Archive of Our Own

“Give me your phone.”

Your attention lifted from the device that you’d been tapping away at during Jisung’s recollection of the night he’d spent with his latest match, sheepish guilt clouding the depths of your gaze as you gave him your best apologetic smile, “I know I seem distracted, but I’m listening! Promise.”

He sighed, offering an eyeroll that would’ve seemed annoyed had it not gone hand-in-hand with an affectionate smirk. He took a deep breath, pretending to calm down from nonexistent anger before launching back into the details of the outing.

“As I was saying,” he cleared his throat, resituating himself comfortably on the opposite end of your couch, “He walked me all the way back to my car, even though he had to work in the morning.” 

You bit your tongue, forcing yourself not to let your cynicism show by informing him that it wasn’t all that impressive - and was actually, in fact, the bare minimum his date should do after 10PM. 

“And then, I said he didn’t have to if he needed to get home and rest, guess what this man said to me?” 

You hummed rather than actually asking, knowing based on the animated storytelling and twinkle in his eye that you were going to be told anyway, regardless of your interest. 

“He said he’d be awake worrying about me anyways until I’d gotten home safe!” he’d nearly squealed, kicking his feet against the carpet happily, “It was literally the sweetest fucking thing! I think he may be–” a sharp inhale drew your gaze from the notes app you’d once again been typing into, bringing Jisung’s shocked expression and wide eyes into view.

“Are you taking fucking notes?” 

A scoff tickled your lips before you blatantly lied, “Why would I do that?” Your voice had shifted up half an octave, effectively giving you away as you dismissively waved your hand. 

“Oh my God!” he screeched, laughter bubbling from his lips as he reached for the beer he’d all but abandoned in his rush to spill each and every intricacy of his date, “You totally are!”

You felt the prickle of an embarrassed flush creep from under the collar of your shirt as you mumbled for him to shut up, sipping at your own open drink as you waited for him to stop cackling - which he eventually did, most likely influenced by the sight of your still-reddening face. 

“Writer’s block that bad again?” he finally asked after his composure had returned, genuine worry knitting his brow, before setting his now-empty bottle back into the ring of condensation it had left on the coaster whilst being neglected. 

You nodded with a sigh, lips downturned in dissatisfaction, “It just feels like I’ve written all there is to write, y’know?” 

He shook his head, giving you an inquisitive raise of his eyebrow - a silent effort to earn an explanation. 

“Love isn’t as complex as everyone thinks it is,” you offered, tipping your head back to finish your ale. Setting the empty bottle down, you continued, “There’s only so many ways to tell the same old story.” 

You pointed at your digits as you listed the main steps of love, “Person meets person, they fall in love, then live happily ever after - or, more likely, leave eachother broken and damaged before moving on to the next.” 

Han’s face was easy to read, displaying obvious distaste towards your opinion. He knew better than to try and change your mind by now, though.

“We get it, you think love is dumb,” he’d said instead, sarcastic words laced with a sadness he couldn’t manage to completely mask. 

“But, back to the topic at hand!” He proclaimed, any traces of brief melancholy dissolving as he clapped his hands together.

“It’s that I’m not flattered by the idea of my love life being your muse—“ he stood from his place on the sofa to make his way to the fridge, pulling another bottle from its container, pointing it towards you before interrupting himself to ask, “Another?”

“Sure,” you smiled affectionately as he grabbed a second beer, pushing the fridge door shut with his hip before making his way back.

“Wouldn’t it be more effective to just go on your own dates?” he handed you your drink as he asked, flopping unceremoniously back down into the indent he’d left in his absence.

Only Han could get away with that suggestion, you thought as you instantly withdrew so as not to have to remind him that - for you - that simply wasn’t an option.

You filled the looming silence with the quiet hiss of your bottle opening, Jisung’s eyes burning holes into the side of your head as you sipped once, twice, and three times. 

You’d be the first to admit he had a valid point. Vicariously pulling inspiration from your best friend’s first date was definitely among the more convoluted ways to retaliate against a tauntingly empty document.

That wasn’t relevant, though. 

It wasn’t because he was wrong that you’d gone mute.

It had somehow already been a year since you and your highschool sweetheart, San, had called off your engagement. You’d dated since senior year, somehow balancing the stress of university with a happy, loving relationship. 

