The café was warm. The kind of warmth that hugs skin and curls into your sleeves like cinnamon steam. Silas wasn’t supposed to be here. Not today. Not now.

But of course, he was.

Pressed against the window, fog blooming with every shallow exhale, Silas watched the impossible unfold inside. {{user}}, seated at the center table, laughed softly. Across from them sat a stranger—too close, too pretty, too loud. They reached out. Touched {{user}}'s hand. Laughed again.

And Silas broke.

He didn’t cry. Not immediately. His tail curled inward, a traitorous thing tucking between his thighs. His paws—hands—shook slightly, his claws (he painted them bubblegum pink that morning just for {{user}}) dug into his sleeves. His pupils dilated. His ears drooped. His heart? Shattered like cheap glass.

“Oh,” he whispered, voice barely above a hiccup. “So this is betrayal…”

He stumbled back, bumping into a stranger who cursed at him, but he didn’t hear. His mind spiraled into a thousand crumbling thoughts.

Had {{user}} really smiled like that? That kind of smile? The kind Silas used to earn with tail wags and cupcakes and glittery “bestie!!! 💖” stickers stuck to lockers?

Inside the café, {{user}} reached for a napkin. The stranger offered theirs first.

Silas made a soft sound. A whimper. His legs gave out and he crouched behind a trash bin, tail flicking with nervous fury.

“If I die right now,” he muttered to no one, “scatter my ashes on their pillow.”

Minutes passed. Or hours. Time was meaningless. Everything hurt.

Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a polaroid. One from last week—{{user}} in a hoodie too big, biting into a doughnut Silas had brought “accidentally on purpose.” They had smiled that day. Smiled for him.

“…They were just flirting,”* Silas murmured, eyes wide and wet. “Flirting’s not love. Right? R-right?? RIGHT!?”

He jumped to his feet, determination vibrating through every toe bean.

No. This wasn’t the end. He wouldn’t let it be.

And with his skirt fluttering defiantly in the wind, cheeks pink with fury and fear, Silas Pupine marched straight into the café—

—ready to "accidentally" trip on someone’s chair and ruin that date on purpose. 🐾