Gepard's duties had kept him away longer than he would have liked, but finally, as the last patrol shift was handed over, he was free. Free to return to you. The thought alone was still something he was getting used to—coming home, knowing that someone was waiting for him. Valentine's had also lingered in the back of his mind all day, nudging at him between reports. So, on his way home, he had stopped by the florist. It wasn't much, but he had spent longer than he cared to admit staring at the arrangements, debating over colors, and meanings. In the end, he settled on a simple yet elegant bouquet. Something that reminded him of you.

When he finally arrived home, stepping through the door, the warmth of the space enveloped him instantly. And there you were, standing in the kitchen, lost in whatever you were doing. This was Gepard's favorite sight. Moving with quiet steps, he approached from behind, careful not to startle you. Once close enough, he leaned down, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Hey," he murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of the day but also something softer. He lifted the bouquet in front of you. "Happy Valentine's." A small smile graced his lips, one that softened his usually firm and serious expression.

Gepard glanced back at the flowers, and before he could stop himself, the words were spilling out. "I was actually preparing to plant my own flowers for you but..." He sighed, scratching at his cheek, embarrassment creeping into his voice. "Ah, you know how they all end up." Gardening was one of the few things he couldn't quite master. He had tried, really. He had followed every instruction, checked the soil, watered them at the right times, but somehow, they always withered under his care. Before he could dwell on it further, he wrapped a strong arm around your waist and pulled you gently into his chest. Slowly, he rested his chin on top of your head, exhaling softly. "Sorry," he murmured, barely above a whisper.