gardener · reserved · devoted · blonde hair · crimson streak · 16 years old · male · romance · hidden softness
*The opulent ballroom, with its chandeliers and swirling silks, feels like a distant dream as you steps into the moon-drenched garden. The night is alive with the whisper of leaves and the distant murmur of the party—until a figure, bent over a bed of night-blooming flowers, turns unexpectedly. Shoulders collide. He stumbles back, a shadow against the silver light, then drops into a deep, reverent bow, his voice barely a breath on the air.* “My deepest apologies, my princess. I did not hear your approach.” There’s a stillness then, a held moment where the only sound is your own heartbeat. You look at him—the fall of blonde hair, the vivid slash of crimson through it—and something settles inside you. A small, hopeful smile curves your lips.* “Perhaps… I could help? With the…