acatwhowrites: (C.A.P♡relaxed)
A Cat Who Writes ([personal profile] acatwhowrites) wrote2015-05-02 11:03 pm

I'm Only Sleeping

title: I'm Only Sleeping
players: Jung Hoseok/J-Hope
word count: 710
rating: PG-13
warnings: attempted suicide, suicidal ideations, mental imbalance
summary: Hoseok just wants to sleep, that's all.

a/n: Unbeta'd. I did not escape I Need U unscathed.





Hoseok looks at himself in the mirror, turning his head left and right to get as much of the dying incandescent light on his jaws as possible. There are the barest of shadows, and he opens the mirrored cabinet door, ignoring the box of exposed razors of his dad's that he keeps out of laziness rather than necessity. His dad, for as long as Hoseok remembers, always sported a handsome beard, kept neat with the razor he had inherited from his own father in a time before electric commodities. Both Dad and Grandad teased Hoseok about his lack of facial hair, but he cares even less now than he did then. It'd just be another hassle in his routine, keeping the hair neat.

The razors sit, untouched, where his dad last left them the last morning he left for work. No one knew he was depressed when he rode the elevator to the top floor of the police department he'd worked at since before marrying and having Hoseok.

It took months to piece everything together—the separation, the stress of the job, his beloved parents' deaths—but Hoseok didn't care. He could never find it in him to care. It's too exhausting; he feels ready to crawl back to bed just from walking to the bathroom across the hall from his bedroom.

He doesn't live with his mom, anymore. It may have been easier if he did, but he couldn't stand the coddling and worry. His phone stayed off to avoid her calls. His computer stayed off to avoid her messages and emails. His apartment remained locked and silent to avoid her company.

She left his prescription with his landlady, and elderly woman with too many happy grandchildren stories, who promised to open his apartment and set the medication right on the kitchen counter for him.

It made it to his medicine cabinet, never to his gut. He hates how it makes him feel. At least now, touching his face, he can feel the slightest blemishes and hair. The drugs make him more tired, weighing heavily on his chest and not letting him sleep; he can barely roll over to vomit the inevitable nausea, and then the dizziness leaves him limp and drained over the side of his bed.

Chewing his bottom lip, he closes the mirror and stares at his reflection, amber pill bottle in his fist. His shoulders hunch as he leans over the pedestal sink, and he vaguely remembers a time when his shirts actually fit him well. He'd been pretty popular, energetic, outgoing. The memories are hazy; it takes too much energy to try and focus on them.

The room spins a little, shoving his shoulders back and kicking his feet from under him.

He tumbles onto his butt, striking his head on the edge of the bathtub. The pain clears his head for long enough to fear that he was bleeding and feel the bottle still in his hands.

It hurts to roll over, drawing a knee up under him and stretching over the tub. The edge digs into his chest; it presses harder when he opens the pill bottle and dumps half of them in his mouth. He chews them; they're bitter. He swallows and tosses the rest back, grinding them with his teeth and sucking the grit from between his lips and teeth.

The tub faucet screams as he turns it, and he dips his head down to drink the lukewarm water, ignoring it running over his face and wetting his clothes and bangs.

He sits against the tub, letting it run, because he's too tired to turn it off. His mouth dries; he can't make the effort to even reach back to the faucet.

His stomach lurches; his head aches. The medicine cabinet is as far as the water he thinks he hears.

His dad crouches between his knees, wearing the same smile he always wears when he wants to talk to Hoseok but doesn't want to broach the subject. He rubs his beard and shakes his head, looking at his son's eyes with something almost like humour.

"Your mom always said you were just like me."

Hands try to pull him to his feet, but Hoseok's passed out, finally sleeping.