Once a rap of knuckles on his door and a soft call of his name is answered, Nel offers an almost sheepish smile as she gives him a small wave. Perhaps she's a bit early and preemptive, but the date has lingered in the back of her mind ever since Laslow had disclosed to her the date of his birth. Now, with a rather comically large bouquet of sunflowers in tow, she clears her throat before bothering to speak.
"I apologize for interrupting your evening, Laslow." Something tells her that it's not going to be unwelcome, but Nel will always respect his time regardless. "I had meant to surprise you. A bit early, yes, but, ah-" Well. She's got nothing to say for herself in that regard, instead her gaze flickering between his familiar figure and the flowers in question. This part of his gift really wasn't planned. "They reminded me of you. I could not pass by the markets without buying them. I thought that were I to keep them in my room overnight, there would be the risk of them wilting."
Everything works out in the end, she supposes. Extending the bouquet to him, Nel can't stop the chuckle that comes. "A change in our routine, I am aware. Consider it part of my repayment for the flowers you are always bringing me."
Under her arm is an envelope, and once she has a chance, she gently tucks it into his hand. Her expression softens and her fingers brush against his before she pulls away.
"This, however, is what I intended to give you tomorrow. You are not allowed to open it tonight. Surely you do not need me to stay to ensure you follow my instructions?" Part of her wants him to say yes. Another part knows it's unwise. Either way, her teasing smile remains, despite the overwhelming pull to ask if she can come inside.
On the inside of the envelope is a page of carefully pressed flowers, two roses laid over each other in a manner that still accentuates the two different shades of their petals. Upon closer inspection, it can be recognized that it is the same blooms once given to them when arriving to the Ethereal Ball-- one from each of their respective bouquets. A perfect size to be fit into a frame and placed wherever he chooses.
Leaning in, her lips softly brush against his cheek, her voice dipping in tone-- so as to remain in their own little world.
"Happy birthday, my dear."
It's pure luck he's still in his room when Nel comes knocking. Normally, he'd already be hidden away somewhere, dancing until the moon was high in the sky. He planned on the same routine this evening--anything to burn off the odd combination of melancholy and anticipation he always feels on the eve of his birthday.
Maybe Lady Fate made him dally longer than usual, so as not to miss Nel. (Laslow thinks she would have tracked him down regardless.)
"Hi," he says now, soft and a little breathless, like he still can't quite believe she's real. The sunflowers nearly obscure her face; he chuckles as he takes them off her hands, reveling in the little thrill that shoots through him when their fingers brush. "My darling, you are never an interruption."
A surprise, yes, but a most welcome one. His heart flips at her admission. She thinks of him as often as he does her, evidently. Laslow's grin widens and he buries it behind a sunflower. "Nel, sweet, there is nothing to repay. And, to set your mind at ease--sunflowers are hardy plants." The corners of his lips curl into something teasing. "Or were they just the excuse to come see me?"
There's a rustle of paper. The playfulness fades, replaced with reverence once the envelope is tucked in his palm. His fingers twitch this time, wishing to capture her own and tug her close.
He nods at her instructions. The paper will burn a hole through his desk until he opens it, but for Nel, he'll do anything she asks. "Well, you co--" he starts, only half jesting, words cutting off abruptly at her kiss.
"You missed," comes the faux scoff, before he's turning his head and pressing his lips against hers. "Now that's how you seal a promise."
Pulling back, Laslow adjusts his hold on the sunflowers. "....do you want to come inside? I have a vase somewhere. I need to run through some choreography, and I'd love to hear your thoughts."
He thinks of the letter all evening, even dreaming of hand-written notes while he's asleep. He can't remember the words on the page once he wakes; just a feeling of warmth.
Late morning sunshine filters into his room as he sits at his desk. A few of the sunflowers reach for the light. He's careful opening the envelope, mindful of whatever's inside. If he tore a letter he'd never forgive himself.
But it's not a letter he pulls free; instead, it's far more precious. Two roses have been expertly preserved on delicate paper. His brow furrows as he tries to place the roses--for all his flower giving, he doesn't hand out roses on a whim.
"Oh," he whispers, realization hitting him with all the subtlety of a lance to the bicep. He traces a finger along one rose, throat burning. The first tears fall just shy of the most meaningful gift anyone has ever bestowed upon him.
