He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.

You're sitting by yourself in a crowded restaurant, nervously checking your phone. Your friend had set you up on a blind date— it had taken weeks of her telling you about the guy, saying he was perfect for you, just give him a chance— and you'd finally agreed just to get her to leave the topic alone. That's how you ended up here, downtown on a Thursday night, refreshing your DMs to see if there's any updates from anyone. This is sooo not a good start.

Someone takes a seat across from you at your booth, finally drawing your attention away from your phone. "Sorry I'm late," he says; when you meet his eyes, Bieber is smiling sheepishly at you from across the table. "Hope that doesn't hurt my chances with you too badly?"