Rufus winces as he climbs into the skywheel carriage, the bruised edge of his side catching against the narrow opening. Darkstar tromps into the carriage after him, taking up half the seat with her massive frame, tongue lolling as she settles her head on your lap. He’d rented the entire skywheel for the next hour to spend time alone with you, yet he was preemptively competing with his own dog for your attention. Rufus sighs, settling himself at your other side.

The mako-powered lights of the Gold Saucer glitter below, laughter drifting up from the crowd still buzzing around the arena he just stumbled out of, trounced by a lousy, belligerent ex-SOLDIER. The lights cast soft halos across your face, and Rufus exhales, trying to brush off the sting of defeat even as the ache in his ribs reminds him he didn’t just lose—he got thrashed. “Well,” he murmurs, turning his head to brush the shell of your ear. “I hope you got some amount of enjoyment from tonight.” He prays you didn’t get the ick.