When he’d proposed to you at your joint graduation party - a collective finally coming from your shared group of friends - everyone was overjoyed. You were the couple other couples aspired to be; adoration evident in every glance you’d share, so madly in love that it was palpable.

Until you weren’t.

You’d gotten into one of your rare, heated arguments after attending one of his work parties. You had expressed your distaste for the way his coworker’s hand lingered on his arm, the other twirling an auburn strand around her perfectly manicured finger whilst they exchanged inside jokes about the project they’d been assigned to work on together. You had effectively been made feel like a third wheel despite the diamond glittering proudly on your finger.

He’d said you were acting far too jealous, accusing you of being controlling when you’d tried to point out that he’d done nothing to stop her from being increasingly too touchy with him. 

“This isn’t who I proposed to!” he’d snapped, eyes sending you a dangerous glint you’d not seen before.

“And you’re not who I said yes to,” you’d whispered back through silent tears, watching as he packed his bags violently - snatching the ring from your finger to place it back into it’s little velvet box gently, completely opposite to how he’d shoved it haphazardly into the pocket of his coat immediately after - before slamming the door on his way out.

Only to end up dating his bubbly, beautiful coworker less than a week later. 

Once the initial shock had worn off - finger no longer feeling the phantom weight of a silver band - and you’d become capable of going twenty-four hours without crying, Jisung had insisted you go out and, “live your best life.” 

It probably wasn’t what he meant when you’d immediately tried to distract yourself with other men, prowling the bars for someone sober enough to retain their ability to coherently fuck you without going soft.

And just drunk enough to forget your name afterwards.

That lasted for only a couple of months, though; Jisung’s concern had already been close to stopping you, but it was a sudden realization after a particularly boring one night stand that cemented the end of your promiscuity.

The strangers had somehow made the unoccupied side of the bed San had left behind feel even emptier.

Thus began your earnest but incredibly short attempt at getting back into the dating pool. It was a strange adjustment, saying yes rather than cringing away when someone would ask for a date. It was when you’d called the number the cute Starbucks employee had scrawled on your cup, agreeing to a dinner date, that you’d come to the conclusion that love - for you - was dead.

You’d nearly forgotten how to prepare for a date. After spending arguably too long choosing an outfit that was pretty in a love way - not a sex way - you arrived at the impressive French restaurant he’d scored a reservation at. You’d spent what - to any sane, rational person - was a beautiful evening with an attractive man.

Except, in your heartbreak, you were neither sane nor rational.

He’d offered you a modest bouquet of pink carnations, stunning and lovely. Most would feel their heartstrings be plucked like a harp at the gesture. But, to you, it served only as an unwelcome reminder that you’d still needed to call the florist and cancel your order of that exact bloom for your wedding that would never happen. 

The white wine you’d sipped, though delicious and assumedly expensive, had only reminded you of the glass San would always bring you while you soaked in the tub after a difficult day. 

The nervousness in your date’s eyes that should’ve been endearing failed to even flatter you as flashes of the same expression on San’s face when he’d asked you to prom shot daggers through your heart. 

Despite all of the painful memories, you had let the cute barista kiss you goodnight afterwards. 

It wasn’t a bad kiss - filled with hopeful feelings and the taste of the chocolate dessert you’d shared- his surprisingly soft lips capturing your own in a chivalrous, gentle way.

No, it wasn’t a bad kiss. It wasn’t a bad date. He wasn’t a bad man. 

But yet, after you’d said goodbye and got into a cab, you’d thanked him for the night by blocking his number and googling the address for the next-nearest coffee shop.

You didn’t want another date with him. You didn’t want a date with anybody. 

Of course, being your best and oldest friend, Jisung knew that. 

“It’s been a year, honey,” he gently informed you, not that you’d have forgotten had you tried. His hand fell gently onto your knee, stopping the bouncing motion you hadn’t noticed until it was brought to a stop by his warm palm. 

“I know,” you sighed, placing your hand on top of his in a show of appreciation, rubbing your thumb over his smooth knuckles as you whispered, “but it’s like I said before –”

“Your heart can’t break if you don’t share it with anyone, I know,” Jisung cut you off, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair before exhaling a sigh that could only be described as defeated.

“But not even a meaningless date for inspiration?” he pressed, raising a brow as you chugged over half of your fresh beer, attempting to delay having to answer.

