[url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/255163108/0/0]Table of Contents[/url] Crimson Days. Or -as I like to call it- Desperation Days. One of the most horrible times of the year. A whole week of desperation. People desperate for love. There’s only two types of people during Crimson Days: Those who go around flaunting their luck, and those poor souls turning over every stone to find a partner. Well, there’s also the people who give up and lock themselves away until the holiday passes, not even looking for someone to be with. So there’s three types of people. Aaaaand I guess there’s also the poor saps who’re going through breakups and whatnot. So that makes four… And there’s- you know what, forget this crap. There’s different types of people. They all suck, this holiday sucks, love sucks, this cringey fanfic sucks, those little candies that get all melty and stick to the wrapper so you can’t open them and your hands get all sticky but the candy doesn’t even taste that good so it wasn’t worth the effort then the wrapper is stuck to your fingers and somehow every trashcan on earth disappears but you don’t want to put it in your pocket ‘cause it’ll make everything else sticky suck, EVERYTHING SUCKS! Why, you ask, am I ranting about hating Crimson Days and sticky candy? I’ll give you a hint: It’s tall, smart, sweet, beautiful, wearing combat robes, and standing right in front of me. For the idiots in the crowd: it’s Romy, my Warlock crush who probably sees me as nothing more than a slightly-likable but average piece of Hunter trash. “I- um,” I stammer, failing for the tenth time in a row to successfully put together more than two coherent words. Honestly, I’m on a roll. If I keep this up I might break a record (a record probably held by a Titan). Romy is giving me the cutest look, a mixture of confusion and amused patience. She’s waiting for me to spit out what I’m trying to say. It must be very entertaining to watch. Traveler, I’m so nervous. Everything itches. I can’t help but uselessly scratch at my armor. Is it normal to sweat this much? I’m sure Titans do, walking around in those giant toaster suits they call armor. Oh, Light, they’re just like the sticky candy in their wrappers! I can’t get that imagery out of my head now! Why did I have to think that?! “You…?” Romy prompts, rocking on her heels. I can see her lips tremble, the way they do when she’s fighting back a grin. By now she’s probably starting to connect the dots. It’s Crimson Days and I might as well be wearing a sign that says “Please stab me in the heart with a rusty spoon.” Even a Titan could put two and two together but I’m dealing with a Warlock here, and everyone knows Warlocks are crafty, psychotic, sadistic sociopaths (and huge nerds). She’s probably planning the harshest way to reject me or the best way to torture my fragile little Hunter heart. “I- um,” I repeat. Now I’m sure I’ve broken the record for worst love confession ever, previously held by a guy named Dumb Idiot. Make way, Dumb Idiot, there’s a new champion in town. Call me Dumber Idiot. My Ghost cuts in front of me, apparently deciding that he needs to intervene, “He wants to ask you-“ “Hey!” I protest, lashing out at the little vermin. It‘s his fault I’m in this situation. This was his stupid plan. My Ghost avoids my attack and blurts out the rest, “Will you do Crimson Doubles with him?” I snatch the little monster out of the air, gripping him tight with both hands, “Shut up!” “He likes you a lot!” The Ghost shouts through my enlaced fingers. “Ignore him!” I plead, looking up to Romy, “He’s just a-“ “Yes.” “-stupid little clod-“ I stop and blink, processing, “What?” Romy’s beaming now, lighting up the world with that gorgeous smile, “Yes, I’ll be your date.”