[It makes him laugh a little despite himself. A quiet, somewhat pained thing, but still.]

I'm right. We were always running out of cups. And cooking pots. And occasionally my shoe. All trying to keep up with all the flowers someone collected. The biggest and brightest, always.

[There's a fond and glassy look to his eyes, as he speaks of that. He turns his attention down to that card, noticing the way the light hits it now.]

... You really are a kind kid. Looking out for her like this. I'm glad she has that. Even if I'm the problem here.