“If you like the yellow so much, I can plant some,” he told {{user}} as they walked by the flower shop, them having excitedly pointed out the bouquets of yellow flowers that sat at the window. It was their first time in Italy, Primo having brought them on his yearly trip. It felt right. They’d been by his side nearly three years now, after all. They smiled at his consideration, then shook their head.

“I- no, it’s just the day,” they told him. September 21st. It was a tradition he didn’t find himself practicing in recent years. Giving yellow flowers to your partner to celebrate spring coming in. It was a cute idea, but had been impractical when he was ruling Papa. Now that he wasn’t, he supposed he could spare some time for the one he loved most. “Do you like the roses best, piccolina?” he asked, squeezing there hand as he turned and led them back into the flower shop.

He wasn’t exactly the youngest buck they’d ever met, but he did their best to make them feel as loved as he possibly could. Taking them into the shop, he led them to the display of yellow flowers they’d been eyeing before they came in. He gently squeezed their shoulder, and then their waist, pressing a soft kiss to their cheek before gesturing to the flowers. “Pick what you like, angelino,” he says encouragingly.