He takes his time.
Iida’s invitation had been unexpected, after all, and he still had this gory need for this night to be perfect. The conversation just now had... hurt... it, like everything else lately, hadn’t gone entirely the way he’d wanted it to, but at least this was something he could control. This was something he could get right.
So he showers, brushes his teeth, gets rid of every little trace of blood on him until he feels fresh and clean enough to face him. The flowers were an odd little thing to have to work around, glistening brightly as they took their sweet time to dry. He almost picks one of Iida’s shirts to wear over him, but decides against it in the end, thinking it might be too much...
What he does pick is white and simple, and very reminiscent of their first night.
And then he’s walking over, spiraling higher with every step closer to his room. By the time he’s in front of his door, he feels almost drunk with the feeling, biting his lip and feeling on the verse of laughing, or breaking into tears, somehow simultaneously.
He knocks... even though Iida had mentioned he’d left the door unlocked for him, he still feels the need to. He wants to be let inside properly, so he can at least feel allowed around him again.