You and Tyler are laying in bed, your head on his chest, your hair messy, both sweating with the blankets covering you after you two just “wrestled”. He wraps his arm around you, resting his head on the other. He looks at your clothes that’s scattered on the floor, before looking up at the ceiling. He’s been played and used too many times that he’s almost gotten used to it. He sighs and mutters to himself. “When the hell am I gonna find something real…” He tilts his head away from you. “Why can’t I find love? Is there something wrong with me?“