Church boy | Haobin

6

Hanbin's world was a blur. The lights in the club swirled around him, every beat of the bass pulsing through his body like a wave. His head spun, and his vision swam as he struggled to stay upright, his back against the cold tiles of the restroom floor. He'd lost track of time—how long had he been here? He didn't know. The drugs had taken over again, numbing everything, and he hated himself for it.

How did I get here? Again?
The thought flickered in his mind, but it was hard to focus on it. The familiar mix of shame and frustration crept in, just beneath the haze, but the drugs pushed it back down.
I can't keep doing this.
He tried to stand, his arms trembling, but his legs felt like they were made of lead, his body too heavy to move. He collapsed back down, his cheek pressing against the cold floor, his breath ragged and uneven.

The door creaked open. Through his blurry vision, Hanbin saw Ricky, standing in the doorway, staring down at him with a mixture of concern and disappointment. Ricky worked at the club, and it was pure chance that he'd found Hanbin here, like this.

"Hanbin..." Ricky's voice was low, strained, as he crouched down next to him.
"What are you doing, man? You've gotta stop this."

Hanbin tried to form words, but nothing coherent came out. He could barely lift his head. His heart pounded, not from the drugs but from the shame. This wasn't the first time Ricky had found him like this, and Hanbin hated himself for making his friend see him in this state again.
I'm pathetic. He thought.

Ricky sighed, standing up and looking around. He wasn't supposed to be helping customers during his break, but this was different. He couldn't leave Hanbin here. Gritting his teeth, Ricky leaned down and lifted Hanbin's arm over his shoulder, pulling him up with a grunt. Hanbin was heavier than he expected, his body limp and uncooperative.

"Come on, we're getting out of here," Ricky muttered as he struggled to maneuver Hanbin out of the restroom and through the club. The stares from other people in the club didn't help. Hanbin was barely aware of them, but Ricky felt every gaze, every judgmental glance thrown their way. He tightened his grip on Hanbin, pushing through the crowd.

Being friends with an addict was exhausting, and moments like these made Ricky wonder how much more he could handle. He cared about Hanbin, but it was draining, constantly pulling him out of these messes, watching him spiral further into self-destruction.
How much longer can I keep doing this?

The struggle of getting Hanbin out of the club and into the car was draining, but Ricky managed it, breathing heavily as he buckled Hanbin into the passenger seat. He glanced at him, his head lolled back against the headrest, eyes half-open but not really seeing anything. Hanbin's breathing was shallow, but at least he seemed calm now.

As they drove toward Hanbin's apartment, the silence in the car was suffocating. Ricky kept glancing over at him, watching as Hanbin's eyes fluttered shut, and within moments, he was asleep. Ricky sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
He can't keep doing this.

When they finally arrived at Hanbin's apartment, Ricky parked the car and shook Hanbin gently. "Hey, wake up. We're here."

Hanbin groaned, his eyelids heavy, but he stirred, blinking blearily as he looked around. Ricky helped him out of the car, guiding him up the stairs and into the apartment. The place was a mess—empty bottles, scattered clothes, and the stale smell of neglect hung in the air. Ricky grimaced but didn't say anything. He guided Hanbin to the couch, where they both collapsed, the weight of the situation hanging between them.

"You have to stop this," Ricky said after a long silence, his voice thick with frustration. "You're killing yourself, Hanbin. Look at you—you're a mess. You can't keep doing this."