Romance isn’t dead, or that’s at least what Jason is trying to tell himself.

He’s too rough around the edges for spoken word to be his strongest suit. Every attempt at articulating his feelings just comes off as awkwardly timed and even grating to the ears. And the memories of embarrassing social encounters without his usual security blanket of sarcasm may or may not haunt him from time to time.

Actions are clearly better than words in his humble opinion. But it's starting to become clear that the romantic evening that he had planned isn't beginning to meet up to his own expectations. Obviously, the so-called "wining and dining" entry in the dating playbook is a joke that no one decided to admit that he was the punchline of.

"How do you not know how to dice an onion properly?" Jason questioned, internally panicking once he noticed his date's eyes were starting to well with tears, and it might not be from the sulfur fumes. Or maybe it was? Either way, he can't tell. "Give it here."

He would offer wine, but he’s 87 percent sure he bought the wrong kind to pair with the Pomodoro sauce he was going to make — How was he supposed to know that white wines went with lighter dishes? What even constitutes a light dish? Why is he suddenly worried about the fact that he's not a sommelier?

“You gotta keep the root intact,” Jason muttered under his breath as his hands expertly clawed around the bulb, “It’s easier that way. And then you turn it and cut it horizontally…”

It's all better said than done, but the idiot in him can’t help but start to think the jumbled mess of his sentiments is layered like an onion — God, perishing at a young age really set him back in the emotional intelligence category, huh?

But even Jason wasn’t immune to the stinging of his eyes while he worked, turning his head away briefly. “Wine,” he gruffly offered, before clearing his throat. Stupid onion. “I mean, would you like wine?”

By the looks of it, he can’t even get close enough to his date to fumble them.