'It isn't much,' you tried telling yourself in uniform gaps to let the self-assurance seep within your nervous pores.  To even let the sentence trickle from your conscience seemed like a  voluminous potbellied lie. To contradict your ever swirling thoughts, the music was blaring and screeching against the limit of your downsizing endurance. Emerald lights criss-crossed the entire room which seemed to amplify the effect of music.

Jean staggered towards you, his not-so-cool steel chain was dangling against his hip in a burlesque fashion. You rolled your eyes and caught his jacket clad arm to support his drunk self. "That was apple drink, you punk."

"What? Why am I drunk then?" he questioned you, giving the drink a perlustrating glare.

"Ever heard of placebo effect?" you asked.

"Gazebo  erect?"

"Thought so."

Caring was an attribute which comes hurling towards a being when their loved ones were in some shade of danger. But seeing Jean, faux-drunk, you decided to swat the concept of caring into drain.

Your friends entered your house, greeting you with several 'whoos!' and 'a party ain't a party without us!'.  Putting up your best smile and straining the strongest part of your self-restraint, you let them enter even though you could swear that you did not invite them. Your whole house seemed like a labyrinth of million voices speaking at once and their offspring whispers darting at your ears as if they were feeding fat to their long held grudges towards you. Leaning against the beige wall, you tried to generate a physical as well as a mental barrier between you and the pushy people.

Piles of thick leather jackets soon stationed themselves on your sofa and several people apologized to you for spilling their drinks on the carpet. "It's okay," you told them, the thought of actually forgiving them was miles apart.

You should've cancelled the party when you had time but one tiny voice against twenty people's shouts of, 'Aww man, party pooper' was considered negligible.

 This party was definitely getting out of hand. The only fear seeping in your bones and colliding against your skull was cops. Someone could call the cops. And that 'someone' was surely going to be Levi fucking Ackerman. You laughed, butterflies, wasps and bats stirred your insides and ate the backbone of your fortitude.

That man had this bright glittering bubble of personal space which he treasured more than his camel pack cigarettes. It was clearly evident that the imaginary chalky dust lines which surrounded his vicinity were shouting, "Do not enter!"  

You cerebrated for a while, diluting the irritating image of Levi with the current dire situation of yours. This party was going overboard.

Nobody was senseful enough to turn down the volume of the music. Bodies was piling up inside the small living room space. You were getting tired of putting up laughs and handshakes (most of them ended in you wiping your hands on your jeans). Leaning against the main door, you wished your body weight would hold the lunkheads from entering your house. But apparently, it didn't work because you were shoved in a corner with crumbs of your patience leaving behind in a sooty and grubby trail.

If you had to define what you were feeling at this exact moment, you'd probably describe yourself as a a glass window, encased by a wooden frame and defiled by termites. The glass was your soul-- webby fissures running along the entire friable length with all the crevices interconnecting at the centre which was your frazzled conscience.

Dragging your tired self along the tapering perimeter of space, you pushed the door with all your might, which caused several  crackheads to land on their butts. "I just want some air!" you reasoned.

Crisp chilly breeze fled past you in one sensually long frosty cascade, pocketing its minty presence under your Coldplay band tee shirt. You looked back at the drunk hollering masses  and rolled your eyes. 

Stepping through the wet grass, you looked here and there, cherishing the quarantine ambience. Coolness greeted you like a long lost friend, hugging your frame and letting itself linger on your skin for a while.  You craned your neck and the blossoming flowers of your neighbor's garden flooded your vision.

How weird, you thought, setting your elbows on the wall which acted as a barrister between your house and Levi's. If you were a flower, then Levi was probably a root-- gnarled, branched, and yet holding such a valuable position in society.

You let your mind ponder at the whole idea of what relationship held ground between you and Levi. You knew you couldn't hold a conversation with him more than three or four minutes and you knew whenever you tried to spark up a topic, he'd turn you down and stomp on the remnants of your, 'Uhh okay.'

He wasn't unapproachable, you'd seen him several times talking to his colleagues and inviting them to dinner or sharing his cigarettes. He wasn't a mystical  creature either, drowning in his self made secretive crypts.

He was an equivalent of a blank paper, singed at the edges. You didn't know him so you kept filling out the blank spaces with self made theories but you were very intrigued by the bitter burnt edge of him. What situation did he encounter that resulted in the aftermath of flames?

It was always the situations which molded us, which were the birth-bed of our inclinations, our nature and ecliptic state. It so happens that the little part of our initial self helps to push our reaction for or against the situation. We might become passive and flow with the current of activities. Or we flow against that current, rebel a little.

  Circumstances engraft themselves inside us, they become a part of us, adding on to our side which the world can see.

 Your little thought made you lean further, contemplating if you should add more effort to your conversations with him. Perhaps a little situation may arise and turn around the way you feel about him. Or not, there was no solid and substantial guarantee.

"Hey." Levi called from his porch. "Don't eye my flowers, twit."

"What's up, Mister?" you called back.

It was dark; you couldn't see him at all. His porch seemed like a black carpet, unearthed by any speck of light (which wasn't available at this point of night).  You realized Levi had an unlimited supply of sterile, dead and stony components in the tone of his voice. It was as cold as the frozen peas in your refrigerator and as insensitive as your mom when she first discovered your fling with a college student. Great times.

"Great party, huh?" You could hear sarcasm coming your way, never giving you enough time to swat it away.

"Yeah, right." You huffed. "I can't go back, those people are monsters."

"Well, want to come here?"

You laughed. "A little too neighborly, huh? But I'll accept the offer."

•••

[1188 words]

[Ahh forgive me for the shit ass chapter haha please tell me if there are any mistakes. lol. I'm so tired, I can't seem to write ;-; also, I'm sorry if this is rushed pls forgive mehhhh this is short.]