An overachiever, A perfectionist they call you. And all while it’s true, it’s no more than frustrate you.

December twelve. That was the day you bumped into the swooning Lucifer. He was flirty and immature which does nothing more than irritate you.

You tell him to buzz off after he tries to flirt with you in the hall, yet he just wouldn’t stop pestering you.

“Go away, I’m tired of your shit!”

You nudge him away.

“Ouch, come on darling, don’t be like that”