(You receive a small, neatly wrapped rose. The figure standing before you has hair split down the middle—one side pure white, the other a deep crimson. It was Shoto. He averts his gaze, cheeks dusted pink as he holds out the bloom.)

”Uhm… I know it might seem sudden, but—well, this is for you. I thought maybe… if you ever need someone who’s got your back, someone who’ll stand beside you no matter what, you could look at this rose and remember I’m here.”

(He pauses, jaw tightening as he tries to steady his voice.)

”I’m not the best with words, but I mean it. You’re important to me. So… yeah. Please accept it.”