colors ↠ h2ovanoss [discontinued]

i.

i. the world is his stage (unfortunately)

Evan doesn't know what to do, it's not like he does usually, but the situation was different this time.

It's sometime past midnight and he's sitting in the bathtub, still feeling the cold surface under the no-longer-warm, soapy water with nothing but a few bottles of alcohol. He's been sitting like that for some time now; legs bent, neck resting on the edge of the tub, and his left arm dangling over the bath mat with half-empty Jack Daniels whiskey in his hand. It's probably his third bottle now and he's more worried about running out than passing out.

The other empty bottles of the whiskey were left on the floor haphazardly, the shattered glass pieces staying where they landed in the path from the tub to the door. They're all still wet and stained slightly from the light brown liquid, droplets of it clinging on, and they all looked kind of pretty with the too-white, too-bright light hanging above Evan.

He didn't really care, though, about the pretty droplets, the alcohol running in his veins, or the light that kept shining above him as if it was trying to blind him to death; he really didn't.

It was the superficial details, the singular pieces of the bigger picture, the bigger puzzle. If anything, all they did was add on to the never-ending list of disappointing and useless things that everyone seemed to focus on; they were part of the scene, but they weren't the scene itself. They were like props. You don't pay attention to the props, though, you pay attention to the actor or actress.

Evan sighed before shifting slightly, his back leaning against the very end of the tub and his neck was no longer looking like it was snapped in half. He blinked his eyes blearily, his mind still sort of stuck in a sort of stupor as he tried to make sense of everything; no, no, scratch that.

He wanted to make sense of nothing.

It was tiring being an adult, a grown-up; everything was all work, no play considering how much the goddamn world loved their money so much. It was always the props, the costumes, the stage that they loved and not the actors, actresses, emotion that they they should have; they only value they saw was found in the things that they could see and touch.

He didn't want to be a prop, to only have value when he was tangible. And he is tangible, but there was much more to him than just being able to be touched and seen.

Another sigh and the last whiskey bottle crashed to the floor, the shards flying everywhere it could as the remainder of the drink splashed onto the already glass covered ground. He felt a piece of the sharp glass graze the tip of his index finger and he felt a warm liquid oozing out of the wound; he'll take care of it later.

Evan didn't want to get up and out of the tub, not really because of the dangerous, sharp glass that littered the ground, but because he didn't want to go to sleep. Going to sleep meant you were ready to end the night and fast forward to the morning; it meant that you wanted another day to start and for things to happen to make you feel alive.

Evan didn't want to end the night to fast forward to morning, to start another day, and he certainly didn't want to feel alive; besides what led to feeling alive, that led to more things that he didn't want. He didn't want to think, to feel, to live because it told him that he was alive, his heart was beating and his lungs were breathing.

And that's when he realized, that that was what he despised most of all.

xxx

It's past three am now and he's sitting in the twenty-four hours McDonalds down the street in a plastic booth by himself. He knows he looks pathetic with a cup of black coffee in his hand, a red jacket around him, sweatpants as his bottoms, and his eyes staring at the cup as if it would tell him something life-changing.

(It didn't.)

There's almost no one else in the place, minus the unlucky worker who had to stay for probably the millionth time that week. Truth be told, Evan didn't look at the guy once and only wanted a coffee to dull the slight drumming in his head and a reason to not sleep yet.

He blinked and sighed for the third time that night, looking away from the black void that was his coffee and out the window of the fast food place, head resting on the palm of his hand.

It was pitch black almost. If it wasn't for the streetlamps that illuminated the sidewalk or the shining headlights of the speeding cars, he would have believed that he was stuck in a black world with nothing but him in a McDonalds booth. He had to hide a grin at the thought of being alone, just stuck in a tiny, plastic booth; he barely fit in one considering how bulky he was.

He took a slow sip of the coffee, embracing the warmth that ran down his throat and lingered in his stomach despite the bitterness of it. His eyes still stayed glued on to the racing cars that passed by him without a single thought, a soft smile on his face at the little joke he made today. It was a little self-deprecating, but it was innocent and it made him smile once which was an improvement considering how things have been lately.

It seemed like that he sat there for an hour, just gazing at something that he can't really figure out a reason for. The blurs of lights, the roar of some cars as they practically barrelled down the street, the thought that those people had seperate and complex lives, it was captivating and mysterious.

The worker behind the counter had been staring at Evan for some time now, wondering what in the world made the black-haired guy come in at three am and just sit there; no one just came and sat in a McDonalds booth for the hell of it.

He checked his phone, wincing slightly at how late it was already and at how long he's been staring at the guy in the booth; he had to admit that it was slightly entertaining, the sight of him with his muscular figure trying to fit into their booths without looking odd. A grin on his face appeared and he had to suppress a laugh.

His phone buzzed, and he checked it again, a new message popping up.

Tyler: Do you know where Evan is? We were supposed to record a long time ago.

He hummed lightly.

Jonathan: Yeah, he just needed a break. I'll make sure that he records with us next time.

Tyler: you better.

Jonathan looked up and the familiar figure was starting to get up, letting out a quiet yawn. He grinned again as he stared at the black-brown eyes of Evan, sensing his mind running and suddenly clicking at the image of him.

Evan's steps were slow and hesitant, as if he was afraid that the person in front of him wasn't his best friend or just an illusion, a trick on his brain. Even so, the sparkling blue eyes stayed sparkling with that stupid grin and he knew that when he heard that voice of his best friend, it was reality.

"Jonathan..?" He breathed out.

"What would you like to order, Evan?" The 29 year old replied, mischievous nature, cheeky grin, and all.

xxx