Something landed on Czolgosz's head, and he jumped, swatting at the air above him with both hands. Behind him, Guiteau started laughing.
"Don't panic," Guiteau chided, "it's just a hat."
Czolgosz snatched the crudely made newspaper hat from his head and glared at Guiteau. "I have hat already."
"Not a hat like this one!" Guiteau beamed, pointing at his own hat, resting squarely on the top of his beret. It looked like Guiteau had made it by crushing the newspaper into a vaguely hat related shape, held together by hope and optimism.
Czolgosz continued glaring, his grip tightening on the badly made hat and crinkling it further. Guiteau's smile dropped an octave (because Guiteau is so damn chipper his expression makes noise). He and Czolgosz stared at each other for a moment before Guiteau scurried off to harrass someone else and Czolgosz sat back down to retreat into his thoughts.
"Hi Leon!"
Czolgosz jumped, once again, and growled very quietly. "What do you want?"
"I can't just want your company?"
"No."
"You just looked so sad, over here all alone. I wanted to cheer you up!"
"I do not need to be cheered up."
"Are you sure? I could sing you a song!"
Czolgosz twitched. Guiteau didn't notice. Instead, he continued, breaking into a spurring rendition of Molly Malone. After the second verse, Czolgosz had had enough and leapt to his feet. There was very suddenly a gun aimed between Guiteau's eyes.
"Do not sing." Czolgosz commanded.
"Okay." Guiteau squeaked. He sidled out of Czolgosz's sights and scurried off once again.
"Czolgosz?"
"For the last time, what do you want?"
"I just wanted. Czolgosz. I wanted to say."
"Spit it out."
"Leon, I like you."
Czolgosz turned and stared at Guiteau. Guiteau's body language said what he seemed to be unable to say, his eyes turned downwards, his hands stuffed into his pockets, a tint to his cheeks. Czolgosz's brain seemed to do a backflip and he couldn't quite process what was going on.
Before he knew it, he and Guiteau were kissing.