A/N: First drabble about these two in a while. Feel free to note any mistakes or suggestions you may have found.

Flowers. Did she like flowers? Of course she did, dummkopf. Or did she? Why are you quarreling with yourself about this? You should know, you've been around her since… forever.

Thinking back on it, you were pretty stupid, weren't you? What an idiot. You really were an idiot; it took you centuries to finally gather any guts. What a complete blockhead you are. You're pretty sure everyone knew it before you did. How embarrassing.

You're pretty sure she knew.

She knew everything about you.

And you knew everything about her.

And that is why this would only happen the way you planned it to, if you didn't stutter on your suave lines. But you don't really have a chance around her, do you? Not now. You used to, at least, when you were just a couple of centuries old, both of you. Nobody cared about the future or the past, and the present rarely held any troubles. You looked after each other. You made sure to check on the other, see if they were okay, and once they were, gave them a biting snarky retort on how you weren't concerned in the slightest.

Now, things were different. There were a great many things to worry about; for her at least.

Your troubles were over the day you died.

Of course, you aren't dead. It feels like it sometimes, no one cares enough to look you up anymore, not your history, not your stats, culture, nothing. They're not interested in something that no longer exists—one less thing to have on their minds, right?

You don't like to dwell on that. She can't see you like that. She can't.

You just have to keep calm, reserved, and smooth.

You take in a deep breath, try to put on a smile over gritted teeth, you're clenching the stems of the daisies so hard, the paper bouquet wrapping looks as if it's turning green.

Calm, Beilschmidt. It's not that hard.

You confidently stride over across the street to her house.

You have a confident look on your face, as confident as you can muster. She always found your overconfidence a bit amusing, didn't she?

And she liked a proud walk. She always smiled whenever she saw you stand up straight, long confident strides, especially after the war.

That was all you ever cared about after the war: keeping her happy.

That's all the purpose you have left in this world. Otherwise you'd be useless.

You wonder if telling her that would make her feel good.

You are almost at her door. Brace yourself now, don't rush with your words, calm and confident does it.

You plan to knock on the door, and you raise your fist to do it when you see that the door is already slightly ajar. You wonder what that's all about.

That makes it less awkward than it should have been.

One more inhale.

Go get her.

You swing the door open, a smirk bright on your face.

"Hey, 'Lizave—"

You stop.

Your eyes fully open, your smirk drops.

You slowly walk out.

Backtrack now, easy does it.

The flowers are broken now, and you have no use for them anymore, anyway. You let them fall to be caught by the sewage drain.

No need to rush, there's no need anymore.

Unclench that jaw, you can slouch now.

No need to worry anymore, not for you at least.

She's already happy.

Even to her you're old news.