#*thingy

At this point, he was not on speaking terms with pretty much anyone in his household other than his mother. (And Edgar, but Berlioz tried not to talk to him too much anyway. It always led to very awkward and bitter conversations). But he hadn’t had too many run ins with Toulouse anyway. Mostly because he would rather resort to jumping out his bedroom window than receiving another punch to the jaw (and had to on a few occasions, it did not go well). If he heard his brother’s voice, he would walk down a different hall. It was simple, and it was lonely. 

Basically, he would rather be anywhere other than home during the day. It was easier to ignore problems if you were far away from them. Berlioz had caught wind of a party for university freshman and, well, he very obviously did not have anywhere else to be so here he was. And really, maybe a punch in the face would have been better than this. He had never been good with social events, so Berlioz at an event where the purpose was to introduce yourself to other people? He would rather spend his evening doing pretty much anything else. At least he had this seemingly endless red cup to keep him company. 

With a sigh, Berlioz shuffled over to a bench on the far side of the room that remained unoccupied. He stepped through strings of people carefully, trying not to get in the way of anything. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice a small girl behind him until he had taken a step backwards to avoid bumping into someone. “Pardon me, I didn’t --” He looked over his shoulder to see that he had not only bumped into her, but had spilled the drink she was holding. Merde. “Eh... sorry.” Hopefully she wasn’t too mad.