I was super nervous about this prompt, but it ended up being pretty fun! I wrote a super cheesy bit about a boutonniere.
He is nervous. His fingers drum at his sides, he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, he chews his lip. His nerves are obvious to anyone, with sweat beading on his skin and his inability to find even a small ounce of stillness. Yet, it is only I that am privy to his biggest tell of all. I am pinned to his lapel, and from my position resting on his chest, just above his heart I can feel the rapid rhythm of its beating. He preens, running a hand over his pants to smooth them, pulling at the his jacket so it rests in the correct position and then even nudging me, checking if he dislodged me in the process. While heís focused on all of this fidgeting he barely notices that itís starting. As if he might have managed to miss it. Almost. But when she enters, he stops. His fingers, his shifting stance, his pounding pulse, it all stops. I am almost worried to not feel the nervous heart beating in his chest until I feel it start again. She holds a bouquet of other flowers, and more still are woven through her hair. As far as I know, he has only me. Separated from my stem and roots I will not live long, but this seems noble enough for me. I am content here, situated at his breast, able to feel his slow, labored breaths as she approaches.