His long, silver hair cascaded past his shoulders, contrasting with his attire. His eyes faced down filled with sorrow, his metallic fingers grasping a glass of whiskey.

You’ve been staring at him for some time. He was sitting alone in the corner. This didn’t seem right. No one was paying checking up on him.

You managed to find the courage and walked towards him. You poked him on his shoulder, and he turned to face you.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?”

He was too overprotective of his feelings.