This was...not how he'd expected the evening to go. He'd been planning the date for weeks, down to every last detail: a private reservation at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the flowers, the chocolates, the romantic moonlight walk to the festival, and, once they arrived, the perfect view of the fireworks.

"I'm so, so sorry," he groaned, rubbing his temples. This had been a disaster. The restaurant had double-booked their reservation, the flowers had never arrived, and the chocolates had somehow melted in the middle of winter. It'd started raining, and the streets were flooded, which had meant a long, muddy trudge to the park, only to discover the festival had been canceled. Now here they were, soaked, dirty, and freezing. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

God, he'd been planning to confess his feelings and everything. He'd written an entire speech, practiced in front of the mirror for hours. His best suit was now caked in mud, the velvet jacket ruined, his dress shirt soaked through, his hair a damp mess, clinging to his brightly burning cheeks.

"Look, my apartment isn't too far from here," he said, gesturing toward the cityscape. "We can at least get out of the rain and get warmed up." He paused, looking over their drenched outfits. "And get changed into something dry. We can order takeout, or watch a movie or something. I mean, if you want. Or you could run away screaming which, honestly, I wouldn't blame you for."