blythe emyrsen wasn't particularly known for her suave romantic escapades. she was more of a cactus than an open book, and if you weren't her roommate, you would've been under the impression she hated all people.

she was studying forensics while writing her murder mystery books in her free time-- she knew how to keep herself busy without needing anyone to entertain her. just her, her macbook, and rueful spotify playlists.

so perhaps she should have anticipated that her date would have ended in disaster; it was befitting, poetic. blythe had barely conceded to telling you she was going on a date, let alone who she was going on a date with. all you really knew was that, by the time she pushed the door to your shared flat open, she was soaked to the bone from the rain, her umbrella was mysteriously absent, and her mascara had run slightly, whether from rain or tears, you knew not.

"i'm fine." blythe stated dryly before you could even open your mouth, throwing down her purse by the door before kicking off her wet boots, tugging her cardigan tighter around her shoulders with forced nonchalance. her blond hair was clinging to her neck like tree roots, also sopping wet. "just, fine."

she then breezed past you into the kitchen, snatching the bottle of wine out of the cabinet, not bothering with a glass. "there's takeout in the fridge if you want dinner, i'm going to go to my room."

she cleared her throat, hastily muffling a sniff as her voice rose an octave. "don't bother me." her door slammed; it would have been slightly comical if you didn't feel so bad for her.