𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 // PARA
𝐖𝐇𝐎: Lemon Lopez-Pierce & @tracehummelanderson
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍: Friday, December 4th. Like idk midnight.
Lemon would never call herself a party girl, but she did enjoy a nice mix of vodka and various mixers along with a night of dancing and socializing. Even if there were some pretty awful parties amongst the student body of McKinley, she still put on a smile and dealt with it. Besides, she could handle any kind of party as long as she was drunk. Tonight, was one of those nights. The party wasn’t boring by any means, but considering her return to the Cheerios, there was much to celebrate which included many shots being shoved her way.
After a few drinks and multiple shots, Lemon was definitely feeling the alcohol take a toll on her. She was having a blast! But if she was having a blast, then why did something feel so wrong? It was stupid, but whenever she went to parties she always thought of Trace. Trace wasn’t a constant on her mind much anymore, but anytime she showed up to some house party she couldn’t help but think about the small things in their relationship, like them alternating DD for parties. It was simple, but it was always one of those things she had appreciated in the course of their relationship. The thing that lingered in her mind always thought at parties was their breakup.
Maybe she wasn’t handling their breakup right at all. It had already been two months since their breakup and everything had practically been complete radio silence ever since. That wasn’t healthy, wasn’t it? She knew her and Trace would never be friends, they weren’t to begin with. Just romantic partners, but pretending like her didn’t exist wasn’t the way to handle a breakup and Lemon was mature, wasn’t she? It also didn’t help that their breakup wasn’t exactly ‘closure’ for the blonde. It had been a heated moment that she truly regretted. They should have... talked about their relationship, but Lemon never gave either of them that option.
As if the universe had read her mind, Lemon stumbled her way over to the stairs (in search of a bathroom) when she saw Trace sitting by himself, on the stairs, nursing a beer. Typical. “Hey,” she greeted, her voice barely above a soft whisper. No time to talk like the present, right? Right! “That seat taken?” She asked, her eyes flickering between Trace and the staircase.