The party continued similarly to the one on the soccer trip: we all migrated to the couch, Jean had his arm wrapped around my shoulder and I leaned into his broad chest, smelling the ginger and rum that had begun to grow so familiar. As he talked animatedly with Reiner, I admired his features: how the left corner of his lip rose a bit higher than his right when he smiled, creating a little smirk on his face; how charismatic his mannerisms were, whether that be the way he always spoke with his hands while he talked or how he threw his head back when he was laughing really hard, exposing his Adam's apple and highlighting his sharp jawline; how his cheeks had a faint red blush all night from the alcohol; the way he bit down on his lip when he was thinking of an answer to Reiner's question; and the way his muscles tightened and relaxed when he reached important parts of the conversation, speaking his opinions passionately.

    I want to make out with him again.

    I hoped that we could play '7 Minutes in Heaven' like we did on the soccer trip, but everyone seemed to be too drunk to function. I guess I'll have to take initiative.

    "Jean, could you help me grab some plastic cups from the closet?" I asked innocently.

    He pulled his attention away from Reiner, still biting his lip while he thought of an answer to his question.

    "Of course," he said. He looked back over at Reiner, "Be back in a sec— and, to answer your question: No, they didn't."

    We hopped off the couch and walked to the closet. Jean starting grabbing some cups. I wrapped my arms around his side and held him close to me.

    "Hey Jean," I whispered, "I was wondering... what was your overall opinion of the last time we made out?"

    He continued to stack up more cups into his hands, only paying attention to where on the shelf they were located.

    "I thought it was great," he responded absentmindedly.

    Ugh, am I really that bad at this? Or, is he just oblivious?

    "... How would you feel about doing it again?" I moved my left hand up to his neck.

    "Sure," he said casually. Then he looked down on me, confused. "Are you asking to make plans for when we should kiss? No offense, (Y/N), but that's kind of weird—" Finally, he registered what was going on. "Oh."

    It all happened in a fraction of a second. Jean kicked the door closed with the back of his foot and let me push him up against the wall. I kept one hand on his neck right below his jawline, and ran the other hand up through his brown two-toned hair. I was too greedy to hesitate— I kissed him harder than I've kissed anyone in my entire life. He pulled himself away to flick off the light switch, but I grabbed him back quickly and once again our lips collided. His hands crept up my waist and he held me there. I started unbuttoning his shirt and let my fingers roam over his warm tan skin.

    What did I say again? Oh, right. Today is a good day.

    Then, Jean did the hottest thing I'd ever seen from him. He grabbed my arms and spun me around, so he was now pinning me against the wall. There was a quick thump when my back hit the door, but the sound of it faded as soon as it began. My arms were still pinned up against the door above my head— Jean was grabbing onto my wrists, breathing into the crook of my neck. He pulled his head away and looked down at me with a smirk. I had never realized how tall he was. I stared into his deep brown eyes longingly, waiting for him to press his lips against mine.

    "Hey there, beautiful," he grinned mischievously, breathing heavily.

    "You're taking too long—"

    Jean interrupted my sentence with his kiss— I had no complaints. He let go of one of my wrists and tilted my head up with his finger. I took a quick breath and gripped his shoulder tightly before getting back into it. Jean released my other arm and pulled me into him by my waist. I grabbed that arm and held it close, feeling Jean's muscles tighten every time I kissed him a different way.

    "So, (Y/N)," he breathed huskily, "What's your play here?"

    In between kisses I answered, "I don't— have— one." I gasped, "I just— really— felt like— kissing you," I said quickly.

    "That's not the worst excuse I've heard," he smirked.

    "(Y/N)!" We heard a voice behind the door. Jean immediately stopped and put his hand over my mouth.

    "Don't say anything," he breathed.

    I pulled his hand away, "Jean, if anyone should answer, it should be me! They're calling my name!"

    "Oh," Jean let go of me. "Whoops," he smiled sheepishly.

    "I'm right here!" I yelled behind the door, turning on the closet light. "Jean and I are grabbing some cups for everyone!" I added quietly to Jean: "Fix your shirt! It looks like we were doing something suspicious."

    "Probably because we were," Jean looked up at the ceiling.

    "(Y/N)," I recognized Hanji's voice, "Do you guys wanna do another round of shots?"

    "Sure! We'll be right out!" I yelled. "Jean, grab some cups and let's go." I flattened his hair before we walked back into the party. He smiled warmly and pecked my forehead. Still heated from the moment and filled with desire, I grabbed Jean roughly by the collar and kissed him again before pulling away and leading him out the door.

    We were welcomed back by twelve sets of eyes looking at us skeptically.

    Reiner piped up from the couch: "It took you guys ten minutes to grab some cups?"

    Jean looked at the floor, his face turning red. I blushed: "We had a hard time finding them," I said unconvincingly.

    "Tch, brats."

    I whipped my head around and saw Levi cleaning the sink. "Drunk cleaning already, Levi?" I asked.

    "Not yet. This house is just so filthy that I have to do it sober," he scoffed.

    I rolled my eyes. "So, Hanji, are we gonna play a game, or just take the shots straight up?"

    "I was hoping you'd ask that!" Hanji's face lit up, "It's quite simple, really, so, first—"

    "Let's just drink," Annie interrupted. The room nodded. Hanji frowned sadly and sat on the island by Levi.

    "I already poured everyone a shot," Mikasa said seriously, motioning to the cups lined neatly on the table.

    "Happy birthday, Historia!" We cheered, taking one last shot for the night. She beamed, her little tiara flashing in the light.

    "Eh, Mikasa?" Armin asked, "How much did you pour into those cups?"

    "At least a few ounces— why?" she asked.

    Everyone's faces dropped.

    "Well, I guess I just have to accept it," Reiner said. "I'll be puking tonight!"

