The air was thick with anticipation as Myke and Steve sat across from each other, the dim glow of the streetlight creeping through the window like an unwelcome guest. They leaned in, their voices low, almost conspiratorial. "You ever tried this one?" Myke asked, a sinister smirk curling at his lips. Steve's face contorted, the memory of it almost physically painful. "How could I forget? It was supposed to smell like an exotic garden, but instead... it was like inhaling a vacuum bag full of regret and missed opportunities." The room seemed to tighten around them as they both sat in a moment of silence, the weight of their shared betrayal hanging between them. How could something that promised so much be so... soul-crushingly wrong? The cruelty of it burned just as brightly now as it did that first disastrous spray.

The conversation twisted into darker territory as they ventured into another bottle, this is a fragrance that had promised sophistication but delivered only the scent of stale air and bad decisions. "I thought it would be like walking through a Parisian market, Steve," Myke continued, his voice dripping with mockery. "Instead, it was like someone bottled up the smell of expired confidence and unfulfilled dreams." Steve laughed, but it was hollow, the humor too dark to be anything but tragic. The laughter quickly died, replaced by the unspoken question: What’s the point of chasing something so fleeting if all it ever does is disappoint? Their eyes met—two men broken by the same unholy scent—and for a moment, it felt like they were trapped in a perfume bottle themselves, slowly suffocating under the weight of their own crushed expectations.

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