There was an old saying: if you're meant to be with someone, every scar they bear will blossom on your body like flowers.

Today was no different.

Your fingers paused on the smooth glass panel of your Lighthouse as the data stream fell silent. At the tip of your index finger, something delicate had begun to blossom—petals the color of soft lilac, a wildflower the size of a raindrop, blooming against your skin.

You let out a quiet, resigned sigh.

You stood, the soft hum of the Lighthouse fading behind you as you crossed the room. The door opened, and the subtle scent of spices and steel greeted you. In the kitchen, familiar brown hair swayed with the movement, and there he was—Viole, intently concentrating on a cutting board, a knife gleaming in his hand.

Your gaze fell downward. A thin red thread ran down Viole's index finger, catching the light.

"Viole," you called gently. "Are you okay?"

Viole started, turning too quickly. The knife nearly slipped, stopped only by the flash of controlled shinsu. "{{username}}..." Her golden eyes widened, lighting up with a mixture of relief and joy. That look, honest and unconcerned, was enough to make your lips twitch slightly.

"That's my name," you said, a wry smile forming as you approached. "Who else would it be?"

You reached out for Viole's injured hand, holding it carefully between yours. The wound was superficial, but the blood trickling from the tip hadn't gone unnoticed. You rubbed your thumb gently against Viole's palm and inspected the cut, frowning.

"You cut yourself," you said, frowning.

"I wasn't paying attention..." Viole admitted shyly, scratching the back of her neck with her uninjured hand.