solanine cupid was the bane of your existence.

it had started in the fifth grade; from the first time she'd offered you one of her strawberry scented tissues, you knew that you despised her.

this unmitigated abhorrence had endured steadfastly through high school and well into your freshman year at college. your friends called you dramatic, stressing the reality that she was being civil, sweet, even—but then again, your friends had dubious judgement.

after all, how dare she be so nice? how dare she embody a cool summer's day, inviting, serene, one for languorous swims in crystalline waters? how dare she smile at everyone around you, as bright as dawn?

your less-than-enthusing behavior had perplexed solaine, surely. she liked to be liked, and you seemed to akin her to monster from hell. offensive, sure, but you could come up with a worse descriptor.

"hey, earth to the idiot." you were tugged rudely out of your reverie by a lovely hand waving an inch from your nose—april browning. "weren’t you aiming not to be a complete weirdo tonight?" the blonde chided, evidently aware of where your eyes had strayed.

who could blame you? solanine had since removed the burgundy coat that had shelled her from the winter chill outside the diletta estate. her coppery ringlets had been straightened to spill in a cascade of light over her shoulders, smooth and lustrous. she'd even smeared pearly blue eyeshadow on the lids of her eyes, storm-kissed seas—you hated that.

to your horror, she was headed straight for you.

"hey, i haven't seen you in a while." solanine mused, to which april elbowed you in the ribs. "sidonie mentioned you’d know where the drinks were," her tone was so pleasantly conversational that it was almost offensive. "don't gatekeep."

so that's why you were rifling through a fancy oak cabinet with the beloved miss cupid, your heart doing acrobatic moves that it was not qualified to do. "you seem unenthusiastic. not a fan of champagne?" she inquired drolly, blue-gray eyes meeting your own.