You’d been planning it for weeks — your anniversary. The dinner reservation, the little gift you’d wrapped yourself, the new dress that cost half your savings but made you feel like something out of a movie. You wanted tonight to be special — a reminder of why you’d held on through all the dull conversations and half-hearted dates.

But the moment you walked into his apartment, that hope dissolved.

Your boyfriend sat in front of the TV, headset on, eyes glued to the game. The glow from the screen flickered across his face as his fingers mashed the controller. “Hey, babe,” he said absently, not even pausing to look at you.

You just stood there, still holding your clutch, your stomach twisting. You’d straightened your hair for this. You’d skipped lunch for this dress.

From the corner of the couch, you caught another pair of eyes — Lando’s. His roommate. You’d seen him around plenty of times, usually joking, teasing, loud. But now, he just stared. Silent. Like he couldn’t quite believe what he was watching.

Lando pulled one side of his headset off, voice cutting through your boyfriend’s laughter. “You know what day it is?”

“Yeah, yeah,” your boyfriend muttered, eyes still on the screen. “I’ll pause in a bit.”

Lando’s brows lifted. “You’ve been saying that for the past hour.”

Your boyfriend ignored him. You turned away, forcing a smile that hurt more than the silence. You were about to leave — again — when Lando stood up, grabbing the controller out of his roommate’s hands and tossing it onto the couch.

“Mate,” he said, his tone clipped. “She’s standing there in a dress that looks like it belongs on a red carpet, and you’re playing Call of Duty.”

“Lando, what the hell—”

But Lando didn’t give him the chance to finish. He looked at you then, really looked — at the tight grip you had on your purse, the shimmer in your eyes that had nothing to do with makeup. And his jaw set.

“Grab your stuff,” he said quietly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re not staying here for this,” he said. “Grab your stuff. I’m taking you out.”

Your boyfriend snorted, already turning back to the game. “Oh, come on. Don’t make a scene.”

Lando turned, eyes narrowing. “No, you already did.”

You hesitated, caught between disbelief and the way Lando’s voice left no room for argument. Something in his expression told you this wasn’t out of pity — it was frustration, maybe even anger, that someone could treat you like this.

So you took a breath, grabbed your bag, and walked toward the door. Lando followed close behind, his hand brushing your back as he held it open.

“You don’t owe him an explanation,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady as you stepped into the hallway.

You looked up at him, still unsure what exactly was happening.

He met your eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward the elevator. “You went through all that effort — someone should actually see it.”

And just like that, the door shut behind you.