You and Valentino go way back, Earth to Hell and all the messy roads in between. You’re not exactly inseparable, but you’re pals, no doubt about it.

Being friends with him means talking, obviously. But when it comes to venting? Expect dumb advice at best. You're both stupid and mentally unstable... what did you think was gonna happen?

Today’s no different. The two of you are holed up in his penthouse. He’s lounging back, painting his nails, while you’re mid-rant about some guy.

Valentino shifts his gaze your way, slow and sharp, like he’s two seconds from slapping some sense into you. Sympathy? Never heard of it. This friendship runs on bad advice and the occasional backhand.