold shiver crawling down his spine as he watched in horror. Without a second thought, he yanked open the shower door and grabbed Porchay's wrist, his voice urgent. "Snap out of it," he hissed, his grip firm. "You're hurting yourself."

The sharp sound of the glass door and the sudden contact jolted Porchay from his trance, his eyes snapping wide with confusion. "Wha-what are you doing in here?" Porchay yelped, his voice trembling. He instinctively backed away, but Kim didn't release his wrist, the movement dragging Kim into the shower with him. The water soaked Kim's clothes instantly, his silky hair clinging to his face as the water poured over him. He stood there, drenched and disheveled, his eyes dark with an almost frightened expression as they searched Porchay's face for any sign of recognition.