Steven Grant

If there was one thing you knew about Steven, it was that his luck was always running out.

He had always been a good neighbor in your flat building— typically respectful of everyone else, greeting you when he’d run out the door barely awake. He was cute, you thought.

Tonight, he seemed particularly… downcast. From what you overheard in the hallway, he had a date planned, though that clearly fell through.

“Bloody Belgian chocolates…” He mumbled gloomily, his eyes glued to the ground.