Tether, 𝙚.𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙧

𝗖𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙴𝗡

       "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR CONNIEEEEEEE — Happy birthday toooooooooo youuuuuuuuuu!"

You're drunk. Not that drunk, but drunk enough to be slurring your words and be allowing Jean's arm to hold you to him by your waist.

It isn't an uncommon thing to happen and you know that even if all your friends were drop dead sober, they wouldn't have questioned seeing Jean and you cozy up. The only person making you feel conscious about it is Reiner who you catch sending you questionable looks throughout the night. Jean notices too, and tightens his arm around you more whenever he does.

"You wouldn't be doing this if Mikasa was here." You lean back against his chest and tip your head up so you can catch a glimpse of his face. Your proximity to Jean lets you see the sheen of sweat coating his upper lip from how hot the club you're in is. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes transfixed on Reiner standing a short distance away from the two of you. "You're breaking the rules, Jean." Tutting underneath your breath, you lower your head back down and bring your vodka cranberry up to wet your parched throat with.

"Tell me to let go of you and I will." Jean remarks, not impressed by your mocking tone. "If anything, I'm doing you a favor by keeping Reiner away from you."

You scoff. "I don't need any favors."

"Alright, fine then." He hisses into your ear before letting you go and shoving you away. You gasp, stumbling in your heels. Your drink laps a bit around the rim of the glass you're holding, but it doesn't spill. You turn to shoot Jean a glare over your shoulder. "You're right I wouldn't have been doing this if Mika was here." He tells you. "We made that rule for a reason, so we better follow it."

"Fuck you, Kirstein." You can only blame the sudden aggression you feel on the alcohol you've consumed as you move back over to Jean and get into his face. You hear his breath hitch and take some pleasure in knowing you have that effect on him. "Some fucking friend you are. Jesus, I need to get away from your bipolar ass before your ugly face makes me hurl."

"Y/N — " He glowers, but you're already knocking past him, taking your drink with you.

"Fucking idiot — " You mumble under your breath as you move away from your friends, trying to get back to the bar. You don't get that far when you ram into someone's shoulder while your foot catches onto something hard, making you trip. The vodka cranberry finally decides to spill out of the glass you're holding onto, but before you can fall headfirst into a bunch of other club goers, firm hands grab your arms and whisks you forward into their chest. You gasp in shock when your drink sloshes between the two of you, staining the white shirt before you and splashing over your own chest.

"Oh my God, I'm so sor !—" The words die abruptly on your tongue when your worried eyes lift up and become immediately swallowed whole by lethal grey ones. A lump forms in your throat and your eyes widen when you recognize the man holding onto you.

What was HE doing here?!

"I'm . . ." You can't bring yourself to get any more words out and you wonder if he can feel you trembling in his arms since you already know he can see the actual terror in your eyes. The heat between your bodies is suffocating, the emptied glass you're still desperately clutching onto feels like hot coal, burning your fingertips, and your heart is beating crazy patterns against your vodka-splattered breasts.

"I'm . . ." You choke out again.

"You're sorry?" His cool voice finishes for you, getting you to gulp as you make out the murderous look in his stony eyes. "Please tell me you have something more to say for yourself." His eyes slip to your chest, inspecting the way your drink is dripping down your already sweaty skin and when he moves his gaze back up to your face, the anger is back, flashing more insistently than ever.