    It wasn't long until almost everyone was black-out drunk. Bertholdt, Armin, and Marco had a very low tolerance for alcohol, so they were completely gone. Bertholdt had blacked out and was sleeping in a contorted position on the floor with one arm behind his back and his legs up against the wall. Armin and Marco were talking quietly, but from what I heard their conversation made absolutely zero sense. Reiner and Jean were close to losing it— both of them tried playing beer pong using water as a substitute, since their stomachs couldn't handle any more liquor. Their aim was absolutely horrific; I didn't see one ball land in the water. Annie and Mikasa were holding their own, Levi had vanished somewhere to go clean, Ymir was carrying Historia in her arms everywhere and sobbing, Connie and Sasha were running circles around the house screaming, and I had completely lost track of Hanji. Overall, things were a disaster.

    Then, things got worse. My house has a total of three bathrooms: one in my room, one in my parents' room, and one downstairs. Connie and Sasha's faces had turned deathly pale, and both of them sprinted to the downstairs bathroom to puke. Historia and Reiner sprinted up to my parents' bathroom, with Ymir chaperoning. Reiner had left Jean at the beer pong table, and he was sleeping peacefully on top of it. Jean's face was pale and he clutched his stomach in his sleep. He woke up groggily, looked at me, and said: "I think I'm gonna throw up."

    I led him up to my bathroom as quickly as I could, practically dragging him because he could barely stand, and sat him down in front of the toilet.

    "I'll be outside," I said, propping my back up against the wall to wait. About ten minutes later, I heard the toilet flush, so I assumed the worst was over. I waited for Jean to call me in.

    After another ten minutes with no reply, I walked in. Jean was sleeping against the bathtub, glistening with sweat. I closed the toilet lid and sat beside him, stroking his hair as I watched him rest. His chest moved up and down with his heavy breaths, and the color in his cheeks was beginning to return. I stayed in the tile-floored bathroom with Jean, admiring his expression: he seemed to be so at peace. His presence gave me so much comfort.

    I think I really like this kid. I wondered if he liked me enough to make something out of it...

    Suddenly, I heard a knocking at my window. I checked my phone: it was about two in the morning. Did someone follow Jean and I upstairs?

    I left Jean in the tub and walked into my room. There was no one inside. I stepped over to the window and found none other than Eren Yeager scratching at the screen, his teal-green eyes begging me to let him in.

    I opened the window, but blocked his entry. "What are you doing here?"

    "I wanted to say hello," he said. Then, he added more quietly, "And maybe hang out for a bit." The moonlight illuminated the outline of his figure. His dark, somewhat messy hair had a halo of white light surrounding it. There were still a few visible bruises on his face.

    "Did you not get the hint from last time we talked? I don't like you. We aren't friends."
     "You left the lights on downstairs, by the way," Eren pointed out, ignoring my reply.

    "I'm aware," I responded shortly.

    "Look," he looked up at me and pursed his lips. "I'm sorry. I had no intention of punching you in the face. You just got in the—"

    My deathly stare made Eren rethink his apology.

    He looked down at the windowsill, "(Y/N), I... I've been really awful to you, and I want to make amends." He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to me. I made no move to grab it, so Eren took my hand to wrap my fingers around it. This is a very compromising position.

    Someone called out my name: "(Y/N)?" Jean had woken up and stepped into my room. He still seemed to be in a daze, and it took him to register who else was here. "Yeager? What are you doing here? Mikasa said you weren't coming..." Jean looked down and saw Eren's hand over mine. Despite being out of it, it only took seconds for Jean to draw that conclusion.

    "Eh? (Y/N)..." his face fell, "What are you doing?"

    "Jean," I slipped my hand out of Eren's. "I— It's not what it looks like—"

    Jean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and looking away. "'It's not what it looks like'," he mimicked. "Sure, that's what they all say." Jean got defensive extremely quickly, and he looked so hurt. "I can't believe you." He stared me down, "After everything he's done: the fighting, the manipulation, the fact that he treats you like shit— and you still go back to him?"

    I started to wonder why Jean was so worried. It was only for a few seconds. Doesn't Jean know how much I like him?

    "Do I seriously mean nothing to you?! Am I just that disposable?!" Jean answered my question. Clearly, he had no idea how I felt about him. His voice shook just the slightest bit. Jean covered it with rage, "Yeager, you piece of shit. You've always got to ruin it for me, huh?! I can't get one good thing," Jean stomped to the window and stared Eren down. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't punch you out this window right now," he threatened, raising his fist.

    Eren looked at me for help.

    "Jean, please don't! It's really not worth it. Eren's not worth it! Just let me kick him out and we can talk," I pleaded.

    "Are you serious? You're helping him now?" Jean's face boiled. "Was your short time alone in the closet that meaningful?"

    I flinched. I was hoping he wouldn't bring that up.

    "Yeah, I was wondering if you had ever planned on telling me what happened in there. You know what? It's fine," Jean gave up.

    "Jean— that was months ago!" Eren tried to explain.

    Jean ignored him. "I said, it's fine. You win, Yeager. Congrats." He sulked out of the room back downstairs. Eren stayed with me, still hanging onto the windowsill. I heard the front door open and close as a deflated Jean left the house to walk home. 

    "So, since I technically was invited to this party, can I come in?" Eren asked awkwardly. "Just for a few seconds— to talk at least."

    "Hell. No. I think you've done enough tonight. Mikasa was right not to invite you," I paused. "Don't come by ever again. I don't want you here."

    Eren's face dropped. He pursed his lips, debating whether or not he should say something. Instead, he climbed back down the window without a word and left me alone. After a few minutes, I collapsed on my bed and felt hot tears run down my face. I had changed my mind: Today was not a good day.