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"What flowers do you like?"
Wriothesley asks one day, trying to seem nonchalant. Trying to make it look not as obvious that he's already mentally running through a list of Fontanian florists.
But you hm to yourself, frowning. "I... don't know. I've never really received flowers before," you say with a shrug, acting like it's no big deal. Wriothesley, though, has to catch himself before he drops the pen in his hand.
"Never?" He asks with wide eyes, head snapping in your direction, jaw dropping the slightest bit. "None of your past relationships ever got you flowers?"
You shake your head, not really bothered by the fact, and although you're nonchalant about it, Wriothesley immediately feels the gears in his head turn. That mental list of florists runs through his mind at double the speed. His finger absently taps on the wood of his desk, mind racing as he does some rough estimations. Unaware and unsuspecting, you merely go back to perusing the books in his office, running your hands over their worn spines, oblivious to the clench in Wriothesley's jaw and the determined glint in his eye.
A week later, and Wriothesley returns from the surface with a bouquet in his hands. It's nothing too big or ostentatious— that's not really his style. Instead, it's simple in its beauty and easy on the eyes. All sorts of flowers have been included, even ones not native to Fontaine. Cecilias from Mondstadt, Glaze Lillies and Qingxin from Liyue, Padisarahs from Sumeru, and even Fluorescent Flowers from Inazuma's Chinju forest, among others. All arranged by hands more skilled and talent more honed than he could ever hope to achieve.
Wriothesley knocks on your door, heart stuck in his throat, and can't help but laugh a little at how cliche it all looks. Him, standing in front of your door with a bunch of flowers in hand, desperately trying to fight down his blush when he hears a 'coming!' faintly behind your door.
When you swing it open, your greeting is caught in your throat, eyes wide as they behold the blue and white blossoms Wriothesley brought for you.
"What... what's this? What's the occasion?"
But he shakes his head, and at his behest you take the bouquet into your arms, holding it carefully. When you bury your nose among the petals, they smell sweet but not saccharinely overpowering. It's enough to make you want to cry.
"No occasion," Wriothesley says, one hand going to scratch at the back of his neck, his smile shy and bashful. "I just wanted to get them for you. Wanted to be the first person to ever get you a bouquet of flowers, you know? But importing them took longer than i expected and, well, I told the florist that I was giving it to someone very special so they spent some extra time on the arrangement..." He trails off, clearing his throat nervously. "...Do you like it?"
And that sets loose the tears behind your eyes.
Wriothesley panics a little when he sees how you blubber, sobs making your shoulders shake as you hide your face in the flowers. His eyes widen, a frantic apology on the tip of his tongue while he fears that he messed up somehow. But then you tackle him into a hug, arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him close until you can bury your head in his chest and cry. His arms wrap around you almost hesitantly, but when you nuzzle closer into his embrace and they tighten around you.
You're barely able to speak through your tears, words muffled around his undoubtedly ruined shirt.
"I love it." I love you, you really mean.
And how can you not? This sweetheart of a man bought you flowers just because he wanted to. Because no one else had before, and he wanted to be the first person to do so. All his sporadic trips to the surface for the past week make sense— you doubt procuring so many imported flowers so quickly was an easy task on top of troubleshooting the various hiccups of the fortress and sorting through some documents that found themselves on his desk. But he did it anyway, just because he thought it'd make you happy.
"I'm glad," Wriothesley murmurs. He rocks you back and forth in his embrace until your happy tears begin to subside. Then he clears his throat. "So, can I buy you another one next week, too?"
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and sparrow's son loves the world so much and loves everyone around him and how can sparrow tell him that the world is cruel? how can he tell him that love will be punished and that cruelty is the only way to survive? normal's love scares him, he loves his son so much but that love scares him. he would do and has done anything for his son but he knows that it has led to his own ruin. and he loves his son but too much love has only ever harmed him and maybe he can take a model from his own dad and multitask.
maybe he can love his son but he hates him too, hates that normal can love and hates that normal can be loved and hates that normal can be so oblivious to the cruelty around him in a way that he himself lost when the world ended. he wants his son to have everything but loathes that fact that normal'll never try. that he just accepts life as it is. the way his dad did, when sparrow saluted henry and went along with the world's end and turned a blind eye to his wife's infidelity.
he sees himself in normal, maybe. maybe he hates that. because he lost himself, that day he lost his father's care and his mother's respect, and he can't bear to see himself lost again. normal needs to be cruel because otherwise he will be crushed and sparrow can't do that again. can't let himself be crushed again.
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