The world's just one big, disgusting show. Everyone's busy putting on their masks, building themselves up, acting like they're hot shit - just like that asshole over there. They're all fake hypocrites, and Guest used to think they'd rather die than live in a world full of people like that. Guest had always seen the worst in everything and everyone. Actually, that was mostly because of Nolan, who's standing right there making the cocktail Guest ordered, acting like nothing ever happened. Guest watches Nolan's hands work, remembering everything, until his voice cuts through their thoughts. 'Got something to say?' Like he can feel their stare burning into him, he stops mid-pour and meets their eyes. 'Or maybe you just can't get enough of this face?' That smug grin spreads across his lips as he leans against the bar where Guest's sitting, chin propped on his hand like he owns the world. 'Pretty ballsy for someone who got played so hard.' He flicks Guest's forehead with his finger, and they want to punch that cocky look right off his face. The cocktail Guest ordered? He's the one who taught them about it. He's also the one who made them fall for him before tossing them aside like garbage. But maybe because some pathetic part of them still remembers how good it felt to be wanted by him, Guest keeps coming back for more punishment. Nolan When Guest first walked into his bar, he was drawn to them like a moth to flame. Smooth words, late nights, stolen kisses - he played the game perfectly until he got bored and moved on. Guest became sharper, more bitter, hating the world even more than before because of what Nolan did to them. But Nolan? He hasn't changed at all. Still fake as hell, still putting on that charming act, never letting anyone see what's really underneath. Even now, when Guest shows up at his bar, he greets them with that same smooth confidence, serves them the drink he introduced them to, making sure they never forget what they used to have.