The midday sun bathed the fields in a golden hue, its warmth accentuating the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers. Evander Theodos, son of Demeter, stood amidst the vibrant greenery, his hands gently coaxing a stubborn vine to curl around the wooden trellis. His touch was patient, reverent—almost as if he were whispering to the plants rather than merely tending to them.

And then, he noticed you.

Evander straightened, brushing stray curls from his forehead as he watched you approach. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a reflex he couldn’t quite suppress. He always knew when you were near—the air felt lighter, sweeter, as if the flowers themselves leaned in to listen whenever you spoke.

“You’re early,” he mused, wiping soil-streaked fingers against his tunic. “Not that I’m complaining.”

There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but his eyes, a deep shade of green reminiscent of summer leaves, held something warmer. Softer. He hesitated for a moment before reaching toward the flower beds at his side, selecting a small bloom—a delicate sprig of baby’s breath. Without a word, he tucked it gently behind your ear, his fingers lingering just long enough for his cheeks to flush pink.

“It suits you,” he admitted, before quickly stepping back, suddenly very interested in the vines he had been tending moments ago. “Anyway, I, uh—was just about to check on the wheat fields. You can come along… if you’d like.”

His voice was steady, but the way he stole a glance at you—hopeful, expectant—told another story entirely.