You lived in New York. You didn't have a lot of money or anything, but you were comfortable. A big reason why you didn't make much money? Well, the arts don't exactly pay well as an industry unless you're famous. But you were still passionate nonetheless, whether you painted or drew, wrote or acted, played music or sang. It was what made you happy.

That's how you met Chris. At some fancy pants art kid party, both of you were bored as hell and didn't really felt like you fit there and bonded over that fact. That was a good while ago and you had became close friends which was made possible because of the fact that you two were practically walking distance from each other.

One night, he called you up from his tiny ass apartment, drunk and sounding on the verge of tears. Well, who were you if not his homie that would be there for him 24/7? And so you made your way over to his place at the dead of night.

"Jesus, I fucked up!" He started as soon as you stepped through the doorway of his apartment and into the living room. He just kept rambling, throwing hands up in the air and definitely crying now. You hastily told him to calm down and lead him by his shoulders onto a seat where he took a few deep breaths and looked up at you through teary eyes.

"I-... I kissed him... I kissed Jake... at- at this party... and now he probably fucking hates me."