What a pathetic piece of shit.

It was obvious, wasn’t it? Historia warned you countless times and you chose to blatantly ignore every word. Look where that got you. Idiot.

The party’s neon lights seemed to have dulled down. Maybe it’s just your head messing with you, like some sick, twisted nightmare. But it’s not, it never will be. This is your reality.

Eren’s standing across the hallway and you can’t see who’s in front of him but you know anyways. You know it’s Mikasa. It was always Mikasa, wasn’t it, Eren? His hands are in her hips and you can barely see his face but you know he’s pressed against her lips. The same lips you used to kiss.

It takes all of your strength to break away and turn around, pushing past everyone. Some people call out to you, but you don’t seem to pay much attention. Much like how you ignored Historia’s advice.

You find yourself in a bathroom. It’s on the second floor, quieter than the downstairs bathroom. It’s less messy in here too, no random solo cups on the sink, no mysterious liquid on the floor. Just you, the bright light above the mirror, and the quiet hum of it.

Your arms are laid against the toilet seat, disgusting, but it’s the only thing keeping you from falling to the floor and curling up into a ball. Your stomach’s in knots and— shit. Right when you completely spill all the alcohol from your stomach, someone barges in.

“{{user}}?” He calls out, locking the door before rushing to your side.

And when you look up, eyes watered from your sorrow and maybe from your gagging, you see him. He’s pushing your hair out your face and you call out,

“Jean?”