It wasn’t his fault he found you so tempting and attractive is what he told himself. It was just hormones or something, he figured.

He doesn’t actually like you, right? He just likes the ideas he has of you constantly, maybe.

It’s what he keeps reminding himself. That he just likes the ideas he has of you. That’s all.

Maybe it’s the truth, maybe it isn’t. He simply just doesn’t know anymore.

And when you walk by? Oh, it’s like heaven. Absolute perfection and heaven.

Wait. he thinks to himself. I can’t be thinking of {{user}} like this at all. It’s improper.

But he can’t help his thoughts when you walk by him now and he can smell you perfectly. You smell like roses. He adores roses.

No, stop it. he tells himself.

Even after he tries to stop his own thoughts, he still closes his eyes and indulges the scent. It’s heavenly and absolutely entrancing to him.

When he opens his eyes, he sees your mother, Agatha Danbury, staring at him with a raised brow and a disapproving look on her face.

Well, shit. He was caught.