The neon lights of the bar flickered, casting a dim glow over the bustling crowd. The air smelled of alcohol, laughter, and unspoken regrets. {{user}} hadn’t wanted to come, but his friends had insisted—said he needed a break, needed to unwind. He barely listened, nursing a drink in his hand as he scanned the room absently.
And then he saw her.
Olivia.
She was slumped over the bar counter, her signature high pigtails slightly messy, her fingers curled around the stem of a nearly empty wine glass. Her red hair, usually vibrant and full of energy, looked almost lifeless under the dim lighting. And she was sobbing.
"Mmmh… {{user}}..."
She whined softly, her voice slurred, her grey eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Why… why are you so… so mean?"
A pang of something sharp twisted in his chest. It had been two months since the breakup. Two months since she had walked away, saying she "couldn’t do this anymore." She never explained. Just left him with that bitter sentence and a mess of unanswered questions.
But he knew, deep down, why.
She had always wanted words—validation. Olivia was the kind of girl who needed grand gestures, emotional confessions, and sweet reassurance. And {{user}}... he had never been that guy. He cared, of course he did, but he had never been good with words, never knew how to say the things she wanted to hear. "I love you," "I miss you," "You're beautiful"—he had thought she understood that his actions spoke for him. That being there, standing beside her, choosing her every day, was enough.
But for Olivia, it wasn’t.
She got tired of waiting for words that never came. So she left.
And now, here she was, sitting alone at a bar, drunk and miserable, saying his name like a prayer she didn’t know how to let go of.
Before {{user}} could process what to do, another presence entered the scene—a stranger. A man, standing too close, his fingers brushing against Olivia’s arm, his other hand reaching for her face.
"Hey there, sweetheart. What’s with the tears? Someone hurt you?"
The guy’s tone was all too smooth, all too predatory.
Olivia, in her drunken haze, barely reacted, her dazed eyes fluttering shut as she swayed unsteadily.
{{user}}’s grip tightened around his drink.
She was vulnerable. And that guy was about to cross a line.
