Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews. They mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Note: this chapter is a flashback.

You're running around the apartment, hastily, fleeting. It feels as though your feet are barely touching the ground with each step, that's how fast you seem to be running. In fact, to increase your speed even more, you're using everything surrounding you that's even remotely sturdy to cut corners; sofa's, jambs, tables, you name it. You've tried chairs as well, but ended up learning the hard way on that one. So, you immediately gave up on the not so firm piece of furniture. Who'd known? Well, you could've anticipated…you quickly shake this trail of thought off. He could be here any minute! It's almost half past six. The interview on the Daily Show for his recent movie ended around six (there was no mistake about it as you double-checked it). You still have a few things to do in order to make this just perfect, just right, so you need to hurry up.

As you're running around and setting things up, something in the corner of your eyes suddenly catches your attention. It's not something significant enough as it holds no real, personal value for you, or perhaps, in a way, it does. You've abruptly stopped running, coming to a halt right in front of a plain-looking yet small calendar. However insignificant it might've seemed at first, the bundle of paper is greeted with a warm smile. It marks today's date as November 12th, a somewhat meaningful date with actual personal value: today's your first , since you both agreed to have a monogamous relationship with one another, that is. Perhaps it's rather silly to even celebrate this event, but it feels like a milestone for you. Heaven forbid how many boyfriends you've chased away with your quirky personality alone or, when they decided to stick around, how you yourself had grown tired of them and their obnoxious, irritating, immature behavior.

Men, you mentally snort, rolling your eyes. You're unsure why you kept attracting the same type of men in your life, but you're grateful for one particular male: Neil. He, and he alone, is the sole person responsible for your introduction to the creator of Family Guy, and he had set it up. Thank goodness! Many of your previous relationships didn't even pass the one year mark. And Seth, well… Seth is different. By far. For instance, he treats you like a lady, he valued you, which is surprisingly uncommon - what you've experienced, at least. You really couldn't get enough of him. You loved being and spending time with him, as he did with you (at least, that's what you assume). Whenever you're around him, you feel hopelessly, genuinely lucky and happy. The numerous of ways he's found of putting a smile on your face, making you laugh until your sides hurt and your muscles ache, you feel utterly, completely blessed. He makes you feel complete. He is the missing piece of your puzzle. Not to mention the fact he's an incredible, passionate kisser! Or what he's capable of doing in the bedroom. Roar! There are definitely some bonuses there. But this day, today, this is special to you, it means a lot, so you want to make sure to treat it like that as well. It has to be celebrated. And you've decided to do just that with a romantic dinner on the porch. Before making your way out there, you grab a pen from nearby and spend a great deal of writing "first anniversary" neatly on the bundle of paper. You finish it off with a small, cute symbol of a heart. Even though you're not a big fan of these types of things, it feels just to do it anyways. You're just happy to have found the love of your life. At last.

Being the porch of an apartment in the big apple, its space is rather small (and crowded at the same time. You still have to figure out how that happens). Luckily, you've always had a knack for adding a little feminine touch to the ambiance, to make it more intimate and romantic. Seth isn't really interested in atmospheric settings. In fact, like most men, he's a hopeless case when it comes down to setting the mood. Well, besides the whole "I'm horny, let's do it" mood. You're kidding, of course. He's more tactful than that, but the lack of skill might've been the reason why he couldn't be bothered to work some magic. That's the reason why you'd snuck in the apartment earlier today. Without Seth knowing, most definitely. From Seneca Falls, your hometown, you'd taken the train to New York City. The ride took over eight hours. Even though the train was packed with odd, new odors, waste laying pretty much everywhere beside being disposed in the therefor assigned locations, and numerous of fellow travelers who appeared to exchange seats every so often, it did give you enough time to think things through and come up with a plan of approach. Not to mention having others to bounce ideas off, even though all of them were strangers to whom you could never declare the fact you were the broad Seth MacFarlane was dating. Seth had taken a late flight out to New York to do several interviews the next day, as was only accustomed when a new movie of his came out. He'd jump straight, head first, into this not so delightful side of Hollywood, simply to get it over with as soon as possible. Not to mention it's always good to promote a movie as best as you can. So, Seth did as he saw fit. Before his flight, he was a guest at Jimmy Kimmel Live. This morning, he'd been on The Today Show and The View afterwards. Having done four interviews in the last 24 hours, with the additional bonus of having a midnight flight (with most likely very little sleep, knowing Seth), Seth must be drained and exhausted by now.

But to make sure your plan succeeds, you need to have him come back to the rented apartment right away after the taping. This is why you had -purposely so- reached out to him before the interview. You had asked him about what he's been up to (yes, you were pretending you never ever sneaked a peek at his agenda. Even though you felt horrible for doing so, for lying, you really wanted to keep this a secret from him. You wanted to surprise him), how he felt, and what he would be doing later on tonight. He had promised you to go home straightaway after wrapping up, as all the energy had been sucked out of him by these bloodsuckers, or so he had told you.

