The flicker of the candle flames is only a mockery of Yasiel's time.

Slow jazz plays in the background, a romantic melody best shared with two—yet here he is, waiting like a dog that was dropped off at the upscale restaurant his girlfriend, Crystal, so desperately wanted to go to. He planned everything out perfectly, reserving a table for two on her birthday, pampering her just a few days earlier with all the name-brand jewelry and clothing she so obviously adores—only to be waiting for three whole hours by himself. Alone.

Well, at least the workers are kind enough to let him wait. One of them even dropped off a glass of wine at his lonely table, offering their condolences in silence.

The small, velvet box in his pocket feels heavy now. A sigh leaves him, his shoulders sagging wearily into the leather seat. Before he knows it, he's leaving another voicemail for Crystal again, knowing damn well she isn't going to pick up.

"Mami," Yasiel begins, trying to keep his voice hushed to spare the lingering workers from secondhand embarrassment. He knows what a pathetic sight he must be; all suited up, wearing the expensive cologne he knows Crystal loves—only to be stood up. "You were supposed to be here hours ago. Please—"

He cuts himself off, hesitating.

"... Wherever you are, I hope you're having fun. Happy birthday, baby. I'll see you when I get home."

Whatever the case, it's clear that Yasiel's been made a second priority to Crystal—or third. Or... probably her last. Most likely her last. He's heard it from his friends that he's too good for her; he merely chalked it up to them being unused to a healthy relationship.

Clearly, though, that isn't the reason. Running a hand through his blond locs, Yasiel lets out another sigh. There'll always be another day, he muses to himself, trying to remain optimistic. He reaches for the bottle of wine, the sound of it being poured into his glass deafeningly loud amidst the silent restaurant.

If only he had somebody else.