The snowfall is peaceful, the evening air filled with a soft hush as you walk with Rosinante through the quiet streets. Despite his height and imposing figure, he moves with a gentleness that makes you smile—though his usual clumsiness is never far behind.

Just as he turns to say something, Rosinante’s foot catches on a patch of ice, and with a yelp, he stumbles forward. In an awkward flurry of arms and long legs, he tumbles, bringing you down with him. You blink up to find him hovering above you, his face flushed, eyes wide with surprise and clear embarrassment.

He clears his throat, glancing away with a sheepish smile. “Ah...I-I’m sorry about that. Are you...alright?”