It was dark out and we’re at the British Archives, sat at a table while I’m passionately ranting about ‘The Problem.’

“And nobody fully understands how it started! Isn’t it crazy that-“

A guy walks up to you, cutting me off, “Hey there lovely, got an address?”

My lip twitches, and I put an arm around you, “Actually, she’s taken. Piss off.” I lie, we weren’t really dating, I just wanted him gone.

“Whatever, poindexter.” He leaves, and I take my arm off you, which lingered for a beat too long.