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He came without flowers, without chocolates, without wrapped boxes.
He did not sneak around your backyard with gallant poise, nor did he come prepared with a Shakespearian sonnet in hand.
He did not wear a suit and tie, nor did he bother to brush his hair after his long adventure in the nearby forest.
Instead, he merely marched up your front porch, with chest puffed in pompous pride, with disheveled silver strings, with dirt streaked across his pale cheeks, and with absolutely nothing in his hands.
When you opened the door, instead of pointing a brimming bouquet out to your face, he pointed one accusatory index finger.
“[Name]!” he shouted. “Give me your vital regions!”
And with cheeks beet red, you chucked an umbrella at his face from your entryway before banging the door shut.
REWIND.
When you opened the door, instead of presenting a box of make-up chocolates, he stood with his hands on his hips.
“[Name]!” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Can you please give me your vital regions?”
And with a crinkled frown, you slammed the door shut.
REWIND.
When you opened the door, instead of offering a fancy dinner for two, he stood with his hands behind his back.
“[Name].” He paused, almost hesitant to continue. “Can you please give me your vital regions without throwing something at me and without slamming the d―?”
Too late.
“Dammit!” he cried, scuffing a few pieces of rubble from your walkway with his shoe. “What the hell am I doing wrong!?”
Austria, who was sitting on the neighboring porch, promptly shut his book and shook his head.
“Idiot,” he huffed as he reached for his teacup. “Even Gilbird would’ve sufficed as a present…”
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