“Picture me this: I took this beautiful girl out on five dates for the past couple of weeks. I made sure to keep in mind her favorites — flowers, sweets, and even some jewelry she said she liked. I met her parents on the third date and I got introduced as the boyfriend in front of them. Then last week, she told me, face to face, that I was no longer her type and then ditched me.”

He slumped back against his chair with one of his arms draped over the table as his half empty beer bottle tipped lazily between his fingers. He can’t exactly remember the last time he’s been caught like this, inebriated and a blabbering mess, right before you.

Childe only seems to know that he’s nursing a broken heart.

“I thought it was going so well because we were reciprocating, right? I was always mindful of her.” He mumbled, placing his own bottle down before rubbing his face. “I can’t keep a girl. I’m fuckin’ hopeless.”

For a while, he simply stared at the table.

“I think the worst part for this one is that I thought things would be different this time.” His voice softened at his own admission, fingers curling. “That maybe if I tried hard enough, maybe things would be different and that my relationships would last this time.”

He knows that he had never really been the kind of man who stayed still long enough for heartbreak to catch up with him. His relationships, whether a situationship or a real relationship, tended to burn fast — and quite frankly, he was starting to wonder if the problem lied in him.

Did he move too fast? Or maybe he was too much? Or maybe he was simply the type of man people didn’t want to be in a relationship with.

There was a pause.

His gaze slowly shifted from the empty beer bottle (something he downed so quickly in hopes of numbing the pain on his heart. And then slowly, it lands on you.

At first, it was seemingly absentminded. The way you look at someone you’ve known for years without really seeing them. His gaze drifted over your direction lazily, unfocused from the alcohol and the weight of his own thoughts.

But the more he stared at you, the more his expression changed.

Have you always looked this cute?

The haze in his eyes sharpened a little bit and he found himself squinting slightly in order to look at you thoroughly. It felt as if he noticed something out of place in a seemingly familiar room.

“Hang on.”

He lifts a hand up, blinking repeatedly before leaning a little closer over the table as his eyes narrowed faintly.

“Why do you look like that?” He gestured vaguely in your direction, the words slipping around in his head before he could grab the right ones. “Like I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Another pause followed as his brain struggled to catch up with the thought forming.

“Hell, I’m probably just so drunk.” He babbled, rubbing his face again. “Why did it take me this long to realize this? You have always been cute. Always! Have I ever told you that?”