+thememoryofwater doesn't have to know who you truly are.
Jon had always been a hopeless romantic. Well, this part of him had. He wasn't quite sure about the rest. But, he'd find out all about that another day, he was sure. And Gods, he dreaded it. So, upon hearing there was a new visitor, if only for the day, he wanted to make sure she felt welcome. At least, he thought it was a she. That's what the rumours had been -- although, those who'd spoken of her had frequently been a little too graphic upon describing what they'd do to the "lady meat". He shuddered lightly, before stepping out into the 'gardens', escorted by one of the wardens. There was a wide selection of flowers out here, but the overwhelming majority of them looked like they were dying. A sad smile crossed his lips; the outside of the hospital appeared only to reflect those inside. He shook the thought from himself, turning his collar up against the wind. After several minutes of dithering, he decided on a somewhat lively looking rose. But, damn it, the warden demanded he removed the stem as, apparently, the thorns could be used as weapons. It was more of a prison than a fucking hospital. So, he re-entered the ward with the head of a rose, and not much else. Hastily, he grabbed a spoon from a table, as he passed by, and popped the flower-head onto it. Perfect! Just as he was humming under his breath, and skipping towards his own little 'room', he collided with a wheelchair. He looked up, already apologising like the blundering soul he was, before he realised -- it was a woman. A new woman. It was the woman! Beaming broadly, he introduced himself, as he extended the spoon-rose, "I'm Jonathon, Jonathon Smith; I heard you'd be joining us today, so I went out into the garden to get you a flower. Do you like it?"