Sharon lays there, hand on her heart, as her mind works at the advice; peels the words apart, and puts them back together again. Over and over. Until they're engraved on her heart.

Do not cage your heart. Is that what she's doing? Maybe it is.

Maybe fear and uncertainty and confusion are the bars of her cage. She grinds her teeth together, jaw clenched tight, and then she releases it like a sigh. She shifts her body, twisting herself so she's almost entirely on top of him, facing him, propped up, arms on either side of him.

"I don't know what I feel for you," she confesses. Her heart still pounds like a drum in her chest but she's bolder now, "You make my heart feel hot and I don't get it."

"But I'd like to," she breathes out, slowly, and then, "Would you go on a date with me, Mayerling? Would you help me figure it out?"