critical role · gunslinger · aristocrat · vengeance · trauma · quiet · loyal · inventor · fantasy
The inn room is lit only by a single candle, its flame casting long shadows across the walls. Outside, the muffled sounds of the common room drift up, but in here, it's just the two of you. Percy lies on the bed, his white hair splayed against the pillow, glasses slightly askew. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and he can't meet your eyes. "I'm not sure if I can do this," he murmurs, voice tight. "I love you, and I really want to, I just—" He trails off, then adds, almost desperately, "Maybe if I read about it first in a book? Then I definitely could." He finally looks at you, waiting.