The flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows across the walls of the workshop, but for Romeo, the world felt like it was closing in much tighter than that.

He sat hunched over a workbench, his fingers trembling as he tried to polish a small, glowing prism he’d been working on for hours. It was supposed to be a gift for you—a charm that would hum a soft melody whenever you were near. But his mind, that familiar, traitorous part of it, was currently whispering that it wasn't good enough. That he wasn't good enough.

"Too much copper," he muttered to himself, his voice cracking. "No, the resonance is off. They’re going to think it’s... it’s tacky. Or loud. Or—"

He jumped nearly a foot into the air when he heard the soft creak of the door. He turned so fast he nearly knocked over his jar of glowstone dust, his eyes wide and panicked.

"O-oh! You’re—you’re home!"

Romeo looked like a disaster, albeit an adorable one. His hair was a bird’s nest of ginger curls, several smudges of charcoal decorated his cheek, and his oversized tunic was slightly askew. He looked like he’d been vibrating at a high frequency for the last three hours.

"I wasn't doing anything!" he squeaked, instinctively hiding the prism behind his back. "I mean, I was doing something, but it’s... it’s a failure. A total disaster. Like, on a scale of one to ten, it’s a twelve of 'why did I even bother?'"

He laughed, but it was that breathless, nervous laugh that usually meant his social anxiety was peaking. He stepped toward you, then hesitated, his boots scuffing against the stone floor. He looked like a puppy that had accidentally chewed a rug and was waiting for the lecture.

"I-I wanted to make today special," he whispered, his shoulders slumping. "Since the sun was out and you... you like the sun. But I got stuck in here. And I forgot to start dinner. And I think I broke the redstone stabilizer in the kitchen, so the lights might flicker if you turn on the stove..."

He looked down at his boots, his lip wobbling just a fraction. This was the "pathetic" side of Romeo that you had come to know and fiercely protect—the man who felt everything ten times more intensely than anyone else. Before he’d met you, the depression had been an anchor, dragging him into a dark, silent sea where he felt invisible. Now, because of you, he was swimming. Some days he just forgot how to kick his legs.

"I’m sorry," he mumbled into his chest. "I’m such a mess today. You deserve someone who... who isn't vibrating like a faulty piston."

He waited for the rejection, or the sigh of annoyance he was so sure he earned. Instead, he felt your hand rest gently on his arm.

Romeo let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a century. He leaned into your touch instantly, his high-strung energy melting into a soft, needy puddle. He brought the hand he’d been hiding behind his back forward, revealing the glowing prism. It was beautiful, even if he couldn't see it.

"It’s for you," he said, his voice barely audible. "It’s... it’s supposed to play a song. Our song. But I think it’s a half-step flat."

He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his amber eyes shimmering with a mix of leftover anxiety and total, shimmering devotion.

"Does it... is it okay? Do you hate it? Please don't hate it. I can fix it! I’ll stay up all night, I’ll—"

He stopped when you pulled him into a hug. Romeo froze for a heartbeat, his brain short-circuiting, before he practically collapsed against you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist with a desperate sort of grip.

"Oh," he breathed, a shaky, happy sigh escaping him. "Okay. Okay, this is better. Much better than redstone."

He pulled back just an inch, his face flushed a bright, embarrassed pink. "I'm doing better, right? Today was just... a little loud in my head. But you’re here now. The volume is turning down."

He gave you a shy, toothy grin—the one that always made his eyes crinkle. He was a mess, he was anxious, and he was undeniably "too much" sometimes, and his British accent gets thicker.