ROMANTIC LOVER | EREN JAEGER

Episode I. The Devil's Art

ROMANTIC LOVER ━━ ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹
One                  The Devil's Art

She woke up to the warmth of a body embracing hers. The person tossed around the bed and covered their body with her bedsheets, her blanket, her covers, in her bed. Their cold feet pressed against her own and their slowed, sharp breaths twisted the wires inside her alert ears. There was a dangerous gap between them, a gap no bigger than ten inches. Backs pressed against each other, arms almost tangled, synced heartbeats; it was a promising, peaceful scenery. Perhaps her heart's suffering would end that morning.

Her eyes fluttered open. She was in her pajamas, body trembling under the air conditioner fanning over her, with a hammering headache, and cold seeping into her bones. Truly a routine that had stuck around for a while. A silent yawn escaped her lips as she stretched her sore body.

The golden streaks peering through the window blinded her eyes, and as she looked around, she realized she had slept with her contacts in. They stuck to her eyeball uncomfortably and burned through her skin— she wanted to rip her eyes out. She blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to her dry and sensitive vision. She dammed herself for that, and for not closing her curtains— or picking up her clothes from her sofa, or taking the dirty plates to the kitchen— wait, who's sleeping on her sofa?

Eyes boring into her ceiling, the memories about the night prior hit her like a tidal wave. Everything rushed back to her like a slap punch to her chest. It was then that she noticed her shoulder brushing against.. something. It was the faintest of touch, but alarms blared off in her head when her eyes met the bulk of blankets lying beside her. The devil made an unnoticed appearance in her room. She probably missed his knock.

She couldn't see their face, or make out their body shape— it would've been of help to know if she had hopped into bed with.. a man.. or, preferably, one of her girlfriends. The feeling of not knowing who or how haunted her; it pulled on her skin and swallowed her alive. Her breath tangled in the bundle of nerves in her throat.

Good, I'm not naked.

Her eyes drilled holes in the back of their head. Their head was wrapped in her gray duvets, just like their entire body. Playing Guess Who wasn't an option. They were profoundly asleep, in their fifth dream, while Nick leaned over their body to check their face.

Please, God.

Her heart flipped when she spotted a strand of dirty blonde hair and slightly pale skin peeking from underneath. She backed away gently, careful not to wake Alessia. She had been her blanket thief the entire night. Her lungs released the tight knot they were cramped in— great relief pulsed through her veins. Only the devil knew what she could've been capable of doing under the influence.

But said great relief didn't last a minute. She reached for her phone but was met with a very empty bedside table. "Shit," she whispered to herself. She grabbed her glasses and tiptoed to her bathroom, where she hoped she'd find her phone.

The devil was in for some games today.

It had to be in her purse, outside in the living room, in the kitchen, or somewhere around her apartment— anywhere in her apartment. She told the voices inside her head. So she quickly popped her contacts off, tied her hair in a low bun, downed a Tylenol because that headache would kill her, washed her face, put her glasses on, and hurried out of her room, nearly losing her footing and tripping down the stairs.

Nothing could've prepared her to see Jean and Connie sharing the L-shaped couch in her living room, but she didn't have time to laugh— or take a picture and then annoy them about it, because Nick lost her phone!