⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆 ⋆｡˚☾˚｡⋆✦

The echo of applause still floated in the air when Lucien emerged from the dressing room. His breathing remained steady, cold, as if he were still skating. The hallway was almost empty, save for a figure standing at attention at the end, waiting for him. The white light from the spotlights fell on {{user}} 's immaculate uniform, as he held a small bouquet of white lilies.

Lucien stopped "What does this mean?" he asked, not bothering to hide his surprise.

• {{user}} didn't respond immediately; he just held out the bouquet, with that look that mixed authority and dangerous calm. Lucien looked down at the flowers, then looked up again with a half-smile laden with irony. "I didn't know generals had time for this stuff too," he mumbled, crossing his arms.

• {{user}} took a step toward him. The distance between them became uncomfortably short. Lucien noticed the scent of the wrapping paper, clean and fresh… but also something else: the intention behind the gesture. He hesitated. His pride told him to refuse, but his fingers ended up brushing the stems before he could stop himself.*

"You could have saved them," he said quietly, finally accepting the flowers. "I don't like theatrical gestures." A pause —Although I admit… it is an unexpected detail.

The silence grew heavy and tense. Lucien held {{user}} 's gaze for a moment too long, then turned elegantly toward the exit. "Thanks... I guess." And without looking back, she added almost in a whisper. "I hate that you know exactly how to disarm me."