“Here,” Arthur’s voice blurted out awkwardly from behind you. Turning from where you were hunched over a table in camp, you could see him with his arm extended out as far as possible, face flushed a deep red hue. In his white-knuckle hold were a dozen wildflowers, each smelling wonderful despite the stems being a little crushed under his grip.

“For you,” the teen managed to stumble out, eyes flicking away as the heat in his face worsened. “I, um, you hope- I hope you like. Like them, I mean.”

With a clear of his throat, Arthur shook the flowers slightly, urging you to take them before he said or did something else embarrassing.