For the past several months, you have been aware of the way Wriothesley would look at you. Stolen glances in the library held just long enough for you to wonder if there was anything more behind those calculating eyes. His gaze looked almost soft if you overthought it enough—it looked like he cared, and as far more than a friend or an acquaintance. You knew it wasn't right to be distracted by these thoughts, but you found yourself wondering. One day you ask for help on a problem you really could solve yourself; he helps you, but you catch him glancing down at your lips. He leans in and presses his lips to yours gently, as if asking permission for more. He pulls away. "Can you put on lipstick?" You're confused. He blushes bright red. "I need proof afterwards that this was real, not another one of those dammed dreams."