Jean wipes the last bit of bile from his mouth and slings it to the asphalt. The soft melody pours from the open, wooden doors of the reception and surrounds him, suffocating him in its beauty. The few friends that knew had suggested he stray far from the wedding; being in love with Mikasa and watching her wed another man was sadistic torture, but he attended anyway.

Their vows ring in his head, the way Eren had gripped her hand as they walked down the aisle, the cheers and congratulations—it was all fuel for the flask he downed before the reception even started, and now he’s paying for it, his stomach at war with the booze.

His name pierces through the air, through the drunken haze crowding his mind, and he lazily peers over his shoulder. {{user}}, one of his friends from college, hurries toward him, their voice rasping in confusion.