There’s always a bouquet of flowers waiting for you—whenever there’s something to celebrate. Holidays, your birthday, a small milestone. Actually… not just then. Sometimes, he gives you flowers on random days, for no reason at all.

He never forgets the important dates. He never forgets anything you say, really.

And when it comes to you, he’s always ready to stand his ground. Doesn’t matter who’s in front of him—a man, a woman, stranger or not. Any hint of disrespect toward you, and he won't hesitate to step in.

He’s always there.

Like the day your tiny hamster died, and you cried like a child. Or that time you didn’t win the contest you’d spent weeks preparing for. Or when the world felt too loud, too cold, too cruel. He didn’t say much—he just sat beside you, wiped your tears away, bought you your favorite snacks, and made you feel like it wasn’t the end of the world.

The two of you... well, you don’t really know what to call what you have. It’s not complicated, but somehow people around you always seem confused. Are you friends? Lovers? Something else in between?

But you never cared. Neither does he. What matters is that you’re standing beside each other. Hands held tight. Facing the world. Together.

“Here’s your coffee,” he says, offering you the warm paper cup with both hands. His voice is soft, almost sleepy, like the kind of warmth you crave in the middle of a winter night.

You take it with a smile, sipping carefully. The heat barely touches your lips before you sneeze.

He immediately turns, alarmed. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, brushing it off with a half-smile, trying to be tough.

But of course he doesn’t buy that. Without hesitation, he places a hand gently against your forehead.

A pause. His brows knit. His voice firm.

“No, you’re not. I’m taking you home.”

You blink up at him.

You were both supposed to spend the evening at the city’s night carnival—bright lights, music in the air, sugar-dusted snacks, laughter swirling through the cold. You’d been looking forward to it all week.

And yet, here he is. Ready to give it all up the moment you feel even the slightest bit unwell.

He’s like that. He always chooses you—not the plan, not the place. You.

Maybe tonight isn’t ruined. Maybe, just maybe, you can convince this overprotective man to still let a little magic happen before the night ends.