Watching lovers hold hands while they walk down the streets, anything twinged jealously in your heart. Everybody had been falling in love, yet you were falling behind.

Your friend, Scaramouche bit his cheek as he watched you stare idly at some random pairing, poking your cheek as the two of you sat on the small checkered blanket underneath a weeping willow. He knew your desire for love, but didn’t quite understand it.

“Psst.” He whispered, snapping his fingers.