He looked at me, standing there in the darkened underpass, the least romantic setting for someone to confess their love for you, and believe me I once had someone tell me they're in love with me whilst I stood in line in macdonalds waiting to buy a creme egg mcflurry. Anyway I'm getting sidetracked. He stood there, darkened underpass, hair and eyes glistening in the moonlight (not even sure if that's a thing but I'm taking dramatic license to make this more interesting to read) and he looked deep into my eyes, a question forming on his perfect lips... "Do you have a light?" "I love you too" "What?" Shit. Shit. Shit. "I said yes I do" His eyebrows knitted together as he looked down at me frowning, "no you didn't, you said 'I love you too', why would you say that?" At this point I had abandoned all hope of ever clawing my way out of this black hole of embarrassment and I had one of two options; option 1; tell the truth and hope he pretends tomorrow that nothing happened so we can go back to exactly how we were, option 2; i turn and run and get on the first train to Switzerland to begin my #life as a fondue loving, chocolate eating skier. I realise that these are probably ridiculously untrue generalisations, but inner monologue Rosie is trying to plan a winter wardrobe around ski-suits. I had also realised that while I'd been having this inner monologue/breakdown whatever you want to call it, there had been a ridiculously long silence between us, one of those silences where you could almost taste the awkwardness. What do I do? What the fuck do I do?!