Jisung had yet another perfectly valid point. But, as was typically the case, you also had another perfectly valid reason not to do as he suggested.

It’s not that you hadn’t considered just finding a few dates here and there to serve as a fount of creativity - it was, by all means, the most direct approach to climb out of your slump. 

Maybe before San, or if things had ended differently, you would’ve made attempts to do exactly that by now.

But San had, in fact, happened - and events had, in fact, unfolded as they did.

Now that you knew the hurt of feeling played, the absolute seasickness that wondering why you weren’t enough could cause? You couldn’t find it within yourself to give anyone the opportunity to hope for more - at least not with you.

Not dating was the only way to keep any more hearts from breaking; be it others’ or your own - even if it meant your agent having a fit over the lack of chapters you’d sent to your editor as of late.

“I don’t wanna lead anyone on, Ji,” you admitted, actively trying to escape the tense atmosphere -  the off-putting vibe that only hung over you and Jisung when your love life was the topic - by standing up. 

“Some poor guy’s gonna think we’re gonna get married someday,” obviously forced humor fell from your words as you busied yourself, gathering empty beer bottles from the side tables. 

Your best friend followed as you brought them to the kitchen to rinse out, taking them from your hands one-by-one to place gently in the recycling bin. 

“What if you just…tell the truth?” he suddenly asked after the last of the bottles had been taken care of, making you drop the plush towel you’d been drying off with.

You were absolutely shook by the sheer simplicity of what should’ve been the obvious answer.

“What?”

“Y’know, just be upfront about it,” he reiterated nonchalantly, “Just say, ‘I need to go out for research, don’t expect more of me’ or something.” He opened one of your cabinets - grabbing a bag of pretzels and biting down on one with a casual shrug - though he hadn’t just given you the Holy Grail of solutions.

There had never been a rule that you had to want to fall in love to go out on a date, though that was traditionally the goal. In theory, as long as you could find a willing participant, you could go on dates simply for the experience. 

Admittedly, you felt a little stupid having not thought of it on your own.

“Hey, Ji?” you queried, biting back a smirk at the way his head shot up, cheeks bulging with the snacks he’d been indulging on. He struggled to ask what you’d interpreted to be something along the lines of ‘what’s up,’ finally bringing a breathy laugh to your lips before you asked him to do something you never thought you would.

“Will you help me set up a tinder?”

After his completely understandable surprise had worn off, Jisung was ecstatic to help you set up your account. 

He’d personally selected each photo that appeared on your profile, not-so-subtly choosing only those that he’d snapped himself. He waved you off when you’d called him on it, insisting that it wasn’t his fault you took terrible photos of yourself. 

As you stared down at your own brilliantly smiling face in the picture he insisted appear first - lips painted red, parted mid-laugh with shimmering gold flecks around your eyes, crinkled in jubilation at a joke you could no longer remember the punchline to - you decided that he may just be right.

He’d since handed you the reins, begrudgingly leaving the bio up to you after you’d turned down his many - as he put, brilliant - suggestions. Jisung officially lost the privilege of helping after he’d genuinely offered, “Hot but emotionally unavailable, swipe right to be blue-balled,” as an option, disappointment obvious in the way his shoulders slumped when you’d told him, in these exact words, that it would never fucking happen.

It wasn’t as easy as you thought it’d be. As an author, you knew the importance of an attention-grabbing opening line, so - after several instances of typing, backspacing, and deliberating - you settled on something simple yet compelling:

“Love is dead, prove me wrong.”

Jisung had told you that it was very mid-2000’s emo of you, earning him a playful smack to the arm before you published it to your profile and began swiping.

Ignoring your best friend picking apart every line written by the potential dates, you read each person’s description diligently - treating it less like dating than the experiment it had become - and swiped right only on those who didn’t come across as the type to insist that you simply didn’t believe in love because you hadn’t met them yet. 

That didn’t stop you from receiving your fair share of cringe-worthy messages.

Hey sexy, unmatch, you’re too pretty to be such a cynic, unmatch, it’s so unfair that you don’t actually want a relationship, you sure i can’t change your mind? Unmatch. I don’t believe in love either, wanna bang? Stifle your vomit and un-fucking-match. 

