I͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽a͓̽w͓̽ ͓̽y͓̽o͓̽u͓̽ ͓̽l͓̽a͓̽u͓̽g͓̽h͓̽i͓̽n͓̽'͓̽ ͓̽i͓̽n͓̽ ͓̽o͓̽n͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽o͓̽f͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽i͓̽s͓̽ ͓̽p͓̽i͓̽c͓̽t͓̽u͓̽r͓̽e͓̽s͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽B͓̽e͓̽t͓̽ ͓̽y͓̽o͓̽u͓̽'͓̽l͓̽l͓̽ ͓̽b͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽t͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽o͓̽n͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽w͓̽i͓̽t͓̽h͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽i͓̽s͓̽ ͓̽r͓̽i͓̽n͓̽g͓̽ ͓̽o͓̽n͓̽ ͓̽y͓̽o͓̽u͓̽r͓̽ ͓̽f͓̽i͓̽n͓̽g͓̽e͓̽r͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽T͓̽h͓̽e͓̽r͓̽e͓̽'͓̽s͓̽ ͓̽r͓̽e͓̽d͓̽ ͓̽a͓̽n͓̽d͓̽ ͓̽g͓̽r͓̽e͓̽e͓̽n͓̽ ͓̽e͓̽v͓̽e͓̽r͓̽y͓̽w͓̽h͓̽e͓̽r͓̽e͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽b͓̽u͓̽t͓̽ ͓̽I͓̽'͓̽m͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽o͓̽ ͓̽b͓̽l͓̽u͓̽e͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽C͓̽i͓̽n͓̽d͓̽y͓̽ ͓̽L͓̽o͓̽u͓̽ ͓̽W͓̽h͓̽o͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽M͓̽a͓̽y͓̽b͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽m͓̽e͓̽t͓̽ ͓̽y͓̽o͓̽u͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽o͓̽m͓̽e͓̽w͓̽h͓̽e͓̽r͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽i͓̽n͓̽ ͓̽t͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽d͓̽e͓̽s͓̽e͓̽r͓̽t͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽W͓̽h͓̽i͓̽l͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽w͓̽a͓̽s͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽o͓̽u͓̽l͓̽-͓̽s͓̽e͓̽a͓̽r͓̽c͓̽h͓̽i͓̽n͓̽'͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽f͓̽o͓̽u͓̽n͓̽d͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽o͓̽m͓̽e͓̽o͓̽n͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽b͓̽e͓̽t͓̽t͓̽e͓̽r͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽G͓̽u͓̽e͓̽s͓̽s͓̽ ͓̽y͓̽o͓̽u͓̽ ͓̽m͓̽a͓̽k͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽i͓̽m͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽a͓̽p͓̽p͓̽y͓̽ ͓̽l͓̽i͓̽k͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽I͓̽ ͓̽c͓̽o͓̽u͓̽l͓̽d͓̽n͓̽'͓̽t͓̽ ͓̽d͓̽o͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽C͓̽i͓̽n͓̽d͓̽y͓̽ ͓̽L͓̽o͓̽u͓̽ ͓̽W͓̽h͓̽o͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽W͓̽i͓̽t͓̽h͓̽ ͓̽y͓̽o͓̽u͓̽r͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽a͓̽i͓̽r͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽o͓̽ ͓̽l͓̽o͓̽n͓̽g͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽l͓̽i͓̽p͓̽s͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽o͓̽ ͓̽r͓̽e͓̽d͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽M͓̽a͓̽y͓̽b͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽w͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽m͓̽e͓̽t͓̽ ͓̽o͓̽n͓̽c͓̽e͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽I͓̽ ͓̽f͓̽o͓̽r͓̽g͓̽e͓̽t͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽S͓̽c͓̽r͓̽o͓̽l͓̽l͓̽i͓̽n͓̽'͓̽ ͓̽f͓̽i͓̽v͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽y͓̽е͓̽a͓̽r͓̽s͓̽ ͓̽b͓̽a͓̽c͓̽k͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽I͓̽'͓̽m͓̽ ͓̽o͓̽b͓̽s͓̽e͓̽s͓̽s͓̽e͓̽d͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽B͓̽r͓̽e͓̽a͓̽k͓̽i͓̽n͓̽'͓̽ ͓̽m͓̽y͓̽ ͓̽h͓̽е͓̽a͓̽r͓̽t͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽'͓̽t͓̽i͓̽s͓̽ ͓̽t͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽e͓̽a͓̽s͓̽o͓̽n͓̽,͓̽ ͓̽I͓̽ ͓̽g͓̽u͓̽e͓̽s͓̽s͓̽

This is pathetic. It's Christmas Eve and you're laying in bed, scrolling through your ex's timeline. And, even though you're too old, you can't but find yourself wishing that Santa could make you look like her. His new girlfriend.

Tears slip from your eyes as you silently sob, wishing you could do it all over. Your quiet sniffles don't go unnoticed, though.

Your roommates, the PJO Cast, are planning a movie night, specifically to help you ignore the pain, if even for a few hours.

Charlie knocks on your door and peaks his head in the room before fully entering, "I made hot chocolate..."