So, there you are, it's a little over half past six, nearing a quarter to seven, and your little scheme has been set into motion. Seth must be almost home and you sit quietly on the balcony, waiting patiently for his arrival, with your sweet lil' ass parked in what surely must be one of the most comfortable sofa lounge's in the universe, with a glass of homemade champagne cocktail in one hand, and a fluffy pillow in the other. You take in the breathtaking scenery of New York City whilst indulging in a little wicked champagne. Not to mention the rather pleasurable feeling of being sandwiched by five other surrounding pillows, all just as fluffy as the one supporting start to feel all warm and bubbly inside, and you're unsure whether it's due to the champagne or due to the hugging pillows on each side of you. You've placed your feet on top of the rustic, wooden coffee table before you. Taking in a deep breath, you admire your creation: aside from making a somewhat professional-looking three course meal (who would've guessed?), you've gotten some house plants, placed them in the corners, with a single red rose placed in the middle of the coffee table. The plants alone make the room so much more personal and lovely, but there are also candles scattered around in various places. Some are placed upon the side tables beside the sofa lounge, placed higher up, but others are placed on the floor as well. The ones on the table form the shape of a heart, although they're the only ones still unlit for the moment. The balcony feels like romantic already.

Seth has no idea what's going to hit him when he comes home. You just can't wait to see the look on his face!You wait… and wait.. and wait.. it's a quarter to seven.. it's seven o'clock.. and you're still waiting, still seated on the presumably comfortable sofa lounge. No fluffy pillow will help you now, as all the previous warmth has escaped you. Where time first sped you by, where you couldn't find ways to make the minutes last longer, its pace has now slowed down to the one of a mere snail. Seconds start to feel like minutes. The food is getting cold. You can't help but wonder if something bad has happened on the way home. After going back and forth in your mind, you finally decide to exit the sofa and head your way back inside. You retrieve a sweater from one of your bags on the floor before glancing at your cell phone. You hug yourself, rubbing the muscles on your arms through the thick piece of fabric, providing yourself with warmth. It's gotten chilly. Pondering whether or not you should call him, you decide not to. You don't want to spoil the surprise, and calling him again in such a short time would make him suspicious, you're sure of it. Or - you fear it's going to make you seem needy. Then again.. this doesn't feeling right.

You decide to go for another, and less suspicious, alternative way: social media. Maybe his activity (or lack there of) would give you some clues. You check the big web through your phone, checking his Twitter, Instagram and the likes. At seven o'clock, a photograph of himself and Bill Maher, on the latter gentleman's Twitter, out and about in New York City has been posted. Both are presenting their widest, happiest smile to the camera, and you can't help but feel your gut wrench lightly, tugging harshly at the strings of your heart in response at what this implies — he broke his promise, for starters, but has he forgotten as well? Surely, he hasn't, you tell yourself.

You down the glass of champagne, pour yourself another one, and down that one just as quickly as the first. You exhale loudly, frustration rising to the surface as you look at your surroundings, regarding your kitchen, your homemade cuisine. God, you desperately hope he hasn't so, you went back to the now mildly-cold balcony, sitting back in the lounge, champagne in one hand, a book to entertain you in the other, the pillows comforting you. You read your way through half past seven, a quarter to eight, eight o'clock, a quarter past eight, half past eight, nine o'clock, half past nine, a quarter past ten, eleven o'clock, and twelve at , you didn't exactly read your way through these hours. As the seconds, minutes, hours even passed, your worst fear becomes reality. It starts to seep in that he's not going to show up. Not yet, at least. And he didn't even text you once. He doesn't care.

He forgot.

Anger slowly starts to bubble inside of you.

He forgot. And he's out partying with his best pal. On your first anniversary, the one you were so eager to celebrate together, the one you deemed special.

Forgotten.

It stings. You're so close to throwing your book into the depths of New York City, allowing it to be swallowed by its vibrant nightlife, let it be damned. Damn them all. Though, deep inside of you, you're still clinging to that lost string of hope within. Innocent but utterly naive hope. It is a false type of hope, the one you clutch onto, the one that will most definitely hurt you the most in the end, the one that pretends everything is fine, the one that tells you lies. Because of this, you are still waiting, hoping he'll show up. It's the reason why you haven't moved from the porch. Your anger gives you a headache, so you put your feet up on the sofa, relax back into the sea of soft pillows, and decide to take a nap. Hopefully, it'll get your mind off of this as well, calming you.

At midnight, the Empire State Building roars furiously and, in the process, wakes you up from your slumber. For a fleeing second, that silly little string of false hope whispers in your ear, and you think he's home, he came home, and that he's the cause of your abrupt awakening. When you look around, gazing into the empty, dark apartment, disappointment crashes over you. Realizing he isn't going to show up any time soon, as he has been swallowed by the nightlife himself, you stand up, wobbly at first, and let your feet guide you inside, with your head down. Sadness accompanies your anger. It washes away any kind of resentment you had felt moments before, any kind of anger, and takes control of you. You let yourself fall down head first onto the kingsized bed. You hug one of the pillows a little too tight and let the tears, the ones you had been holding back so bravely, stream down your face. Not flow, but stream, as you can't stop them from falling. This day, this moment in your life, was so important, and he'd… forgotten, was out late partying…