Hey, guys, Storm here. I realized that it's been kind of a long time since I posted anything Natza on here, so here you go!

Warning: Angst. So much angst.

He knew from the start that he was a rebound. That much was clear. Ten months into whatever they were and they hadn't even said I love you, despite him thinking it for a while now.

No, he was the rebound.

So why did it hurt when she walked out the door to go after him? Why did the fear in her eyes fell like it was going to pierce his heart, to leave a scar that would never heal?

There he sat, in the living room, where he had been sitting since she left. He glanced at the clock, which read 5:00 exactly. He sighed, and reached for his new companion.

The whiskey tasted bitter, but he didn't care.

One bottle down, and he was cursing his abnormally high tolerance to alcohol. He had never actually been drunk, though he hoped that drinking an entire pint of whiskey in one go would change that. Cursing his heritage and his metabolism, he reached for the second bottle.

Two bottles down. The telltale buzz was beginning to form in his mind, but there was also a voice there, a certain red-haired, brown-eyed beauty's voice warning him to eat something, to stop there, not to overdo it. He smiled ruefully, now he was definitely hallucinating, that she actually cared for him, pfft. He reached for the third.

Three bottles down, and he was decently tipsy, but now the memories were beginning to crop up. The two of them in Florida, smiling as they lay on the beach. The two of them at his father's restaurant, laughing as they enjoyed a nice dinner. Her voice was back, telling him that he should slow down at least, before he regretted this in the morning. He scoffed and reached for a fourth bottle.

Four bottles down, and he was, for the first time in a long time, properly drunk. The voice in his head turned serious, asking him to stop now, to go lay down. He pushed it away, he was perfectly comfortable like this, with his back against the wall, one knee pulled in and an elbow propped on it, supporting his head, the other hand holding the myriad of pints that he downed. He also noted that his phone was going off, in his pocket, but he didn't pull it out. Whoever it was could let him wallow in self-pity for a little while longer. The memories wouldn't stop. The two of them tangled in between the sheets, fighting for dominance and sharing in the sins of the night. The two of them sitting underneath a willow tree, him reading as she took a break from Criminal Justice classes, laying her head in his lap. He growled, reaching for the next bottle.

The fifth bottle was the tipping point. A headache began to build behind his eyes, and the voice turned more demanding, telling him to stop, before something drastic happened, saying that a residential at a hospital shouldn't show up with a hangover. He couldn't stop. The memories were too painful. Those ten months, where she taught him strength, and he gave her freedom. The points kept flashing, faster and faster. Their first kiss under the stars, the first time that they had slept in the same bed, school days spent lying down together, cloud watching. It was too much. He reached for the next bottle.

Six bottles down. Great, now the dog got involved. It pawed at its master, whining to try and gain his attention, but he waved it off. The dog was just another reminder of her. She loved the damned thing so much. Whenever she was over, the two were constantly together. Now, the dog was just another reminder of the good times gone. His phone was going off again. He still didn't answer it.

Seven bottles down. Something was wrong. The headache was massive. His eyesight was swimming. Everything drifted out of focus for seconds at a time. The voice was pleading with him, begging him to stop. The memories were flashing ever faster. Comforting her. Cuddling her. Laughing, talking, being with her. They brought nothing but pain and sadness. Grimacing, he reached for the eighth bottle, ignoring the voice's pleas for him to stop.

Eight bottles down. Things were seriously wrong. The headache was killing him, and his vision was completely out of focus. His limbs wouldn't respond properly. He was in serious trouble. The dog was racing between him and the door, barking madly. The voice was screaming for him to stop, to get help, to do something, and for the first time that night, despite the pain he was feeling, he smiled. She was scared for him, she actually cared about him, at least this iteration did. She cried for him to do something, but he just tilted his head back and rested it against the wall. Faintly, he heard a knock at his door, and he vaguely registered that it was unlocked, that he had never locked it after she walked out of his life.

He tried to get up, to go to the door, but his legs wouldn't respond. He fell over, shattering a trio of bottles under his weight, and the shards of glass dug deep into his arm and side. The dog dashed over to him, sniffing around his side, before running and pawing at the door, barking wildly. His brain had yet to realize the pain in his side, and he just sat there, stunned. He couldn't move. Vaguely, as if through deep water, he heard a male voice calling for him, and the dog whining. He saw a pair of figures, the dog and a tall man, enter the room, but now there was black around his vision, and it was growing darker the whole time. He felt himself get gathered up just before he passed out.

He hoped that she was alright. Maybe things would work out for them.

Natsu Dragneel woke up in a strange bed, several patches and tubes in him. He groaned at the titanic pain in his head. Opening his eyes, he almost shut them at the bright lights above them. Opening them slower, his eyes adjusted to the blinding lights above his head. He tried sitting up, but the pounding in his head prevented him from doing that. He groaned softly, waiting for the pounding in his head to abate. Once his head stopped trying to explode and scatter his brain across the hospital room, he tried turning his head. He surveyed the room, from the door to the bland decorations to the light blue leather chairs against the wall. Then he looked to his left, and he saw the person seated there, her scarlet hair gathered around her head as she rested on the edge of the bed, near his left arm. He didn't even have to see her face to know who it was.

Erza Scarlet, his girlfr-well, he didn't know what anymore.

Yep, that happened.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

May the sun always be at your back and the wind fill your wings!

~StormDragonSlayer