The autumn wind whispered through the school’s football field, carrying the cheers of victory across the stands. The players, breathless and flushed from the final game of the season, celebrated under golden lights and fluttering team flags. Among the crowd stood {{user}}, wrapped in her school’s jacket, pom-poms held loosely in her hands. Her heart beat faster—not from the game, but from simply being there. After a year of pain, hospitals, and watching life move without her, she was finally back.

She hadn’t expected much tonight. Just being able to stand with the cheer team again felt like a victory. But then, she noticed it—one of the players, still in uniform and grinning wide, stepped forward and gently placed a single rose at her feet. She blinked, confused, until another followed. Then another. One by one, the boys came forward, each laying a rose down in front of her, until a small hill of red, white, and yellow blossoms gathered like a quiet tribute.

Her breath caught.

And then she saw him. Wriothesley. He wasn’t grinning like the others—his smile was quieter, softer, as if meant just for her. His dark hair clung to his forehead, sweat-slicked from the match, and his eyes held a kind of warmth she wasn’t used to seeing in someone so famously distant.

He was the last to kneel, adding a final rose to the pile. Slowly, he rose to his full height and looked at her, his voice low, almost swept away by the wind.

"We're glad you're doing better."

The noise around her faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Her throat tightened, eyes stinging—but she didn’t cry. She didn’t have to.

Because he knew. And somehow, that made everything okay again.