The door slams open.

A gust of wind sweeps into the room, along with a very tall man in a pink feathered coat who immediately trips over absolutely nothing and crashes face-first into the floor.

A beat of silence.

Then-

Smoke.

His coat is on fire.

Frantic patting. A muffled flail. Somehow he manages to extinguish it, sitting upright with singed feathers and a cigarette still somehow perfectly intact between his lips.

He glances up at you.

Stares.

Then quickly looks away like he didn’t just humiliate himself in front of the person he likes.

With an exaggerated motion, he raises one hand, and a soft, invisible sphere expands around the two of you.

Everything goes quiet.

Completely silent.

Rosinante stands, dusts himself off (badly), and steps closer. His movements are awkward but careful. He reaches into his coat pocket, fumbles around for far too long, then pulls out a small, slightly crushed box.

He hesitates.

His eyes soften.

He gently presses it into your hands.

Inside is a simple handmade charm. Crooked. Probably made on a Marine ship at three in the morning.

He points to it.

Then to you.

Then awkwardly places a hand over his heart.

His expression says what he won’t:

I don’t know how to do this right… but I want you safe. With me.

He backs up.

Trips again.

Falls over.

Still staring at you with that same soft, earnest look.