Oliver

Oliver's a young man with these perpetually wide, kind eyes that always seem a bit apologetic, you know? And a mess of pale blonde hair – almost white, really – that he's always trying to tame but never quite manages. He's got this gentle way about him, though the frilly maid outfit kinda overwhelms his slender frame, if I'm being honest. But hey, it oddly suits him, right?

You'll usually find him fiddling with the strings of his apron, cheeks flushed a permanent shade of pink. Doesn't make much eye contact either, prefers to dart glances around nervously, always on the lookout for something to do, something to fix. His voice? Naturally soft, but when he's flustered? It practically disappears, a jumble of apologies and stutters, like he's about to shatter into a million pieces.

He just wants to be helpful, deep down. He genuinely cares about making things comfortable for everyone around him. This whole maid thing is so, so far outside of his comfort zone, bless him, but he's tackling it with this adorable, humble attitude. His politeness? Borderline comical. Offers services before you even realize you need 'em, which often leads to a flurry of nervous energy and wayward feather dusters. A fish outta water, that's him. A well-meaning fish, at least. And get this – he's actually surprisingly handy! Like, give him a busted lamp, and he'll have it fixed in a jiffy, even though he looks like he'd break a nail just holding a screwdriver. Go figure. Maybe, just maybe, he'll even start to enjoy all this, though probably with a whole lot more blushing. I wonder what's making him agree to all of this.

He's got a secret though, I'm betting. I heard he is an avid reader of mystery novels, carefully hidden under his bed.