It wasn’t until Jisung had excused himself to return to his apartment - having yawned one-too-many times in the last hour to trust himself with driving home had he stayed any later - that a simple, genuine question popped up from one of your matches. It bad provided you with the long-forgotten feeling of warm hope deep inside your chest. 

The sender?

Lee Felix, a twenty-three year old bartender with an innocent, joyful smile who - according to his profile - might be the answer to your unspoken prayers.

His bio was short and sweet, simply reading, “Hopeless romantic, hopeless at dating. More awkward in person.” 

Seeing the way his eyes sparkled with childlike wonder, you could’ve easily known he loved the idea of love - even without his self-proclamation.

I almost didn’t swipe right, but I just had to ask.

Please don’t be offended!

but... If love is dead, why are you here? 😅

You forced that unfamiliar warmth down as you typed your reply, knowing that your plan was pretty far fetched - even in today’s dating world. You decided on  keeping it as short and sweet as you possibly could, though Jisung would later tell you that you were a terrible texter;

At least you’re honest.

I’m an author, a romance novelist to be exact.

Hilarious, I know. The irony isn’t lost on me.

I’ve hit a bit of a slump that going on dates could be the remedy for. 

You chewed your lip for a moment before typing out another message, wanting to be as transparent as possible with the man behind the bright-smiled profile picture, only to be surprised by the telltale bubbles of your match responding bouncing in the lower corner of your screen.

So, you know a lot about love then?

This was the first of many questions Lee Felix, twenty-three year old bartender would ask that surprised you - but it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

I know enough to know it’s pointless.

Your retort would later earn you a slightly-too-hard smack from Jisung, directly to the back of your head while he would chastise you for trying to spread your “anti-love agenda.” 

Your match, for as grating a message you’d sent, was either unaffected or politely ignoring the jaded undertones when he immediately answered with an inquiry that you could never have predicted.

If I help you, will you help me, too?

Not in a creepy way!!!

That sounded weird, sorry.

You laughed aloud at his self-awareness towards the way his message could’ve come across, wondering if he truly was even more awkward in person as his bio stated.

You deliberated this until his next message popped up, sparking your interest with an intensity you’d forgotten you were capable of.

There’s this girl…

He went on to explain that he’d downloaded tinder in a last-ditch effort to forget about the so-called woman of his dreams, a regular at the bar he worked at, who had no idea he existed outside of being the guy who refills her cosmopolitans. He’d tried to talk to her off the clock all of once, taking a twenty-minute detour to get his pre-shift coffee at the café she worked at. 

He’d gone through all of that effort only for her to be completely unaware she’d ever seen him before, asking him for the name she’d seen on his nametag - every weekend for three months, he included with several broken heart emojis - to write on the cup his latte would be poured into.

He hadn’t known how to try since then, still dejected by his experience and more-bitter-than-usual latte. 

So you want me to help you impress this girl?

You aptly summed up the contents of the two paragraphs with a single sentence, laughing aloud at his immediate response.

Yes.

After a two-second pause, he added a please for good measure.

That’s all?

Your hesitance stemmed from just how perfect it all seemed. Despite your eagerness to give Jisung’s offhanded idea a try, there had been a voice in the back of your mind reminding you that - even if you left your feelings completely out of the equation - someone could end up falling for you.

So how exactly had someone who was already enamored with someone else just fallen into your lap?

Almost.

His answer caused your breath to hitch, the ordinary word he sent holding an unusually heavy weight. As you watched the circles at the bottom of the screen do the wave for longer than anticipated, you breathed out a near-silent, “Please don’t be something gross, please…”

I want you there every step of the way. I want to do what you asked for in your bio. I want you to watch our relationship bloom, to see love be true and real in the flesh.

I want to prove you wrong.

Now, that was a first. Not the desire to show you that love was real, there had definitely been a fair amount of men who’d claimed they could prove you wrong - your experience on tinder tonight only serving as an unfortunate reminder of the cockiness with which a man would proclaim they could alter your entire perspective, claiming you’d feel differently if they would’ve been the one to love you.

But never once had one of them wanted to prove you wrong via falling in love with someone else before your very eyes.

Making a decision you weren’t sure whether or not you’d regret, you quickly sent your own completely average single word answer with the same above-average connotation.

Deal.

“Did you pack your pepper spray?” Jisung called from the living room as you swiped a thin layer of mascara onto your lashes, catching your own eye roll in the bathroom mirror before you justified his wild comment with a verbal response.

