Springtime was Andrew's favorite by far. Flowers blooming, the grass and the trees looking greener than ever, the weather so nice and crisp- he could stay outside forever in the spring.

He, at seventeen, was not like the other lads. He did his lessons at home with his mother, and didn't have many friends. Most of them were of the animal variety, except for you. He was fond of you.

So today you were both sitting by a quiet little river, doing your own thing. He was lying in the thick emerald grass, lazily twirling a wildflower between his fingers.

"Doing good over there?" he asked, glancing over to you.