[It takes a second, but once that second passes, so does the wail Prompto's bottled up inside since that day, like a breath held so long it turned to pain instead of air. It's like winter starting to give way--not to warmth, not yet, but to movement, soft and startling: the first quiet drip of sun-melt, a damp branch springing free of snow.

Like that, Prompto's anguish starts to thaw. After a couple tiny, false starts, he breathes out into her hair and brings his arms around her, too.]

I'll try. ...I don't know any other way to be, but--I trust you. [Blue tulips. Those are for trust.] I do. So even... if I don't understand, I can... I can trust you.

[If Prompto can't believe he's enough for her, he can believe her. She circled behind him and put her hand on his head and promised she wouldn't let him hurt her.

Young things, barely green, push up through the frost. He lifts his chin just a hair.]

It's okay...? To...

[To give her the rosebud tucked behind the peony, bracketed in irises: Can I say this, will you hear?]

To want to be the one... who thinks you're the prettiest?