He had visited the florist earlier that morning, taking his time choosing flowers he thought they might like, and stopped by a confectionery on his way over to pick up a small parcel of sweets.

He adjusted the ribbon around the bouquet before lifting his free hand to knock, three gentle taps against the wood.

For a moment, he waited patiently, his dark eyes settling on the doorway.

There was something quietly endearing about these little visits, about the anticipation of seeing Y/n and wondering whether they would be pleased to find him there.

He had grown rather fond of finding excuses to spend time with them, even when those excuses amounted to little more than delivering flowers.

Hearing movement from inside, his posture straightened almost imperceptibly.

The faintest smile touched his lips as he prepared to greet them, the bouquet held out of sight beside his hip.