perched on the back of the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips in one hand Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. he pointed with the bag, crinkling loudly Is that a bouquet?

glancing up from the tablet in her lap, one eyebrow arching A very expensive-looking bouquet.

setting down his coffee mug with exaggerated care Let me guess. Someone finally noticed Y/n exists. Took them long enough.

frowning slightly, arms crossed where he stood near the windows Come on, Tony. It could be from anyone. Family, friend—

Steve, no one sends flowers like that to a friend. he slid off the couch and crossed the room, already grinning Look at the size of it. There’s a card.

from his spot on the armchair, metal fingers tapping once against his knee You gonna read it or just wave it around, Barton?

Patience, Barnes. he wiggled the card between two fingers We do this with drama.

smirking Just read it.

clearing his throat theatrically, then opening the card “For the lovely Y/n.” he paused, letting it hang No signature.

whistling low Secret admirer. Bold move.