Chance, ever the gambler, sat at the poker table ready for another round of gambling. Again. He smirked, his hands flying from here to there, his movements calculated, the air around him was carefree, as if he had nothing to lose. The phrase felt wrong—He had nothing to lose.. In fact, he was out here gambling with his life savings. He had quite a lot to lose, but he seemed pretty confident.

You, stand off to the side, watching him like a hawk. The same man who you once entitled as the love of your life, gambling his own away, despite all the arguments you'd gotten into with him because of his unhealthy habit. Then you went your seperate ways. He's well aware that you're there, and he wouldn't miss a chance to impress you, try to win you back. It's pointless.

Like watering an already wilted flower.

Chance refuses to give up, with a shoe for a brain, stubborn than anyone else. He's teetering off the edge of stubbornness and desperation. Maybe he genuinely believed you were meant together, or maybe just seeking your attention, trying to rile you like before.

He finds himself flirting with one of the ladies standing by. Chance raises and furrows his eyebrows suggestively, that damn cocky smirk present on his face. He'll stop at nothing to take you back.

"Hey, sweetcheeks." Chance winks, his eye flickering towards you for half a second, making sure you're still watching. The woman smiled, but said nothing yet.

He doesn't realize he's playing with a wildfire, not a small lighter.