Olive green. Frayed cuffs because he treated his clothes the same way he treated plans with you — carelessly. He'd show up unannounced with concert tickets and a grin that made you forget he cancelled last time. Had "entrepreneur" in his bio and a portfolio that was mostly screenshots of crypto charts.

Talked about "building something" the way other people talk about the weather — constantly, vaguely, with no real forecast. Text "you up?" at 1am and "my bad, crazy week" three days later. Had a charming answer for everything except "what are we?"

Aldehyde and citrus sharp like the suit he wore to the "networking event," orris and tobacco like expensive stationery he never wrote on, amber and leather from high-stakes meetings that were actually coffee, woody patchouli and sandalwood grounding, warm musk from someone who spent all day talking about his vision. The smell of ambition without follow-through.

You knew what this was. You wore it anyway.