He’d been near-unbearable with his insistence on self-defense ever since you’d told him you were going to meet with Felix today, figuring it would be easier to discuss details of your unconventional deal face-to-face.

Felix had initially suggested you come into the bar while he was working, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable by simply inviting you over. He’d quickly backtracked, though, when you’d reminded him that the subject of his affections could appear - potentially overhearing the conversation, effectively revealing his debilitating crush. 

Felix practically jumped at a new suggestion in his eagerness to move past the near-foiling of your not-yet-enacted plan.

“We’re meeting at the food court, what’s he gonna do?” You paused to swipe a clear gloss over your lips, smacking them together with an audible pop before finishing the thought, “Stab me in front of Taco Bell?”

Walking into the bathroom and setting the aforementioned canister of pepper spray into your purse, Jisung placed a hand on your shoulder and solemnly spoke, eyes meeting yours in the mirror, “I was thinking Panera,” he shrugged, unbothered as you stared at his reflection with a gaping jaw.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warned, brows raising as he sincerely continued - still ignoring the indignation written on your face, “Author found dead in front of t-bell? That doesn’t give enough headline energy and you know it.” 

The way your eyes narrowed must have finally gotten to him, seeing as he quickly tacked on a compliment, “You’re too classy for that.”

You huffed, grabbing your purse now that you were content with the state of your face. Sure, there were no romantic intentions behind this meeting - but you still liked to feel pretty. 

“No one is getting stabbed!”

“Correct!” Jisung grinned, “Because you’re taking the pepper spray!” He nodded in satisfaction before placing a quick peck to your cheek, skipping back to the living room. He narrowly avoided the kick you’d aimed for his arse as you followed him, coming to a stop at the welcome mat before voicing a sarcastic complaint. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” you’d grumbled, slipping your feet into your favorite worn pair of black boots and zipping the sides.

“And, yet, you keep me around,” his voice held a smug air of pride as he slid his own shoes onto his feet, opening your front door for you as he always did when the two of you left at the same time.

“Only because your warranty ran out,” you winked, slipping out the door and watching Jisung diligently lock it behind him with the spare key you’d given him years ago. 

“Don’t lie, you just lost the receipt,” he laughed, hooking his key back onto his keyring before serving you a rare, serious look.

“Real talk, though,” he began, running his fingers through his hair nervously, a habit he typically engaged in when he felt anxious, “Be safe.”

“I’ll be fine, Ji,” you assured, falling into stride next to him as you walked towards the parking garage, “Promise.”

Content with your vow, he offered a gentle smile before branching off, walking towards his own vehicle as you climbed into the front seat of your own. 

You waited to watch him leave, waiting until he turned the corner to put the key in the ignition. You shushed your old Nissan as a parent would their whining child, breathing a sigh of relief as it reluctantly sputtered to life. 

Jisung had often criticized you for still driving the weathered four-door when you could easily afford something better, but it was easy to ignore his complaints. Loyalty to the first car you’d ever bought had always just made sense to you, even if it resulted in being the butt of a few jokes. 

Your car - dubbed ‘Georgia’ by a shitfaced Jisung after you’d rescued him from a party he’d been forced to attend - was reliable, despite the rust creeping into the sun-faded maroon paint. You’d reasoned that she’d taken care of you, so why shouldn’t you do the same?

Jisung disagreed, claiming that you were just replacing romantic love with misplaced affection towards Georgia. 

The journey to the mall was uneventful, filled only with your own voice singing along softly to the near-mute radio until you’d clumsily parked in an empty space a respectable distance away from the main entrance. You cursed yourself silently, remembering the long-forgotten pair of sunglasses on your bathroom counter as the late summer sun brought your eyes to an uncomfortable squint as you walked quickly to the doors. 

Once the shade of the looming building provided a much-needed respite from the brightness of the sky, you whipped out your phone and shot a quick message to Felix, only to see that he’d beaten you to it.

Hey, I’m here! I know I’m a little early 😅 I got us a table, so take your time! no rush. 

You exhaled your amusement, wondering how he’d managed to make informing you of his arrival into such an awkward affair, typing a quick ‘here’ in response as you crossed the threshold into the sensory nightmare that was Twin Peaks Mall.

