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IT WAS WRONG,
and the guilt was eating you alive.
Sober and suffering, you picked at your half-eaten breakfast sandwich with a look of disgust on your face. Every time you got a whiff of your friend's pumpkin-spice latte your stomach lurched, reminding you of the fact that you were only one gag away from regurgitating every bite you managed to force down your throat.
"Last night, I texted Ymir what color nails I should get and she said lightblue. I literally cringed, like hello? I thought I was dating a woman, not a man."
"Maybe she thought it would match your. . " You trailed off, your gaze briefly glossing over her exposed cleavage before settling on her baby blues. You snickered. ". .eyes."
Historia scoffed and pulled her white tank top up by the straps. She leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs. "Are you slut shaming me right now, Y/n?" the blonde quipped. "You look horrible, by the way."
"Thanks!" you chirped with feigned enthusiasm. "The dark circles really bring out my eyes, don't you think?" You picked up your phone, pretending to pose for an imaginary photoshoot.
Historia giggled as she took a sip from her drink. "Okay but real talk, are you okay?" she asked. Her straw made an annoying squeaky sound as she poked at the excessive amount of ice in her Starbucks "coffee".
You placed your phone down on the table and sighed, leaning your cheek onto your hand. "No," you admitted. "But I'm sure you could already tell by the lack of makeup and greasy ass hair." You tugged at a h/c lock, only for it to go completely flat against your head when you let it go.
Gross.
"Yeah. ." your best friend replied, a frown on her perfectly lined lips. "Wanna talk about it?"
"It's just the same old shit," you said. You used your fork to poke at your sandwich, which was now cold.
"Jean?"
You gave an unenthused nod. "Yup."
Historia's expression became serious, her blonde brows knitted together in the middle— the way they always did when she got all fired up. Right about now, she was going to start talking in what you liked to call her "mom" voice. "He didn't yell at you again, did he?"
You sighed again, looking anywhere but her face. "He did," you muttered. "But then he was really nice to me! I swear. And he said he was sorry," you added. "Well, at least I think he did. I was kinda really drunk."
