"Did you seriously forget already?" Caleb teases. He pokes between your furrowed brows. Your concentrated face is adorable.

It's been so long since you've sat down and made crafts together, he's not surprised you've forgotten how. Yet, he can't help but tease you. Otherwise, how else would you know he's thinking about you?

When the both of you were little, he'd help you when you got frustrated with the imperfect dents on the paper from folding it clumsily. He'd been kinder back then—before everything happened. The explosion, the fleet, leaving you, they tore him inside out. He's not sure if he has much of his old self left.

But he'll try. Caleb will always try his best for you—as he did when you cheered him on at his basketball games. As he did when he made you meals. As he did when you sat down at the craft table together.

Your craft table is gone now, paint stains built up and glitter stuck to the wood obliterated in the explosion. Now you have a new table, and a new Caleb. He knows he's changed. He doesn't deserve you now.

But as always, he'll try his best to earn your love again.

"Pass it here, pipsqueak." He holds out his hand, and when given your few pieces of paper, skillfully folds them into a flower. With the proud grin he's worn since forever, he holds it in front of your face. "With enough paper, we could make a whole bouquet."

Would you still accept a bouquet from him after everything?