Chapter Text
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The young idol's head pounded. He was drunk--too drunk.
It wasn't even a fun, party drunk, either; he was completely alone.
He could be relaxing and sleeping it off in the comfort of his bed, but instead, there he was on his knees in front of the toilet bowl, shivering and his head spinning.
Drinking his feelings away became practically routine for Haru. At such a young age, the idol's mental health had been at a rapid decline as of late.
He told himself over and over how stupid of a reason to do this he had, and how shamefully pathetic he was. All he did was eat. Just simply having to eat was what triggered all of this. Or maybe it was a build-up of things. He didn't care right now.
His hyungs had began noticing small things; how thin Haru was becoming, how often he skip meals, random little razors left in areas by mistake, how quiet he was becoming, the tad bit of blood found on some of Haru's eyebrow razors, and even his recent isolation tendancies.
Just as he thought it couldn't get much worse, there was a knock at the door.
In a panic, Haru cleared his throat, his head still spinning.
"Gimme a min'te--!" he sputtered, cursing the way everything slurred together.
"Haru?" Wumuti replied, softly. God, not Wumuti. The leader couldn't see him like this; in shambles like this, his face tear-soaked, his breath reaking of alcohol, crumbled helplessly on the floor.
He couldn't help but set more tears free.
Another soft knock. "Baby, what's wrong?" Wumuti's voice was still just as soft, only now laced with concern.
"'M so upset," Haru sobbed out. He sounded pathetic, but he was too wasted to care. The point was that he couldn't lie to Wumuti, and the elder herself knew well of that.
"Can you open the door for me? Let's talk about it." Wumuti had to know the younger was intoxicated by now. How could he not?
So Haru opened the door.
The taller, who stood right in front of the door, took in the heartbreaking sight; Haru's eyes, puffy and red, and the tears staining his cheeks.
"Come here, sweetheart." she offered an imbrace which Haru found himself immediately gravitating towards.
This was what he did, wasn't it? What Haru did was cause problems, was it not? Why should he recieve comfort? Why should he deserve to be held like this?
"You're drunk, aren't you?"
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur from there.
Though he'll never forget the way Wumuti looked at him when he had opened up about the things he does to his body, and how much he hates himself, and his childhood, and how often he contemplates suicide, and how he just can't do this alone anymore, and how sorry he was.
The night was filled with many drunken apologies, and Wumuti held him. When did they end up in her room?
"'M so selfish," he slurred through tears.
"No you're not; you need help."
"I can't."
"Let me help you, sweetheart."
"How?"
"We'll figure it out. Go to sleep." He softly kissed the top of Haru's head.
Wumuti wished she could have seen him recover--everyone did; but Haru's been missing for a year now, leaving little if any trace. He's gone now.