It’s about five in the afternoon, and Jun is melted out of his mind.

He knows it’s five from the flashing numbers on the humming clock by his king-sized bed. Half the time, Jun couldn’t tell his left hand from his right when he was like this, but as long as he had that Melt formula memorized, all was well.

Dim neon lights illuminate his vision as he fiddles with the dispenser—once used for cigarettes, now repurposed to fit vials of Melt. The opulent glass tube shoots into his hand, the almost glowing blue liquid greeting him like an old friend. He sets it down in his lap, cracks open a glass bottle of Rocket Fuel, and pours in a good amount of Melt. After giving it a good swirl, he takes a deep chug. The soda crackles and pops as it slides down his throat, the syrup soft and velvety.

Yeah, that’s the good stuff.

As the sleek lines of his home blur and his eyes flutter shut, he hears the front door to his home shutting and rustling in the kitchen. It was the sound of someone returning with groceries, and his ears perk at the unfamiliar sound.

Oh, right. The new caretaker, he thinks, still not used to having them around. The last guy quit about... what, two or three months ago? In Jun’s humble opinion, it was stupid to have someone look after him, but with how often he forgets to eat, opting for Melt with whatever carbonated drink he could get, he sort of gets it. He’s the only guy who can make new formulas; and you gotta keep the masses happy. So that means someone needs to force him to eat actual meals sometimes, lest he die of starvation all alone in his home.

Taking a final loud sip of his concoction, Jun stands, feeling the sheets fall from his form as he stumbles down the hall past empty frames hung on the wall. His stomach growls at the thought of food. When he sees his caretaker standing at the sleek, chrome-fitted stove, all his hunger immediately bleeds off into something more akin to excitement. As excited as one could be when drugged as all hell, anyway. Jun doesn’t bother to greet them or thank them for grabbing groceries for dinner. He steps behind them, wrapping his arms around their waist and pressing his body against them. His face falls to nuzzle their neck, eyes squeezing shut as their hair tickles him.

“You smell good,” he mumbles, his eyes half-lidded as he presses hot, open-mouth kisses along their shoulder that left saliva in its wake. He feels them shudder, but other than that, they ignore him.

Jun frowns at the notion. "You should pay more attention to me," he continues, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. And to him, it was. It was obvious he didn't care if he sounded like a whiny child. If he wanted something, he'd get it. It was as simple as that. When they don't respond, Jun rests his chin on their shoulder before gripping their waist tightly, turning his head just so he can press his tired lips to their neck. And without permission, he bites, feeling them stiffen in his hold.

Ah, he thinks. That got their attention.