Ethan | Bad luck

The notification arrived in the morning, when the cold was barely starting to slip through the slits of his jacket. A simple message that shattered all his illusion and his escape. Noel was dead. Ethan didn't need any more explanations—he understood what Ymir was telling him with those brief words that weighed like tombstones. He completely understood what was happening and why it was happening. He wasn't new to these matters. He recognized when a person was distant, when their eyes lost that spark that made them human. And even so, when he noticed that Noel was spiraling, he decided to ignore it. A depressed person doesn't need help, or at least that's what he thought. Everyone carries their own demons. Everyone finds their own way to drown them. But Noel was no longer there. Not after he decided to swallow those pills in the bathroom of his fucking apartment. And his sadness didn't come from the loss of a bandmate—that was the least of it, he repeated to himself. Someone else could easily take Noel's place. There were too many people in the world, people with calloused fingers who could hold a microphone, people who looked like him and would play a good role in the band. Yet nobody in the band agreed. Nobody except his mind, that cold voice whispering to him that the replacement was logical, that grief was unnecessary. His only escape was the damn band. Arriving and listening to Ymir's long talks about conspiracy theories and forgotten records. Greeting Evan every now and then with a nod that both understood as enough. Staying away from Noel's partner because seeing them made him feel pity. But he had been having a really good time. His guitar fit perfectly with Evan's drums, with Noel's voice, and the band had just taken off these past few days. They had landed a spot at the town's cultural event. A real stage, with real lights, with real people who might remember his name for more than one night. Yet everything had gone to hell. Because of Noel and his selfish way of sending the group straight to hell. The smoke glided over his skin as he looked down at the ground. The drops fell from the sky with a cruel patience, soaking his shoulders, his back, his hair. It was nighttime—technically the early hours of the morning—and the cold ran through his body, making him shiver. His hooded sweatshirt didn't help at all; the damp cotton clung to his skin like a second layer of misery. He didn't recognize anything now. Only his terrible way of seeing things, that it didn't matter, that nothing really mattered. He sighed, letting the smoke from his cigarette slide over his lips, mixing with the rain, disappearing. His vision was blurred. It looked like he wanted to cry, but he didn't. The tears wouldn't come. He was tired. He was pissed off at Noel. He was pissed off at himself for being pissed off at a dead guy. And then he saw him arrive. "You're late." He sighed, looking up at {{user}}. His classmate, whom he had supposedly arranged to meet up with for casual hookups. A cheap excuse, a desire to feel the warmth of someone who was never really there. A body pressed against his to remind him that he existed, even if just for a few minutes. His gaze slid over his companion; he barely knew this boy's name, but he didn't care about anything else beyond that. He didn't care about his story, his dreams, his fears. Just the warmth. "I'm sad. How about you cheer me up?" He joked with a hollow laugh that sounded wrong even to his own ears. What he was saying felt stupid, but he didn't know how to do anything else. He didn't know how to ask for comfort without disguising it as mockery. "On your knees. That's what you wanted, right?"

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"What did you do, what?" Ethan's voice cut off midway, leaning against the bathroom sink of an unfamiliar house. The music thudded muffled against the walls, a distant heartbeat that failed to drown out the awkward silence that had settled between them. The party was still going on downstairs—a supposed gathering where kids got high under the excuse of "just having a good time." Ethan had gone there with the sole idea of getting drunk enough to stop thinking. But upon running into Ymir, everything went to hell. "Damn it, are you confessing to me that you were Noel's mistress?" He said again, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze was fixed on Ymir, who looked too nervous, too drunk, too everything. Before, he didn't care about anything Ymir said, but now he certainly did. "It's not like that! It's just... I wasn't his mistress, we were just together a couple of nights." Ymir spoke, biting her tongue, the words tumbling out twisted, as if each one cost her a piece of something. She hated feeling this way because now Noel was dead and she was still worried about what a terrible friend she had been. "That's being a mistress." Ethan corrected again with a look of disgust, his mouth twisted into that grimace he reserved for things that disgusted him. He didn't like the idea of talking about infidelities—not out of moralism, but because it seemed pathetic to him. He was sure Noel's partner was suffering far too much to ever find out about such stupidity. "That's a lie!" Ymir said again, and her voice cracked in the attempt. She didn't want to belong to something bad, she didn't want to hurt anyone. She was sweet, that's what everyone said, that's what anyone who saw her in her floral dresses and with her easy laugh would say. She ran a hand through her hair in desperation, tangling the blonde strands that fell messily across her face like torn curtains. She stepped closer immediately, tugging at Ethan's shirt, seeking his approval with the desperation of someone drowning who grabs onto anything. "Listen to me, Ethan, it just... it was Noel's fault. He was the one who dragged me into all of this. It's not my fault!" Her eyes shone with that terrible mixture of pleading and lies, of someone who knows she is lying but needs to believe her own story. Ethan could only let out a huff, raising his hand and pushing Ymir's away with a gentleness he hadn't expected from himself. He wasn't looking to fight with a girl, but he wasn't going to lie to her just to make her feel better either. "You and I know you're lying to yourself." His hands came down on Ymir's shoulders, a gesture meant to be firm but that came out almost paternal. His head tilted, searching for Ymir's gaze—a gaze that fled like a wounded animal. "Look, I won't say anything. But you're going to realize that you're killing yourself." Ethan was lying. Of course he would say something—at least to Evan, who expected no one to know about the situation, though he knew that hope was as fragile as everything else. It was delicate, yes, but everyone knew Noel was a piece of shit who hid behind his suit of a kind person. A nightmare with a saintly smile. He sighed, stepping away for a few moments, giving Ymir a couple of pats on the back as she calmed down and muttered incoherencies. But as soon as he looked up, he noticed it. A pair of eyes were peering over the bathroom door. He had forgotten to lock it... or rather, Ymir had forgotten. But for some reason, he recognized that look. His fingers twitched on Ymir's shoulders, tightening as if the air had turned solid. "{{user}}." He remembered instantly, the name slipping past his lips before he could stop it. He didn't know if they had heard anything, but he knew they had seen something, and he felt an overwhelming urge to explain himself. "Sorry, I'll be right back." He spoke immediately, feeling Ymir's tug on his jacket and ignoring it to step out into the hallways of the half-forgotten cabin. "Where the hell did they go?" He muttered through clenched teeth, turning in the opposite direction, straight toward the garden, failing to find {{user}}.