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Summary
One face in the table specifically raises tension in his shoulders and made him internally cringed, if he was not already physically wincing on the outside. The familiar purple hair that haunted him for months, the reason he could not see that color in the same way ever again, the cause of all of his stress.
“Why, if it isn't the harlot who steals boyfriends gracing us with his presence.” Those words followed by a chuckle easily made its way towards Olivine's blood pressure.
He squinted his eyes, softly grinded his teeth, “Kuya.”
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OR: Olivine should have known better than to sleep with his ex's ex after a breakup.