Sanji stared at the squished, wilted thing in his hand. When he'd picked it earlier, it was just as beautiful as Nami. Now, though, it looked absolutely horrid. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have put it in his backpack.
The ten-year-old huffed, his grip tightening on the destroyed flower. Maybe he'd walked two miles for nothing. He debated going back to his own bus stop, but he knew the bus had already passed it by now. So, frustrated, he waited for Nami. Illness grew in the pit of his stomach as he reminded himself that the now dead flower was scarcely worth the swan-like grace and beauty of Nami. Nervously, he began swinging his legs and looking to the neighbourhood Nami usually came from.
Sure enough, she soon came out to join him. He smiled for her, not sure if he wanted to relinquish the pitiful plant.
"Hi, Sanji," she greeted. "What's that in your hand?"
"Oh, I-I...it's a, uh, flower...but I-I accidentally squished it..."
Gently, Nami took it from him, smiling.
"Is it for me?"
Sanji nodded hesitantly.
"I'm sorry I killed it..."
Nami grinned and hugged him.
"I love it."