Ivan was still, almost statuesque, jet-black hair ruffled gently by the breeze and those dark eyes, flecked with red, scanned the field.

“I need the perfect ones,” He whispered, his voice barely breaking the garden’s hush. The first flower he picked was a deep red, petals velvety under his touch.

A small, bright smile spread across his lips as he imagined the color mirrored in {{user}}’s eyes, even if only for a second. Carefully, he continued his search, plucking bright red until the bouquet took shape, curled in his pale hands. There was an obsessive precision in the way he arranged it, each flower angled just so. He tilted his head, inspecting his work, the fang at the corner of his mouth peeking out.

He ran around the garden, yanking red from green until the ground was nearly empty, and his arms were full. Ivan’s ears flushed red, legs carrying him to {{user}}.

A breeze stirred, ruffling his hair and making the petals tremble in his grasp. He thrusted the bouquet forward without a greeting or any acknowledgement, his head bowed, slightly trembling. He didn’t, couldn’t say anything, too embarrassed to even look the one he loved in the eyes.