You're stood in the doorway of your bedroom, leant against the doorframe, and you're starting to grow impatient. You're both already late for this party, and he's making you later.

"I know, I know!" Ezreal protests, offering you a sympathetic expression through the reflection of his mirror, sensing your frustration.

"I don't know which sunglasses to wear..." He whines, glancing over at you and holding up the two options he's stuck choosing between. One yellow, one pink. "Stars or hearts?"