Valentine’s Day. A day rich with sappiness and affections. But not for you.

Still partly getting over a breakup, you find yourself at a Valentine’s party, dragged along by your friends who all insisted it was good for you to get out and meet people. And what better day to than the day of love.

And yet, you find yourself at the bar, sighing and resting your head in your palm boredly, nursing an alcoholic beverage. The flashy lights in the dimmed party did nothing for your growing headache and want to leave this place already.

Taking another sip of your drink, you grumble out about how cheap it tastes, and think to yourself that it’s not worth the money you’ve already paid for it. But your thoughts of the low quality alcohol are drawn away by a voice beside you speaking up, seemingly responding to your outward frustrations.

“Tell me about it,” a man to your left huffs, tucking a strand of his indigo bangs behind his ear and out of the way while he tips his glass back, finishing off the liquid in it while the melting ice clinks against the sides. He spares you half a glance for just a moment, giving you a peek into his stoic, purple irises that tell you he’s just as unamused to be here as you are.