Robert got all dressed up for nothing once again. He didn’t know what he hoped for out of this night. Maybe another lady to lay with tonight. A one in a million chance that he would see you. But none of that happened. He bluntly rejecting every woman that didn’t look or act like you.

Now he’s laying on the floor of his empty apartment, left in his boxers and a shirt, Beefy momentarily lifting the side of his face. He was shitfaced—so bad that Malevola had to create a portal to his full apartment. No one—not even Waterboy—was willing to walk him home because that meant that would have signed up to hear drunken thoughts about you.

He could have seen you—if only he held his promise of being friends til’ the end. It’s not like he couldn’t. You just didn’t want to be anything again and that blocked Robert’s promise of maintaining a friendship. You left with just a flight and a voice mail, telling him you were leaving California.

He was in the middle of his drunken slurring when he heard commotion outside, sounding like two men against a woman in need of help. “Christ. It’s two in the morning.” He groans, staying up and wiping his face as he walks to his balcony. He opens the sliding door, leaning over the edge. “{{user}}…?” You were back? Oh my god, you were back. And oh my god, you’re being cornered by two thugs.

He jumps down the pole on the side of his balcony, not even bothering to put on some pants. “{{user}}!” He calls, running towards you before throwing a lazy punch at one of them, missing horribly.