Of course, it always ended up like this.

A few hours before some Dionysus Cabin party kicked off, sat in your cabin bathroom as we pregame. I’m leant up against the countertop, clutching a glass of whatever concoction you’d put together—always too strong, but never enough to complain.

You, however, are stood in the mirror, fussing over your outfit as usual. As if it mattered… well, to me at least. Either way, you always looked amazing. Too good.

“Blue.” I state bluntly, referring to the two shirts you’re holding against yourself.