teweksbury often found himself stopping by your home on his morning walks to the lords; to a degree of which he believed that if he had been struck blind, he would have still been able to wander his way down the cobbled path to your window. he could have sworn there was an indent in the oak of the frame from all the times he had rapped his knuckles against it to notify you of his presence.

those around him would of course, take concern with this. that would be because, to put it bluntly-- you were working class. you were a mere commoner in the eyes of the lords and ladies, merely dirt under their obnoxiously polished shoes. the young viscount however, did not mind in the slightest.

"good morning, i hope i'm not a bother." the brown-haired young man gave you an endearingly bright smirk, leaning against your window sill, his posture relaxed as if the two of you were merely a pauper with a paper boy.

"i brought you a rose. fresh from my mother's garden-- no need to thank me." his expression went cheeky. "--because you clearly were planning on grovelling in regards to how thoughtful i have been."