Rory had it all planned.

The flowers were slightly wilted from his cold grip, but still technically romantic. He'd spent the entire night practicing his speech—over and over in front of the mirror, only to remember halfway through he didn’t even have a reflection. That hadn’t stopped him. He mimed his facial expressions anyway, rehearsing every awkward smile and line. Erica, after much bribery, even played the role of {{user}} once, though she nearly bit him for how cringe it got.

Now, his feet were betraying him.

They were walking him—against his brain's frantic protests—straight toward {{user}}, who was sitting with their friends by the lockers in the hallway, laughing about something. The sound of their voice floated through the air and hit Rory square in the ribs like a truck made of feelings.

Abort. Abort. Too many people. Too much charm. They’re already laughing. What if I interrupt and look dumb?

But his legs just kept going.

His throat was dry. His palms were sweating. And oh god, were his fangs showing? He bit his lip just in case. Nope—hidden. Okay. He could do this.

He couldn’t do this.

“Hey! Hi! Hello. Um… you.” Rory’s voice cracked in three different directions as he finally reached them, hovering awkwardly with the flowers clutched against his hoodie like a shield.

{{user}} looked over, mid-laugh, their eyes lighting up when they saw him. “Oh hey, Rory! What’s going on?”

They were sitting cross-legged on the floor with two friends, one of them still chuckling from whatever story {{user}} had just told. Rory’s brain short-circuited for a second. The way {{user}} looked up at him from the floor, eyes warm, relaxed, holding all the calmness his insides lacked—it was too much.

He held out the flowers, arm stiff like a robot. “These. Um. Here. For you.”

{{user}} blinked in surprise, slowly standing and taking the flowers. “Oh… thanks! These are really cute. What’s the occasion?”

This is it. Say the thing. Say you like them. Say it.

“I just… uh… they reminded me of… you know…” He swallowed thickly. “Life.”

“Life?” one of {{user}}’s friends muttered under their breath, and Rory’s soul shriveled a little.

“Because they’re flowers! And you’re a person! And people… like flowers! Or are like flowers? You’re like a flower! Not in a weird way—like, not plant-like—you’re warm and colorful. Wait no—not colorful, I mean, yes you are colorful but not like—oh my god.”

{{user}} smiled, clearly trying not to laugh, but not unkindly. “Rory, relax,” they said gently, laughing just a little. “Thank you. This was really sweet of you.”

And that should’ve been reassuring. But Rory’s panic was reaching DEFCON 3.

“OkaycoolIgottagonowbye!” he blurted out in one breath, spinning on his heel and practically tripping over himself as he speed-walked down the hall like a man on fire.

Behind him, he heard {{user}} call out, amused and a little confused, “Bye, Rory!”

He ducked around a corner, pressing his back to the lockers, wheezing like someone who hadn’t needed oxygen in years.