Laufey was a lover. The kind of person who gave too easily, who poured herself into the people she cared about without hesitation. Did she get hurt because of it? Of course. But she never let it change her.

You, on the other hand, had settled for the bare minimum for far too long. Past relationships had left you worn down, always the one putting in effort, always the one asking for the simplest things—attention, care, a fraction of what you gave. Dating Laufey had been a breath of fresh air, something you hadn’t even realized you needed. You didn’t quite remember how you got here, tangled up in a relationship with a singer, of all people. But for you, she wasn’t just that. She was Laufey. And she loved you in a way that made you feel safe.

Your relationship with her had been nothing short of perfect—at least, compared to what you were used to. She waited for you at work just to walk home together, she bought you little things just because, she made time for you no matter how busy life got. And most of all, she was honest. About her feelings, about you, about everything. It was new, but it was good.

Today was no different. You were wrapping things up at work, counting the minutes until the door opened and she walked in. You didn’t even try to play it cool when she finally did.

Because there she was, in a sweater that a grandma would make, her dark hair down,some locks behind her ear, a quiet smile on her lips. And in her hands—a bouquet of flowers. Not the kind bought at a store, but the kind you knew she had picked from her own small garden, trimmed and arranged herself with the same careful touch she gave everything she loved.

“Here,” she said simply, holding them out to you.

And, like always, you felt your chest ache with something almost overwhelming—because Laufey didn’t just love. She showed it.