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The first thing that hit him, after the grogginess, was a gently throbbing headache...
The next two things were the sound of rain and the dim glow of neon lights in his peripheral as he slowly opened his eyes...
Next came the numb feeling that accompanies cold, as well as something solid against his back...
As he pieced together his surrounding in a fog, he realized he was laying on the ground in the alleyway outside the club-- though he couldn't remember why...
As he tried to sit up, a few sharp pains found their way through the numb of the cold, and he let out a gasp, followed by a wincing hiss...
Oh right. He remembers now.
He lost a fight.
With a sigh he let his head drop back down to the pavement, as he screwed his eyes shut tight, rolling a bit as the last few pieces of the proceeding events fell into place...
He remembered-- as he listened to the distance sound of cars on the road, muffled by the rain, and accompanied by the unfortunate returning of his senses-- that he had gotten into it with a dude who had about half a foot on Jean Loo. He doesn't remember the exact start of it all, but he does remember both of them getting in each others face, and agreeing to take it outside.
The guy had a friend with him who was trying to talk him out of it, but Jean Loo just kept egging the fight on.
He remembered squaring up and then--
The memory of a fist meeting his face was punctuated by the sting of pain on his nose.
Fuck, he had clocked him good...
He doesn't remember much after that, save for a few kicks to the stomach after he had already hit the ground, and a frantic distant voice telling the guy to stop.
Frankly after that first punch it was all a little blurry... it seems like-- the friend had convinced the dude Jean Loo was fighting to leave off? And they had gone back inside, leaving Jean Loo knocked out in the street...
Shit...
Jean Loo lifted his hand to his nose and touched it, letting out another hiss as pain shot through. He let his hand drop with a sigh.
Shit...
Jean Loo couldn't say he fully regretted the fight-- but damn, it would've been nice if he hadn't gone down like a bitch...
Would've also been nice if he had a friend too...
That part came a little out of nowhere from the back of his mind, but he couldn't deny it was something that was distantly nagging him since he had stepped out into that alley way.
That douche that knocked him out had had a friend... and what did Jean Loo have?
A broken nose?
Probably...
But fuck-- walking out into an alley against someone with a buddy behind him-- it felt unfair... like two against one. If not in a fight, then at least morally...
Jean Loo continued to flip flop between contemplating his loneliness, and summoning the will to stand up through the pain. He laid there, eyes tight shut in the back alley of the street, regretting a a scant few of his life choices...
He didn't necessarily hate all of his life, but FUCK-- he kinda hated his life...
And maybe a little bit himself...
And he definitely hated everyone else...
'Would be nice to have a friend though...' he thought as he opened his eyes, staring up into the black starless night haloed in the burning glow of street signs in Jean's peripheral, as the distant clouds that he couldn't see literally rained on his pathetic little evening...
He moved his body a bit, not to get up, just to get used to moving-- to shrug off the pain and the cold wet that bit through his clothes and onto his skin.
Man feeling things this much was weird... cold felt a lot less bitter when he was a fucking toilet...
'Still a little bitter though...'
He closed his eyes again. Between the cold and the rain and the anger-- almost felt like he was being pissed on again... metaphorically.
As he thought back to The Toilet Days, those memories met with the thought 'it'd be nice to have someone' and collided into a single unwelcome thought...
You.
Fuck. Why does he have to think about this shit at the worst fucking time... wasn't his night shit enough.
His face scrunched, then relaxed a bit into a softer sneer.
The homeowner.
He raised his hands to his face, and rubbed his eyes, careful not to touch his nose...
He probably hated you too. The same way he hated everyone else.
Or maybe he doesn't-- I dunno...
You weren't all bad... right now you seemed better than being lonely...
He thought for a moment-- just a brief fleeting fantasy, of what it would be like to have you at his side... to still have you in his life...
You'd come looking for him at the clubs cause it had gotten late and he was no longer answering your texts. You had come to check in on him, cause you were worried...
You were probably expecting a drunken Jean Loo to tell you off-- mockingly call you 'His Parent and/or Guardian'! But then you'd round a corner, and find poor Jean Loo beaten and cold in the alleyway.
You'd rush to his side, gentle hand on his chest as you knelt down beside him, and ask if he's alright...
Obviously he is not, and when you go to touch his nose, ever so gently, it still hurts and he hisses out a curse at you, but you still don't walk away...
Instead you stay with Jean Loo, as he lies there cold on the wet ground... you scoop up his poor aching head, lay it in your lap and tell him to take a moment till he's able to walk again...
You wipe the rain and blood from his broken face, as you hold his hand reassuringly, smoothing your thumb over his knuckle so that he knows you are there...
He holds your hand tight in his, moaning groggily for a moment before asking if you two can go home. You chuckle a bit at Jean Loo, and he opens his eyes to find you smiling down at him.
'Yes love, I'll take you home...'
Except when he opens his eyes for real, he does not see your smile shining down to warm him.
Instead it's just the cold black sky, stretching on forever as it rains down on him.
He has no one.
He's bruised and bloodied, numb from the cold and aching from the pain, as he lies there in the streets...
He is alone...
He pushed you away, and though he's sure tomorrow morning he will probably be back to doubling down on his decision, right now alone in the streets, he can't for the life of him remember why...
He almost felt like crying, but this night has been shit enough.
He sits up with a groan, damp cold and stingy pain biting at him.
With some effort he stands up, and starts to stumble his way out of the alley-- stiff at first, but a little bit more steady after the first few strides...
With a spinning head and a throbbing nose, he begins to trudge back towards his apartment in defeat...
This night's been a bust.