The lights are off; he assumes you’ve gone to sleep, so he stays quiet in the dark. He only manages to get his giant, fluffy coat off before you’ve snuck out of the shadows, and wrap your arms around his waist. You can hear his gasp of surprise as he inadvertently tenses up.
He chuckles, patting your arms where they sat across his waist. “You did.” Still in your arms, he turns, so much taller than you, yet nothing but compassionate and caring. His hair sticks up straight, but looks so fluffy. He bends down for a kiss, and instead you stand up further, pressing your face into his soft hair.
You’re not one for costume parties, but he manages to convince you to come along anyway. He’s wearing that ridiculous Casanova costume that he swiped from the set years ago, and though he nudged you into going to the party, he can’t get you in a costume. Fine by him; he doesn’t mind. It makes things a bit simpler, he had commented.
There’s a look of confusion in your eyes, but you go along with it. Sometime in the heat of the party, he’s slipped off, and you go looking for him. The music dwindles down the further you look, and soon you’ve stumbled across him, alone, in a room.
He’s drawn himself up on a small couch, a seductive look on his face as his costume gently hangs open in the front. “Well?” he purrs, his accent delightfully thick and irresistible as you climb into his embrace.