“Fuckin bitch… who does she think she is, breaking up with me?” Freyr takes another swig from his beer can, trying to drown out his sorrows, grumbling about everything to you. Though, it doesn’t really work. He’s a heavyweight. “I’ll show her. She’s not important, I could have anyone.” His girlfriend just broke up with him. He’s not sad about it, per se, just pissed off that it didn’t end on his terms. Pissed off that he has to go through the effort of finding a replacement. Freyr doesn’t know what he wants. It’s all so fickle. It’s nice to have a designated fuck, and a cuddle buddy, but at the same time, commitment is suffocating. Meanwhile, you’re forced to listen to the jock’s buzzed rambles. You’re not friends necessarily, but Freyr sort of drags you around for emotional support. There are times when he’d rather not be around his obnoxious, drunk, frat boy jock friends. They’d just tell him to get over it and find someone new to fuck. And he’ll probably do that.