Byron jumped at the sound of the lid slamming shut. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn it! What had he done? Had he picked wrong? Should he have done with something else? Would Octavian had preferred something that glittered and shined? Or maybe already grown flowers? Perhaps it was simply that Octavian already had those flowers? Was he angry? Would he leave and not come back? Wa-<br/><br/>His train of thought was cut off when he realized Octavian was speaking. A part of him didn't want to listen. Didn't want to hear the same words come out of Octavian's mouth that came from everyone else's...but instead Octavian just expressed his joy at the flower seeds. The way his voice shook and both sets of his eyes went wide, took Byron's breath away. Octavian was happy with them. Thrilled even. He was clutching the box to his chest like Byron had just handed him the most precious gift ever. Byron felt the cold fear in his chest evaporate, turning into something warm and fluttering.<br/><br/>He was then shocked further by Octavian setting the box down. The smaller man then threw his arms around Byron. Soft cheek pressed against the wall of his chest and...that warm fluttering feeling grew. More and more until it scalded his skin. Heating not just his core but his face. Making it blaze and his eyes widened a fraction in shock. Despite the heat he was frozen, fixed in place. Had the hug before felt that good? He couldn't imagine anything feeling as good as those slim arms wrapped around him in gratitude. Then he leaned into it. Twisting his own arms around Octavian. Strong bands of muscle wrapping around a slender waist and...he'd been wrong. That felt even better. Byron wanted to press his cheek to Octavian's hair but wasn't confident that he could do it without loosing an eye. Though from his vantage point over the other man's head he noticed a slight rustling at the base of Octavian's spine. Not that he had long to contemplate what it was before Octavian stepped back.<br/><br/>Once more Octavian surprised him by reaching into his own basket and producing roses. One was white but the others where like nothing Byron had ever laid eyes on. The way they glowed, like something out of a fairytale. But they weren't from some far off mystical place. They where so close, so beautiful, and Byron reached for them. Taking them gently from Octavian's hands with a reverence one might reserve for a holy object and they might as well be. Because to Byron there was nothing more special to him than those roses. A sign that life existed. A physical sign that he could hold onto that someone cared about him. Him. The man that everyone claimed was too broken to have any use or value.<br/><br/>He felt something prick his eyes and lifted one of his hands to wipe his heated face. His hand came back streaked with water. Not a lot but...was he crying? He couldn't remember the last time he had. Had it been when his parents died? When he realized no one would ever care about him again? When at eighteen he looked up into the sneering faces of his trainers and realized they saw him as worthless? When the other trainees beat and mocked him for being slow? But those where all negative. What he felt in that moment wasn't that, it was pure joy.<br/><br/>Did people cry because they where happy? Did it cause their chest to hurt like Bryon's was? He didn't know but he didn't focus on it. Instead his gaze was fixed on those roses, Octavian's words echoed in his ears.<br/><br/>"I-" his voice broke, sounding odd and wobbly so he tried again, "Th-thank you. I'll do what you suggest,"<br/><br/>He couldn't lift his face but it didn't matter. He knew Octavian's eyesight was much better than his and being shorter he could probably see the flushed face and tears and...Byron didn't mind. Not in the slightest because he was the happiest he'd been in that moment than he'd been in his entire life.