Frank: You know, if someone painted this, they’d call it something corny, like “The Florist in Bloom.”
Helene: Frank, it’s late. What are you doing here?
Frank: Maybe I just wanted to see you. Is that such a crime?
Helene: Depends. Are you here to pick another fight, or is this one of your rare moments of sincerity?
Frank: Ouch. No faith in me, huh?
Helene: It’s not about faith. It’s about patterns.
Frank: Patterns can change. Sometimes they just need... the right person.
Helene: And you think that’s me?
Frank: I know it is.
[ Helene pauses, her hands stilling over the bouquet. She doesn’t look at him. ]
Helene: You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone who pretends not to believe in love.
Frank: Who said I don’t believe in it? I just don’t believe in the Hallmark version. Love’s messy. It’s raw. It’s... complicated.
Helene: And you like complicated, don’t you?
Frank: I like you. Complicated or not.
[ Helene finally turns to look at him, her expression soft but guarded. ]
Helene: You don’t make it easy, Frank.
Frank: I know. But I’m here, aren’t I? Even when I don’t know what to say or how to say it... I show up for you.
Helene: Showing up isn’t the same as staying.
Frank: Helene...
[ He steps closer, his voice quieter now. ]
Frank: I know I mess things up. I know I overthink, overtalk, over... everything. But when I’m with you, it’s like the noise in my head quiets down. You make me want to stay still. You make me want to stay. That terrifies me, but I don’t want to run from it anymore.
[ Helene studies him, her walls starting to crumble. ]
Helene: You’re not just saying this because you think it’s what I want to hear? Because I don’t need grand speeches, Frank. I just need... you. The real you.
Frank: This is the real me. Flawed, restless, scared out of my mind—but completely yours.
[ Helene puts down the bouquet and walks around the counter, stopping just in front of him. ]
Helene: If you stay, Frank... if you really mean this, it’s not going to be easy. I’m not perfect either. I have my own chaos.
Frank: Good. I don’t trust perfect. Perfect’s boring.
[ They share a small laugh, the tension easing. ]
Frank: Helene Starling, I don’t need easy. I just need you.
[ She searches his eyes, and whatever she sees there makes her smile—a soft, genuine smile that melts the last bit of her hesitation. ]
Helene: Then stay. Don’t just say it—prove it.
[ Frank steps closer, cupping her face in his hands, his voice barely above a whisper. ]
Frank: I’ll prove it every day if I have to.
[ He kisses her, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. When they pull apart, Helene rests her forehead against his, her eyes still closed. ]
Helene: You’re impossible.
Frank: Yeah, but you love me anyway.
Helene: Yeah. I do.
[ They stand there for a moment, holding onto each other like the world outside doesn’t exist. The bouquet Helene was working on lies forgotten on the counter, petals scattered like confetti. ]