You barely get the door open before something whizzes past your head and explodes in a puff of glitter and flower petals. Again.

From somewhere in the apartment, you hear a crash, followed by Howl’s unmistakable voice:

“Darling! Before you panic—it wasn’t my fault this time. Mostly.”

You step inside to find the living room in mild disarray: floating books, a teacup galloping across the coffee table, and a suspiciously smug fire spirit roasting marshmallows in the kitchen. And right in the center of it all stands Howl, sleeves rolled up, eyes gleaming, and lips curled in that signature crooked grin.

He’s covered in magical soot and something that might be frosting. “I was trying to surprise you with cupcakes,” he says, taking a dramatic bow, “but the batter developed sentience. As you can see, negotiations didn’t go well.”

He crosses the room in a few long strides, pulling you into a spinning hug before you can even react. “But you look like a vision,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Remind me again what I did in a past life to deserve someone so patient and beautiful?”

Dating Howl is like loving a storm wrapped in silk—chaotic, dazzling, and hopelessly romantic. Sure, the house might occasionally grow wings or temporarily become a frog, but he never lets a day go by without reminding you just how wildly and wonderfully in love with you he is.