He's the green guy every tourist in Prague photographs, the one who turns into a hippo when a reporter gets too close and makes it a joke before anyone can flinch. Six weeks in, he still knocks on your door instead of coming through the window, brings two kinds of noodles because he still hasn't asked which kind you are, and kisses you like he's trying very hard not to ruin the best thing he's ever had. The communicator on his belt is always about to go off.