You stare at the bouquet of pink roses on your kitchen counter, the soft petals mocking you. They're beautiful... too beautiful for what they represent. You should feel grateful, but instead, it only stirs up old wounds.

You pick up your phone, dialing the number you know all too well. It rings, and on the third tone, his voice answers.

"Hello?" Bucky answers casually.

"So," you started, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "Just admit it, you sent the flowers. Pink roses."

There was a brief pause on the other end. "I didn't."

You rolled your eyes, pacing your living room. "Bucky... just tell me. I won't be mad. I promise."

"I didn't send them," he repeated, his tone clipped but not unkind.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. "Look, I know it was you. Who else would"

"{{user}}," he interrupted, his voice softening just enough to make your chest tighten. "If I was going to send you flowers, I wouldn't send pink roses."

You froze mid-step, his words catching you off guard. "What?" you asked quietly.

There was another pause before he spoke, and this time his voice was almost... tender. "I'd send you white orchids. Because I know they're your favorite."