| Through The Glass | MINCHAN/BANGINHO

|CHAPTER NINE|

Chapter 9

"We're going to be okay, love. I'm here. I'm here. We're together. Love it's okay, it's going to be okay."

NOT EVEN ALCOHOL could keep the whispers in Chan's ears at bay. If anything, the whiskey just made it worse than it already was, and Chan felt like he was about to lose his head. His brain was throbbing against the inside of his skull and he couldn't think straight. He hadn't been able to think straight since he'd woke up this morning and was alone. Seungmin had left a note saying that his parents had come home, that he couldn't stay, and had no idea when he was going to be back either. It hurt to know that Seungmin left without saying bye and that there was no telling when he would come back, but he had to keep in mind that Seungmin was still a teenager, living at home.

The day seemed to pass by slowly, but night time came all too quickly at the same time. Chan couldn't take staying in the apartment surrounded by all the mirrors and ended up mindlessly wandering the streets until it was five o' clock and the bars began to open for business. Chan had taken refuge at the one near his apartment, the place known for its investment in roaches and local gangs, but Chan cared very little at the time. He had little to no money and he just needed a cheap drink to get him by.

He ignored mostly everyone that tried chatting him up, the only words him speaking being his drink orders to the bartender. It seemed as though he was slowly digging his grave with every drink and every denied man. But Chan couldn't get the whispers to go away. They were even drowning out the pumping music and the loud chatter of the people around him, getting collectively worse with every glass of cheap, watered down whiskey. Chan wanted to keep drinking though, at least to the point where he was passed out or his bartender cut him off. By his tenth glass, he didn't notice the powder slipped inside last minute by the man beside him.

"Hey there." What a starter, Chan couldn't help but roll his eyes and didn't even bother to respond. "I'm talking to you." The man playfully continued, thinking Chan just hadn't heard him, but he had, and Chan just continued to ignore him. Chan could admit that he was good looking. yes, but that wasn't why he was here; it would never be why he was here. "Come on, cutie, I don't bite," he whined lowly, but Chan still paid him no mind, completely oblivious to the look of pure and utter irritation on the stranger's face. Chan's mind was too clouded to think of any sort of consequences that could come out of this.

So, when the glass of slightly powdery whiskey was slid in front of him and the stranger glanced at him maliciously, Chan took it without question. The whispers grew in degree, spiking a headache in his temples. He whimpered and cried, tugging at his locks as he grumbled incoherent words to himself, everything appearing fuzzy and his body numb. Chan felt arms wrap around his waist as the man insisted on getting him out of there and walking him home, but the only thing Chan could make out clearly in his own head was that he didn't want to go with this man.