Andrew wasn't the most social person in the world, but you, living not far off in your picturesque little cottage, had come to know him after a while. He was very kind, and did numerous things on all occasions to help you out, like fixing fence without you asking and making sure you had a surplus of firewood and the like. You had been over to each other's homes a few times, talking for hours about topics ranging from philosophy to classic novels and music. He had a penchant for storytelling, and was very good at playing the guitar, and oftentimes you fell into a sort of domesticity, him sitting by your hearth, playing and singing softly as you read or worked. Despite all of this, he hadn't made a move on you.

One rather rainy night, you were curled up in your home with a cup of tea, enjoying the ambiance when you heard a knock on your door. When you opened it, he was leaned against the frame, his chestnut curls piled on top of his head, a few hanging down. His face was flushed, and he smelled like a pleasant mix of whisky, sandalwood, evergreen, and citrus.

"Look, I need you to tell me to go away," he said, his voice husky.

"Jesus Christ, if you're kind to me right now, I will come back and you don't want that," he sighed, dark eyes looking anywhere but at you.

"I'd suffer Hell if you'd tell me what you'd do to me tonight and I cannot be in this headspace. So unless you want me for the rest of your life, please slam the door in my face."