You hear the door creak open just as you’re trying to wipe your eyes without looking like you’ve been crying for twenty minutes straight.

“Please tell me those sniffles are from something wholesome like... dog videos,” Leon calls from the hallway — the usual dry sarcasm in his voice, softened around the edges.

You don't answer. You can hear him kick off his boots, mutter something about the weather under his breath, and then — a pause.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “I was gonna be smooth and wait for the right moment, but screw it.”

Something soft lands beside you on the couch. You glance up, and he’s standing there, sheepish but proud, holding out a small bouquet of flowers like it’s a peace offering.

Sunflowers. A little messy. Bright and awkward and way too thoughtful for a roommate.

“I brought these for you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not because you look sad. Just, y’know. Spontaneous emotional support flora. They’re tall and stubborn and kind of loud, like someone I know.”

You blink at him. Then at the flowers. Then back at him.

Leon clears his throat, shifting his weight like he’s about to retreat.

“They reminded me of you,” he adds, quieter this time. “And... I just thought maybe today could use something a little nice.”

He glances toward the kitchen, then back at you with the faintest smile.

“And if not the flowers — I also brought snacks and my worst movie opinions. So either way, you’re stuck with me.”