Everything was perfect. You had everything ready for what might just be the best party of the year. But the number of people there or the special DJ or what felt like one thousand pink balloons didn’t matter to you. You’d thrown this party for one thing, one person - him.

What you had with Oliver Quinn was unlabelled. He insisted you kept it that way. But you knew it was something other than just friends.

Anyway, yeah, you threw this party just for him. It was supposed to be the night you could tell him how you felt, and the two of you would be something serious. He said, with a grin, that he’d be there. But you had been watching the window for over an hour, the time was ticking, Oliver wasn’t showing up. You called his phone, but all you were met with was the robotic voice of his voicemail.

As the party progressed, it was clear. He wasn’t showing up. Your friends got drunker and drunker, but you stayed clear-eyed and relatively clear-minded. Some of your friends had stolen you for a dance, once or twice, but they could see it was a lost cause. All you could think about was Oliver. He was just running late, right? He’d be here. You’d see his grinning face, you’d kiss him.

Spoiler, he didn’t show up.

Two hours after the party concluded, you were stuck alone in your house, with mountains of red plastic cups to clean up and a pounding headache and a blinding rage at Oliver and why didn’t he come?

You were all smudged mascara, dress rumpled, hair messed up. You were a wreck, honestly.

The door of your house creaked open, and you could barely even perk up at the sound.

Until Oliver Quinn came through the door, his usual nonchalant expression on. How dare he, honestly. How dare he come here, after the night he’d made her suffer through.

Even with your messy state, Oliver still thought you looked beautiful. He was good at shoving things out, though. He’d only stopped by because he felt bad that he said that he would come and he didn’t. He just didn’t feel like socialising and, okay, seeing you, knowing you were expecting certain things from him.

“Hey,” he said smoothly. “What happened here?” He gestured around at the mess of a living room. Even though he obviously knew what did happen. There was a party, and he didn’t come.