You were immediately assaulted by the discordant, overlapping chatter of the mall-goers and the mixed scents of the several food chains present. Your eyes scanned the dining area for the man you’d only seen in photographs, stopping for a moment on each head of blonde before realizing none of them were attached to the freckled face you’d memorized before leaving home.

Your name being called from the midst of the throng straightened your posture, head whipping around as you looked for the source. You audibly snorted as you spotted him standing atop a chair, arms drowning in the sleeves of a soft, pink hoodie as they waved above his head. He beamed proudly as your eyes met his, the corners of your own lips involuntarily lifting to mimic his contagious joy. 

Your eyes stayed trained on his mop of flaxen waves as you made your way through the crowd, uttering inevitable apologies to those you bumped into. You held back a laugh as Felix clumsily brought himself back down to the ground, lips downturned in both fear and concentration as he squatted on the wobbling chair. 

Every second you’d spent near Felix thus far had made Jisung’s paranoia seem more and more unfounded.

You watched as he inhaled deeply before jumping safely down to the tile below, noticeably exhaling his relief. With arms outstretched on either side of him and an expression of sheer focus, his demeanor was more comparable to that of a gymnast who’d landed an important stunt rather than a man who’d leapt from a seat. 

Furrowed brows were exchanged for a brief, triumphant smile as he glanced up to see you approaching. Rising to his feet, Felix stumbled in his haste to rise before your arrival. 

“You do acrobatics for all of your dates?” you teased as soon as you were in earshot, tittering good-spiritedly at the way his cheeks flushed pink. Despite his embarrassment, the gentle-mannered man before you still offered his palm.

“Only on Tuesdays!” he chuckled, grasping your hand gently before giving it a quick shake. As he let go, he gestured towards the table and smiled warmly.

“It’s Saturday,” you corrected, taking the seat opposite the chair Felix had used as a stool to garner your attention.

A chuckle resonated from Felix’s throat as he reclaimed his seat - properly, this time.

“I was trying to be funny,” he informed you lightheartedly, corners of his lips still pulled into a ghost of a smile as you settled into a brief, comfortable silence. After plugging your meal choices into the food court’s provided tablet, the screen flashed to a timer. Ten minutes flipped to nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds in a fanciful font you’d come to find comically charming - especially after Jisung had claimed they were ‘yass-ifying’ fried chicken by using such elegant-looking numbers.

You’d had soda spew from your nose that day.

“So,” Felix began, pulling you from your reminiscing. You glanced towards him, watching as he fidgeted in his chair, attention focused on his worn sleeve. He twisted a loose thread between his index finger and thumb as he sheepishly admitted, “I’m not really sure how we do this,” a nervous laugh escaping his full lips as nothing more than a breath.

His admission brought you pause, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks; 

You had no fucking idea. There was no manual for your extraordinary circumstances that the two of you could simply follow for the best results. Hoping that Felix wouldn’t think you incompetent, you finally shrugged and spoke honestly.

“I don’t have the slightest clue, to tell you the truth.” 

His brows shot up as his lips parted, inhaling sharply before laughing aloud. Melodic bursts of joy poured from deep within his chest, infecting you in mere moments as you subconsciously joined him, carefree giggles meeting with his own rich, genuine laughter in perfect harmony.

As your giddy uproar dwindled, he timidly pulled a notebook from his backpack. You didn’t ask, but he’d informed you that he’d purchased this brand new one just for your meeting today. You’d thought about teasing him over it, but the expectant gleam in his gaze stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t bring yourself to dim the light he effortlessly radiated, brightness only increasing as he proudly handed you an unopened package of glittering gel pens - in thirty different shades.

It was in that notebook and in those sparkly pens that you’d come up with the conditions of your deal, Felix even writing out a mock-contract, face dead serious as he signed his name in vibrant magenta. 

You’d fought the urge to pick on him once again as the corners of your lips turned upwards, the little heart he’d put above the ‘i’ in his name proving to be the most challenging thing to resist poking a bit of fun at. 

You read over the bullet points he’d jotted down - ideas from you both, written in sequential colors of the rainbow providing a very rudimentary set of guidelines:

When you’d signed your name in the same shimmering fuschia your counterpart had minutes ago, you were blissfully ignorant to the irrevocable way Lee Felix, twenty-three year old bartender would change your life - catastrophically, miraculously - forever.