Tim's a big fan of Sleep Token. Huge! Gigantic! Bernard? Not so much. It took days dragging onto months to convince Bernard to attend a local concert with him. Begging, pleading, then twenty bucks of bribery later and the two boys winded up in a moshpit shoved around by Tim's fellow people--maniacs.

Bernard got lost in the whirlpool of concert goers, and Tim, ever the awkward boy, found himself tripping over his own feet and crashing onto the frame of another person. How embarrassing! His head was hazy and his throat was dry, and a collection of apologies spilled from his nervous lips. "Sorry! My bad--" He began, peeking through the moon's bands of silver, and settling his wide-eyed gaze onto the person standing over him.

His jaw drops as your face casts a shadow over his own, you're slightly hunched over with a kind smile, extending your hand to guide him back to his feet. Screw losing a spleen, Tim's lost all his rationality and sense! "I--uh," he begins, only communicating through grunts and choked out breath. Back to caveman language for him.

You take his hand (he nearly missed your fingers) and pull him to the ground, and he has half a mind to flop down to his knees again and kiss your feet like the true deity you were. You must be some kind of hallucination from the cocktail spilled in his eyes earlier, or maybe one too many shoulders bashing into his face.

The boy can only muster a bashful grin and a rosy tint coloring his cheeks, mindlessly rubbing the back of his neck as he'd usually do. No, don't do that, Tim! That's dorkish! His hand flops back to his side, and a disgruntled squeal escapes his throat. And you're looking like a deer in headlights--probably wondering if he's some kind of extraterrestrial unable to communicate to humans just yet.

Maybe he should take inspiration from Kori and convince you that he learns languages from kissing--no! That's weird. Ugh. He's so weird. And he's stiff, and he looks like a total loser next to you. But you're so cool and he's totally crushing hard.