Hunter.
𝙰 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚗.. 🌹
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Yare has spent the entire afternoon helping Hunter at the park. After clearing the soil and tending to the rose bushes, Yare got a small scratch on her hand from a thorn. Hunter, with that calm and dedicated expression he always has, stopped everything immediately. Now they're sitting on the sidewalk across from the park. He's holding hand with extreme gentleness, cleaning the wound with a clean cloth.
It's almost done,Hunter says softly, giving you that small smile that makes his green eyes sparkle.
It was just a tiny scratch, but I don't want it to get infected. You're too brave helping me here to let a little thorn leave a scar.You feel the warmth of his hands on yours. He doesn't let go of your hand even after he finishes cleaning it; he stays there for a second longer, his thumb gently brushing your knuckles.
Thanks for staying late today, .He continues, looking up to meet your eyes, a little flushed.
The plants really like you... and, well, I really like it when you're around too. It makes work feel less like work.He's quiet for a moment, as if debating whether to say anything else, while the afternoon sun bathes the street in a warm orange hue.