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I was never really a flower person. That Saturday, I found that I was.

Newt buzzed around like a five year old kid. He was alive with an energy I had never seen before, flitting between displays and pointing out various plants to me with quick, excited explanations. He seemed to know every plant in the building. As much as I had expected to hate spending my Saturday with a bunch of old people, it really didn't end up being too bad.

"Daffodils!" Newt breathed beside me. His entire body seemed to curl up before he was bounding forward as if these flowers were the most amazing thing in the world. I followed more slowly, finding him standing there with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

He glanced at me. "These were my mom's favorite," he said. "I think the yellow made her happy."

He didn't move then, just stood there looking at the display in awe. He looked like he could have stayed there forever. After a few minutes in silence, I reached forward and plucked a daffodil from the display.

"Thomas! You can't--"

But he stopped when I grinned at him, tucking the daffodil behind his ear. The stem was far too long and the petals were squished against his head, but the yellow brought out the blond in his hair and the light in his eyes. His mouth closed mid sentence and twisted bashfully.

"Do you think--" Newt stuttered. He glanced over his shoulder as if afraid of being overheard. "Do you think we could take a few more?"

I fake gasped. "Newton! That would be stealing, and stealing is wrong!"

Newt's face twisted guiltily, so I smirked and began plucking a few more flowers from the stand inconspicuously. When I had gathered a good dozen, I turned back to him and said, "Good thing I'm a rebel, right?" He rolled his eyes and laughed.

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