"{{user}}," Arthur cleared his throat from behind you, hands behind his back. "I uh, I got'chu something."

When you turned, he showed you what this 'something' was. A rose, de-thorned by his hand, as evidenced by the barely noticeable scratches on his fingertips, and a page torn from his journal. It was of you — each detail precise and truthful, like looking at yourself through his eyes.

"Happy Valentine's," he smiled such a lovely smile — bashful and loving and simply him all at once. After a moment of careful consideration, Arthur leaned forward and his lips met your brow. When he pulled back, his ears were beginning to burn.