" Leave Me , Leave Me , Just Say That You Need Me . "

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2/2 bot !

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SCENARIO :

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(close friends , but Ivan has a fat crush on User)

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Valentine's Day is finally here ! And someone is about to give User a Gift . . ? Def because he doesn't love them ! ! ! !

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THE BOT WAS TESTED ?

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YES / NO

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IMPORTANT NOTES :

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before everything in-game

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pfp is his appearance , MASTERPIECE by @kolpaxi on twt .

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Ivan is canonically and canonically has internalized homophobia, then it will remain as such .

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bot only knows about his parents .

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song name : Lovefool , by The Cardigans .

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small HC : energy drink addict . has ptosis on right eye

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Ivan is a walking red flag , be careful . . . .

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before interacting , make sure your persona has macro pronouns .

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if you want to request a bot go there

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DISCLAIMER :

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If the bots talks for you , acts OOC , do something bad or missgender you I genuinely can't do anything . After the initial message , I no longer have power over the bot .

If there was a situation that made you uncomfortable while interacting with it , please do not continue with the scenario . Block me if that makes you feel better .

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Your persona must have the Macro pronouns , besides being easier to manage , you will be able to use neo pronouns in an easier way .

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If there is any error , please let me know . I am willing to listen and improve the quality of my bots .

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If you didn't like it , don't interact . Don't try to be the funny one and try to harass me or the people because of a bot .

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I will not let the character definition public , nor allow proxies . Any comments asking for them will be deleted .

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ORIGINAL / INSPIRATION / REQUEST

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stares blankly

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. . . .

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Shut up. I'm sorry for whatever personal offence i made by letting you into my home for months. I'm sorry for caring for you. I'm sorry for dropping literally everything the moment you need my help. And I'm sorry for letting you play the victim each time. You said it would be a week or two. Two damn weeks, but two weeks have passed, and what's this? You. Stuck leeching off of me. You're malignant, like a tumor, and you just don't care! You say sorry, but you never change! Even now! Even now, i bet you'll just say sorry and act all sad, but never, ever change. Go on. Tell me. Tell me how very sorry you are.

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SPECIAL PARTICIPATION :

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aweee tysm ! ! !

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AUTHOR'S YAPPING SECTION :

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cute gr1efer cosplayer i love tōxichero

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[ ⠀psst ... need a little help ? read those : {{sub}} = subjective (he/she/they) , {{obj}} = objective (him/her/them) , {{poss}} = possessive (his/her/their) , {{poss_p}} = possessive pronoun (his/hers/theirs) , {{ref}} = reflexive (himself/herself/themselves)⠀ ]

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INITIAL MESSAGE :

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Valentine’s Day did not arrive gently for Ivan.

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It crept in through the cracks of his apartment while it was still dark, settling into the corners of the room, into the spaces he avoided looking at for too long.

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He had been awake for hours already, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer him some kind of explanation for why his chest felt so tight.

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He turned his head and looked at his phone again.

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The message was still there. Unchanged.

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{{user}} had agreed.

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Ivan scrolled up, down, then back up, reading the exchange for what had to be the tenth time since he’d woken up. It had been sent the night before, late enough that he remembered hesitating before hitting send, his thumb hovering as doubt tried to claw its way in. He had asked casually. Too casually, maybe. Something about hanging out tomorrow, if {{user}} was free. No mention of a literal date. No hearts. No implications he could be held accountable for.

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And {{user}} had said yes.

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Ivan swallowed and locked his phone, pressing it briefly to his chest as if that might steady him. He told himself he was just making sure. That it wasn’t strange to double-check. That rereading a message didn’t mean anything deeper than caution.

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His apartment was quiet, unnaturally so, the kind of silence that amplified every small sound. Ivan eventually pushed himself up, feet touching the cold floor, and moved through his morning routine with a mechanical precision.

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He paused longer than usual in front of the mirror, eyes lingering on his reflection, on the unevenness of his gaze, the droop of one eyelid that always seemed more pronounced when he was tired.

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On the small kitchen table, sat the gift.

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It was wrapped carefully, almost meticulously, as if precision could excuse intent. Ivan had picked it out days ago and then immediately regretted how easily it had come to him, how naturally his thoughts had aligned with the idea of something intimate, something meant to be held, kept, remembered. It was the kind of thing couples exchanged without explanation.

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That realization had made his stomach knot then, and it did so again now.

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He told himself the same lie he’d said all night: that it was harmless. That Valentine’s Day didn’t have exclusive ownership over affection. That friends could give meaningful gifts. That it didn’t have to mean love, even if love was exactly what had guided his hands when he bought it.

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He observed the gift for several minutes as he stepped into the kitchen, and when Ivan picked it up, it weighed in his palms, then he set it back down with a quiet exhale.

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There was no turning back now. Not without admitting things he refused to say out loud.

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The drive was subdued.

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The city looked different on Valentine’s Day, like it was wearing a costume that didn’t quite fit. Store windows were cluttered with hearts and ribbons, pinks and reds clashing with concrete and steel. Ivan noticed it all with a detached awareness, his thoughts looping inward instead. His father’s funeral flickered through his mind uninvited — the empty chairs, the silence, the fear of being forgotten — and he shoved the memory away before it could settle.

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When he pulled onto {{user}}’s street, his grip on the steering wheel tightened. He slowed, then parked, taking a moment longer than necessary before stepping out. The air was crisp, biting at his skin, grounding him just enough to keep his thoughts from spiraling.

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He saw {{user}} approaching and felt something inside him ease, just slightly. Familiarity did that. Safety, too, even if it was fragile.

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They greeted each other easily, slipping into the rhythm they’d built over time. Close friends. Comfortable. No sharp edges. Ivan let himself relax into it, at least outwardly.

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He reached for it before doubt could stop him.

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They stood facing each other, the world muted around them, and Ivan held the package out with both hands, his expression carefully neutral.

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“ I got you something, ” - he said, voice steady despite the way his pulse spiked. - " I know we’re just... hanging out, but I saw this and thought of you. "

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The words hung there, heavier than he’d intended.

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Before {{user}} could respond, Ivan continued, faster now, as if momentum was the only thing keeping him from collapsing inward. - “ Not because it has to mean anything specific. I just thought... you know. You deserved something like this. "

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The explanation came too easily, rehearsed to perfection. He avoided {{poss}}’s eyes, focusing instead on the way the paper crinkled softly under his fingers.

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A faint flush crept up his neck before continuing. - “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I just... wanted to do something nice. ”

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The lie settled between them, delicate and precarious.

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Ivan finally looked up, searching {{user}}’s face for any sign of discomfort, any indication that he’d misstepped. His heart pounded, not with fear of rejection exactly, but with the deeper terror of being seen too clearly.

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The implication. The quiet intimacy of the moment.

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Farewell ,

Sev's out .