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Soul groaned as the smell of the alcohol he was drinking finally penetrated his nose, he was growing increasingly sick of this routine but he couldn’t draw himself away from it. This wasn’t his usual choice for an escape, but Blackstar had ‘borrowed’ the remaining edibles he had to try out something with Kid; which was why he was only left with the bottle of Jack to console him.
The sudden relationship that sparked between Blackstar and Kid, not necessarily sudden since Blackstar had been hopelessly in love for a while now - was partially why Soul had turned to the bottle in the first place.
He was tired of being excluded from a world that all his friends seemed to be overly familiar with - the world of romance.
Soul was never overly concerned with relationships while he was growing up, he was too focused on the shattered pieces of his own childhood. He hadn’t the time to dream about grand weddings or even kisses exchanged under the covers of school bleachers. He knew he wasn’t being fair with this irrational disdain towards his best friend and his new boyfriend but he couldn’t stop the rush of pain that accompanied him whenever he dwelled too much on how Blackstar was taking it up the ass.
He knew he didn’t like Blackstar romantically so he couldn’t even put his finger on why he felt that way; he briefly thought about asking Maka but he was her ex now. Regardless of their close bond, it’d just look weird of him to speak with her about his own struggles with watching this, it’d only divide them more and make Crona feel insecure about their relationship with Maka.
Besides, removing Crona from the equation didn’t do much to paint Soul in a better light. Maka absolutely hated the fact that Soul drinks, with her dad’s abuse of the substance, and her actually knowing that Soul had decided to take that path would only destroy her. It would be vile to subject her to that due to his own childish nature, he wasn’t meant to be this way.
The guilt that the thoughts caused him to feel was eating away at him even more so than the unsettling feeling of relapse. Soul took another long swig at the bottle, he felt so fucking awful for not being able to be happy for his two closest friends finally finding love in a world that seemed barren. Neither of them, especially Blackstar, had ever caught a break a day in their life; who was Soul to rob that from there for an unspecified guilt?
He didn’t know when he started being all emotional over stupid shit like this; he had always been someone who never cared to pursue what he wanted when he wanted without question ever since he walked away from the ring of the piano keys that haunted his past. It seemed that he was being played with the same intensity that he had hit the keys with in his prime.
He couldn’t help but feel excluded from that world. He didn’t know why he had to feel so horribly about it, it stung even more than the alcohol that was now coating his throat miserably. It wasn’t doing much to resolve the ever growing pain he felt in his heart.
The bottle was rapidly emptying itself, he didn’t know what to do to make the feelings go away. He didn’t have much left in the house and he wasn’t about to go out just to get caught being a drunkard; that wouldn’t go over pleasantly with anyone in his life.
His fingers itched to tell someone, anyone, about what he’d done to see if they would even care. How would Maka respond? Would she come over, regardless of the feelings of her partner, and comfort Soul by braiding his hair like she always used to do?
What if he told Blackstar that he was drinking again? Would he immediately run over with the edibles and snacks to help Soul forget about his troubles for the night, just to later cuddle him to sleep and work out with him the next morning to make them each erase the memories of their struggles?
Would Crona and Kid care? Would they see how Soul was drowning and hold out a hand for him, as he would have for them?
It was so selfishly sick, this wasn’t Soul, this wasn’t the person that he was meant to be. He didn’t even know how he arrived to this train of thought, so there was nothing he could do to uproot the sin that was spreading like a disease throughout every crevice of his body.
The remains of the bottle was dripping down his chin messily, reminding him of the days where he used to drink himself into a stupor just to forget who he’d been with that night. It was terrifying. He felt paranoid, a little like Kid; not that he’d repeat that thought to Blackstar or anyone who knew the former boy.
God, why was he so sick?
He threw the bottle of Jack onto the ground, watching it all shatter in a silent scream; knowing that nobody would be able to hear it no matter what. He was all alone, he had nobody to drag down with him in his pain. Was that what it all came to? An innate desire to not be the sole one suffering in the world?
The realization struck him with a harsh crash, the flood of emotions burst out into him in ways that he wouldn’t have imagined possible. He cried out with a fierce passion into the couch, ignoring the broken glass that began to penetrate his fragile skin.
Blood made its way down his arms as the true meaning of solitude registered in his mind; nobody would ever notice if Soul fell. Not a single soul would, it was ironically beautiful in a sickening sense. He allowed for himself to drift away into unconsciousness as the alcohol in his system accompanied his twisted self.