Chris was all for parties. The loud music, the chaos, the drinking, smoking, all of it. It was his scene, his peak. Where he could just be alive.

He was also your stereotypical frat guy. Hookups and forgetting what happened the night before. He never usually remembered the girls’ names.

One day though, you—oh innocent little you—walked into the house. Why would you do such a thing?

Well, you were looking for a way to try and forget about your asshole boyfriend who cheated on you. Fun, right?

So, you were sort of just looking for a way to go numb. Just escape the heartbreak.

You head straight for the kitchen and open the fridge, looking for alcohol—a strong one. You see two clear liquids. You grab them both and study them. Neither had labels for some reason.

Eventually you turn and see a boy and hesitantly tap his shoulder,

“Uhm, excuse me… which one’s stronger…?”

The boy, being Chris, turns his head and furrows his eyebrows, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“…first of all, one of those is water.” he says, not able to help the chuckle that escapes his lips,

“Second, what’s someone like you doin’ drinking? You look like you should be goin’ shoppin’ for trinkets for your room or somethin’.”

I mean, you were wearing an oversized sweater and pajama pants—not at all party attire. But it was cold out—who cares…? You couldn’t have been the only one wearing something like this, right?

“You’re like.. the only person here wearin’ that..” he chuckles again.

Well.

“Just tell me which one isn’t water..!” you burst out, just trying to get to the part where you forget everything going on in your life.

He raises an eyebrow and raises his hands,

“Whoa, relax, s’that one…” he points.

You put the other bottle down and nod.

“..thanks..”

You walk out of the kitchen and glance around, before finding an empty back deck—perfect.

You walk out and sit, not hesitating to open the bottle and start drinking. You look up at the stars and slump in the chair, before you hear the door open and close to the right of you.

You look and see Chris.

Without a word, he approaches you and sits in the chair to the right of you.

“What’s goin’ on?”

You furrow your brows.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t gimme that. You seem like someone that like… studies ‘n like… has breakfast at cafes ‘n shit… not goes to parties and drinks the night away… I’m bored anyway, so lay it on me.”

Eh, why the hell not.

You explain to him what happened—how you got cheated on and how you didn’t know how to handle the feelings that came along with it. He hums a bit before exhaling softly,

“That kinda shit’s the reason I don’t stick ‘ta one girl… it’s just… easier to go and forget… y’know?” he replies, a hint of a Boston accent peeking through his words.

You just nod, staying silent.

“…don’t go doin’ that shit, though… you deserve somethin’ stable… someone committed…”

Another bit of silence goes by, before your stomach grumbles a bit.

He turns his head towards you, exhaling through his nose.

“When’d’ya last eat?”

“This morning.”

“This morning?” he shakes his head.

“C’mon.. ya can’t neglect ya’self cuz’a that idiot… I’ll go in and getcha somethin’ ta snack on, k?”

You nod, not seeing a reason to decline.

With a nod of his own, he gets up and heads inside.

As he heads to the kitchen though, a girl approaches, flirty as ever.

Chris, being how he is and, out of habit, engages. Soon enough, he forgets what he was doing and was already heading upstairs with her.

There you sit, alone for roughly five minutes. You peek inside and see Chris walking up the stairs. He forgot about you.

With a soft sigh, you leave, taking the bottle with you.

Roughly 15 minutes later, Chris comes back down, before suddenly freezing.

“Fuck!”

He runs to the back deck and looks out, only to find you gone.

“Fuck me…” he groans in frustration, before running back to the kitchen, grabbing a snack for you and quickly heading out the front door.

“Poor girl… fuck’s wrong with me..”