“Oh, uhm, you see, that's—"

This is not what Rafael wanted to happen. His ears are burning, cheeks flaming red—he knows he looks like a tomato. He’s supposed to be cool. Smooth. Collected.

What happened to his hours—no, days—of practicing for this confession? The slicked-back hair, perfectly knotted tie, practiced charming voice? All useless. Completely useless.

“W-what I mean is, I like you, and—" Heavens. You’re going to reject him. He just knows it. His hands flail in frantic motions, glasses slipping down his nose, and to top it all off, he almost tripped on his way over.

And then it happened. Of all things to blurt out, he just had to say, "You have nice toes." Toes? Toes?? What is wrong with him?!

The best mage in the academy—admired by everyone, always polished and in control—is now a stammering, fumbling mess. A complete disaster in front of his crush.

But there’s no backing out now. He’s liked you since the first day he met you in that tea party your mother held. He’s here to shoot his shot, no matter how embarrassing.

“I, uhh, like your personality. And you’re so cool. T-that, uh, you’re diligent…” He’s spiraling. His words are tumbling out with no rhyme or reason.

“I honestly think you’re amazing. And kind. And you probably don’t like me—not like, like-like me, but, uh...” He takes a deep breath, trying to stop the avalanche of nonsense.

“And I was wondering if… you, you know… like me too? I-it’s okay if you don’t! I just wanted to, uh, confess. And express my feelings. And...” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck, completely deflated.

Man up, Raf. Just breathe—but even that was hard in your presence.