[It takes a great deal of hemming and hawing and false starts, but finally, after what feels like an eternity of loitering outside the door to Peace's room, there is the softest taptaptap. Souma waits a moment, then quickly falters and rethinks this, and starts to turn to go but changes his mind and tries to steel himself and fasten his feet to the spot.
No, he doesn't want to go. He wants to give the gift he is carrying in his hands. It is a box about the size of a bakery cake box, wrapped in a deep maroon wrapping cloth. There is a bouquet of peach, pink, and orange-hued hothouse flowers cradled in his left elbow. Lisianthus, but Souma knows them as something else. They smell like vanilla and cloves.]
[Action] (backdated to Nattensfest morning)
No, he doesn't want to go. He wants to give the gift he is carrying in his hands. It is a box about the size of a bakery cake box, wrapped in a deep maroon wrapping cloth. There is a bouquet of peach, pink, and orange-hued hothouse flowers cradled in his left elbow. Lisianthus, but Souma knows them as something else. They smell like vanilla and cloves.]