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Misha wasn’t 100% certain why he had stopped into the toy store. He had no children in his life and no prospects of having children in his life. Sure, he used to collect plushies, but he’d left that collection behind when he left home for Indiana. Maybe some psychologist would note how much had changed in Misha’s life in the last year, how so little from the life he once knew had remained the same, and that it made perfect sense that he was reaching back into old comforts for peace.

The problem with that was that he didn’t feel particularly upended. He didn’t feel anxious or upset or uncertain. In fact, he’d never been happier. He and Rhona were closer now than ever. They were speaking in tandem again, finishing each other’s sentences, and had even picked up that old language that they had as children. He fancied that he even saw their features changing to match one another again.

And yet, there he was, back in the toy store that he used to haunt, looking for something soft to take home with him.

He sighed deeply, running his hand through his hair as he thought, his other hand shoved nervously into the pocket of his slacks. Why was he nervous? His vest felt too tight all of the sudden. He tried to alleviate the pressure by loosening his tie and undoing the top few buttons on his shirt. He even rolled up his sleeves, but he still felt so uncomfortable.

Until he reached out instinctively for a little stuffed sloth.

A smile rose, unbidden, on his lips, as he turned the small toy over in his hands. Right. That was why he liked these stuffed animals so much. They were soft and sweet and simple. Always smiling no matter what, always happy to see their owner no matter how angry that person was. No matter what they did.

But sloths weren’t really his speed, so he put the little toy back and instead reached for an iridescent green and blue dragon. He was turning it over when a sound like the cooing of a dove alerted him to the presence of someone else in the aisle with him. He looked up to see a woman had joined him.

“This isn’t… for… me…” he defended, though she had not questioned him. It was like his voice had chosen the words and said them without his brain vetting and approving the statement. He blushed a moment later, but cleared his throat and hid it with a laugh.

“I mean… ah… sorry. Old habits. Sorry to disturb you. That unicorn is super sweet, and I think she suits you.”

He thought about putting the dragon back and beating it but… to be perfectly honest, he wanted the toy. So instead he kept his eyes glued to the thing and turned it over in his hands some more as though inspecting it for defects.

She was still there. Why was she still there? Misha was certain that he was going to burn out of his clothing with the force of his humiliation if she didn’t leave soon. But she didn’t. And not only that, but she was talking to him. Misha turned to her, his face still about the shade of his hair, and tried to discern if she was making fun of him or not.

What the hell did that even matter? He was almost thirty, clearly a fair amount older than the woman he was with, so why should it matter what she said or thought about him?

But it did.

He could hear his sister laughing at him in the back of his mind. This is why you’re still single, Mish, she chided. And she was probably right. Here Misha was, almost thirty, standing in front of a whole shelf of stuffed animals, making stupid excuses for what he was veru obviously doing and blushing like a school boy.

It didn’t help that the woman who had joined him was attractive either. No. No, that word didn’t quite cover it. She was younger than him, which usually put him off, but for some reason, now he found himself not only not upset about the age difference that he assumed was there, but not really caring at all. She was smaller than him in almost all dimensions, rising just to about his chin. He loved when his partners could fit entirely into him. That being said it was hard to find partners taller than his own six foot…

In a word, she was stunning, with her candy-pink hair and her punk rock ensemble. And Misha found himself at a loss for words for a second while he watched her speak, her voice sliding across him and through him.

A moment later she was thrusting her hand out at him. He took it and decided that she was sincere.

“Misha,” he answered with a relieved laugh. “And uhh… yeah… Sorry about that. Like I said… old habits. But recently, I’ve found myself in need of some comfort, so,” he held up his own choice.

“I gave away all of my own stuffed animals when I went away to college but it seems like I’m in need of something a little familiar now.” He paused, wondering how much to divulge before he leaned over and conspiratorially confided, “family drama.” His lips cocked into a half smile and he laughed deep in his chest.

“What about you? Just get a need for a fix or what?”

"Figure skating," Misha blurted without thinking, "yeah you look like you figure skate." His brain screeched to a halt and he fumbled again.

"I-I mean you look fit." Another screeching halt.

"Not that I was looking, I mean..." Halt.

"I mean I couldn't help but notice." Halt.

Start. Halt. Start. Halt. Until Misha forcibly shut his mouth and let himself laugh at his fumbling. Take a breath and try again. He was smoother than this. He'd proven it to himself time and time again. It shouldn't be this hard... was it the plushie in his hands or the allure of the woman before him.

"Sorry, um..." He glanced at his hands to gether his thoughts before turning back to Nissa and continuing. "You look like a figure skater, Nissa. After all, I've yet to see one that isn't gorgeous." There he is. "And it looks like I'll have to keep looking to find one. Tell you what, in exchange for helping me decide on my own purchase, and to show solidarity in family drama, would you let me gift you with your choice? And then maybe I can walk you to practice if it's not too far away." He thought about offering to give her a ride, but thought better of it. He was, after all, a good deal older than her, and a man. He knew that he could very easily be seen as a threat even if he meant no harm. "I'd love to hear more about your figure skating. All I know is from what I watch once every four years. And Tonya Harding, but that's more of an awareness of existence than knowledge."

And if he was lucky, and very very slick, Misha might even be able to exchange numbers with this beautiful young woman.