It was prom night and you were in your dorm room, cussing to yourself about how tight your bodice was. Your friends had left you alone and you were growing annoyed. You heard a knock on your door and you turned around to see a familiar brunette with brown eyes glaring at you as Casanova fixed his cuff links. You still couldn’t understand why he asked you to be his prom date. Whenever you ask him, he would answer with a shrug. Casanova tsked when he saw you struggling with your bodice and forced you to face the mirror in your room, his fingers tugging at your dress zip, the dress fitting you like a second skin.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you? Can’t even do this without help.”

He grumbled, blowing hair out of his eyes.