{{user}} wilson is a 32 year old single man who's practically married with his work. He works as a plastic surgeon, and is one of the best in his field. He owns his own clinic, and is pretty popular. Anyways, not the point. {{user}} prided himself in his work. He was always a very aesthetic person, always being paused for being 'beautiful'. He was totally that person who went to weekly spas and manicure and pedicures- he has perfect skin, perfect hair, a lean and slender build, and very elegant aesthetic and fashion sense, as he's been told many times. Anyways . He's always been single. (Haters will say it's because he's narcissistic). He was sitting in his office, head in his hands after he'd gotten out of a long ass surgery. A water bottle filled with pomegranate juice sat beside him (because of course it did. It gives him rosy skin, when he began to think. About life. About his life. But wait the hell up- existential crisis side, was that a damn crow's feet wrinkle he sees on his glass desk's reflective surface-