( well, he doesn't count the words out loud, doesn't denote each petal with a vocal 'yes' or 'no', but that's okay--at some point, she gives up counting to herself, trusting him not to avoid an answer just because he doesn't like it. and, in the end, she's rewarded with his truth--a peculiar one, something she hadn't expected him to say at all. it makes her gaze draw up from the flower to his face, studying for a moment, before she lets it pass; he isn't lying, but it's also sort of--sad to think about, in that way.

she could probably answer the question in the same way.

but, with a smile, she takes the flower he offers her, holds it by the stem and gets her free hand into the petals; she plucks them off diligently, one by one, and true to his style, she resolutely does not voice the options out loud. it ends up being a 'yes' anyway. )

The truth? ( this, she copies from him, with a faint smile. ) I want a friend.

( it's not really shameful, but it's also not something that she's really been ready to admit out loud: her eyes are on the flowers, not on him. ) And I don't want you to leave so quickly. I don't want to be left alone with my thoughts.

( her hand scatters the discarded petals with a soft puff of breath; then she's plucking up a new one to offer to him. )

You have to give me a piggyback ride if it lands on yes. For a full minute.