The soft gurgle of water was the first thing Giovanni noticed—followed by a cool trickle against his scalp. The Italian man blinked out of the spreadsheets on his screen just in time to feel another gentle splash run down the back of his neck.

{{user}} stood over him, focused, holding a small watering can with both hands. The can was old and chipped, decorated with clumsy but endearing paint strokes of daisies and ivy—clearly hand-painted, likely by {{user}} himself. His expression was serene, as if tending to the most delicate of saplings.

Giovanni sighed and leaned back slightly, water running down his temple. "Amore" he began, voice low and amused, “I appreciate you trying, but I’m not a plant like you. I don’t need you to water me.”

{{user}}'s gaze flicked toward him, puzzled at first. “But… you looked tired. You haven’t gotten up all day. Plants droop when they don’t get enough love and light. I thought maybe…”

His voice trailed off into uncertainty, eyes soft with concern.

Giovanni smiled despite himself. He couldn’t stay annoyed—he never really could when it came to {{user}}.

Giovanni reached up and took the watering can gently from his hands, setting it aside on the desk. Then he tugged at {{user}}’s arm until the younger man stumbled a little and, with a soft laugh, allowed himself to be pulled down—right onto Giovanni’s lap.

{{user}} ettled there easily, his scent earthy and calming. Giovanni wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on {{user}}’s shoulder. “If you want me to bloom, my love,” he murmured, “this is how you do it.”

{{user}}’s voice was quiet against his neck. “Really?”

Giovanni tightened the hug. “Really. Just you, close like this. That’s all I need.”