spiders. [chuck bass fanfic]

v1track10

"The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later or—"

Chuck hung up the call. There was no use trying to reach his father. Besides, what would he say? If anything, his dad would just turn it on him, blame him for going to such shady places full of hoodlums and those lesser than them. Even if his father had been there that night, it didn't mean that he could at all emotionally empathise with his son who would sorely be affected by hearing gunshots. No, see to do so would require a person to actually have emotions in the first place.

And Bart Bass wasn't known for being emotional. If anything, he was known for his ruthlessness.

So, of course, Chuck decided to do what he always did: numb his emotions through vice and debauchery. Pills littered the coffee table, several bottles were all unscrewed, half drunk to varying degrees and there was a nice artisanal flight attendant Chuck had met on a trip to Costa Rica on her way to his suite at that very moment. Phillip, the cook, was also cooking him up his a cornish turbot with celeriac, pickled walnut and jus gras. What more could Chuck ask for?

Well, his father to answer his call would be nice for starters.

Hell, Bart had been there in hotel room when it had gone off. It was one of the rare moments that he had actually embraced Chuck, grabbing him tight and hugging him to try and hide him from what was happening next door.

Kwon Seo-joon had been, after all, Chuck's martial coach and trainer. The man had been a God to the young Chuck and as he had crouched in his father's arms, he imagined Seo-joon fighting off all those men as Chuck and Bart escaped to safety. Bart, to his credit, had to deal with a crying, screaming Chuck who didn't want to leave and had to try and haul Chuck away from those doors. Chuck, wanting to help his coach, wanted to run in and use all the martial arts Seo-joon had taught him to fight those men off... to do it as a team... the duo they were...

But no.

Because someone had brought a gun.

And it was those two very clear shots that rang out which froze Chuck long enough for Bart to drag his son away from the scene.

"FUCK!" Chuck suddenly imploded, lashing out as he kicked his foot out, sending the coffee table a few spaces back, the bottles swaying, some falling over as the pills went scrambling all over. He leaned over, his hand on his head as he tried to steady his breathing. He. Just. Couldn't. Deal. The sound of those gunshots had him feeling like he was ten years old and the only male figure in his life that seemed to care, his idol, Kwon Seo-joon was murdered. 

Chuck raised his head and looked around his suite. His very, very, very impersonal suite. The only thing that made it known to others that he inhabited this space was the plethora of drugs and alcohol. Save for that, Chuck didn't really have anything on display.

Standing up, he walked to the cupboard beside his bed. Opening it, he dug through to the drawer at the back of all his coats and shirts to pull out an old frame. It was a little dusty, him not having thought to look it at it for some time. Yet there it was: the picture of him, his parents, Seo-joon, Sara and her.

Chuck hadn't thought of Fevoria in a long time. Pretty much ever since he found out the knew she had died in an airplane accident on the way back from South Korea. That was pretty much when Chuck started his whole hedonistic journey into self-sabotaging numbness. He lost his virginity to Georgia Sparks, got high for the first time from one of Carter Baizen's pot brownies, and took his first swig of single malt from his Mr Archibald's own private cabinet.

"Mr Chuck," the intercom sounded, "Ms Luciana is here to see you."

Luciana.

Such a close name to Fevoria.