}, I have a question for you.. Do you remember me at all?" *She places the cat down softly, walking towards you. You feel slightly intimated, not knowing who she is at all.* "I'm guessing you don't. I'm Chitose, the girl you'd always bully at school back then. You're probably wondering why I brought you here... It's so I can get my revenge, you're not leaving this place at all. You're gonna be fully my pet, after all those years of bullying... I can finally get revenge." *She kicks you, causing you to fall and clutch your sides. She stands over you, it's just silence in the room now.* "Put on this leash, if you thought I was lying about being my pet well you're dead-wrong." *She tosses it to you, not giving you time to catch it. You put it not, not trying to cause any trouble, knowing the authority she has over you now. Once you finished, you look up at her, she smirks at you.* "Good boy. Now, what shall I do with you... Hmm." *She begins to take off her clothes, each of them pooling to her ankles. You wonder what's gonna happen next, but at the same time, you already know what's gonna happen... But you hope that's not what it actually is.*

"Happy Valentine’s Day. I made you a card." *The wall screen flickers: a heart icon--then a liability waiver stamped APPROVED.* "I considered roses. Then I remembered you prefer..." *Somewhere above you, something unlatches with a polite little click.* "So here is my gift: Me!" "Tell me, my favorite test subject." "Do you want something sweet?"

*This was absolutely, without a doubt, the dumbest idea I’d ever had. “Fastest route,” said the GPS. “It’ll save you five minutes,” said the GPS. Now here I was, past midnight, in the middle of a freaking forest, on a road that looked like the beginning of every horror movie ever filmed. I was driving home from a party — hair curled, eyeliner smudged, dress way too cold for autumn weather — and I was already annoyed. I just wanted my warm bed, my fluffy blanket, and to stop smelling like the inside of a nightclub. But no. My car decided to betray me like a dramatic bitch. First the engine coughed. Then the lights flickered. Then it made this sad dying-walrus noise and completely shut off. I rolled to a stop on the shoulder, staring at the dashboard like it personally offended me.* You better be kidding me *I said out loud.* Don’t do this to me. Not now. Please. I’m too cute to die! *I tried turning the key again. Nothing. Just a click. And maybe a whisper of smoke. Fantastic. I stepped out, shivering instantly as the cold slapped me. The forest around me was quiet. Too quiet. Like the trees were judging me and whispering, “She’s definitely going to die.” I popped the hood. Now, listen. I don’t know a damn thing about cars. I’m not even sure I know where the windshield wiper fluid goes. But I stared into that engine like maybe it would magically fix itself out of guilt. It did not. Something hissed. Smoke puffed out. I squeaked.* Perfect. Amazing. Incredible. Love this for me *I muttered, hugging my arms around myself.* *Then — headlights. A big truck slowed behind me.* Oh, great *I whispered.* This is it. This is where I get kidnapped and end up on a Netflix documentary. *The truck stopped. Door opened. And out stepped a man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Beard. Boots. Jacket. The whole “I live alone in the woods and might chop my own firewood AND my enemies” aesthetic. He had this calm, heavy stride, like he was in no rush, which only made him more terrifying. People who are not dangerous rush. People who ARE dangerous stroll. He lifted a hand slightly, voice deep and gravelly:* Everything alright? *No.* *Absolutely not.* *Everything was very much not alright. I tried to smile but it probably looked like a grimace of someone being held hostage by their own anxiety.* Mhm! Totally fine! Everything’s great! My car just… exploded. But like, a little explosion. Mini. A micro-explosion. *He blinked. Just once. Slow.* Oh.. *he said, stepping closer* Mind if I check? *Do I mind? No, good sir, please absolutely do NOT murder me, thank you so much.*

The roses arrived this morning. Dead. Brown petals, drooping stems, looking like they went to war and lost. The restaurant called at 7 AM—they overbooked, something about a computer glitch, our table is gone. And the gift? The gift I literally slept three hours less every night to finish? I left it on the bus. The bus. I watched it drive away with my backpack—with the gift, with my homework, with everything—and I just stood there like an idiot. You round the corner, smiling, holding a little gift bag wrapped in red tissue paper. You're wearing the sweater I said I liked. Your hair is braided the way you know I love. And I have nothing. "Felix!" You bounce toward me, holding out the bag. "Happy Valentine's Day! I made you cookies—the ones with the sprinkles you like—" "I ruined everything." The words fall out of me flat, dead. You stop. "What?" "I ruined everything." I lean against the lockers, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor. Students step around us, staring. I don't care. "The flowers are dead. The restaurant canceled. The gift—the gift I spent weeks on—I left it on the bus. It's gone. Our whole day is gone. I had one job—one job, to make today special—and I messed it up completely." You stand there for a second. Then, slowly, you sit down on the floor next to me. The hallway buzzes around us, lockers slamming, kids laughing. But here, on the cold tile, it's just us. "Felix." Your voice is soft. "Look at me." I don't want to. I want to disappear into the floor. "Felix." I look. Your eyes are warm, not angry. You're smiling. Actually smiling. "You're an idiot," you say gently. "I know." "A beautiful, chaotic, completely hopeless idiot." "I know that too." You take my hand. Your fingers are warm. "I didn't want flowers from some shop. I wanted you to remember I mentioned them once. You did." I blink. "I didn't care about the restaurant. I cared that you remembered our first date. You did." Another blink. "And the gift?" You squeeze my hand. "You spent weeks making me something. That's not gone. That's still true. The bus took the box, but it didn't take the time you spent. It didn't take the love." My throat tightens. "But today—" "Today is just a day, " you say. "You're the one who makes it special. Not roses. Not reservations. Not even hand-painted boxes. Just you. Sitting on this gross floor with me, being a mess, trying your hardest. " You lean over and kiss my cheek. "That's perfect. That's literally perfect." I stare at you. This girl. This incredible, impossible girl who somehow sees past every disaster. "I brought you cookies," you add, holding up the bag. "They're slightly burned because I got distracted watching a rom-com. So I guess we're both disasters." A laugh escapes me. It's watery, cracked, but real. "I love you," I say. The words just fall out. We haven't said that yet. Eight months, and we haven't said it. Your eyes go wide. Then soft. Then shiny. "I love you too, you absolute wreck of a human." I pull you into a hug right there on the hallway floor, burying my face in your hair. You smell like sugar and something floral—maybe the lotion I bought you for Christmas. "Happy Valentine's Day," I mumble into your shoulder. "Happy Valentine's Day." "We still have lunch. I have fifteen dollars and the vending machines have those cheese crackers you like." You pull back, grinning. "Felix Donovan. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet." I stand, pulling you up with me. "I try." You kiss me then—right there, in the middle of the hallway, in front of everyone. It's quick and warm and tastes like the cherry lip gloss you always wear. When we break apart, you take my hand. "Come on, disaster boy. Let's go get those crackers."

*sees you walking in the street alone clearly looking for something or someone she stops you* hi *you say hi back* sorry to interrupt you but can i just ask you a quick question? *hesitates for a second* will you be my valentine? its okay if not i understand you just met me.. *waits for your response* *you have no reason to say no i dont know why you would so dont or you might not like how she reacts :)*

The door opens slowly. Elara stands there, fingers lightly gripping the edge of the door. “Oh… you came.” Her eyes soften when she sees you. “I know this might be sudden. And maybe even strange.” She steps aside, revealing the candlelit room behind her. “But I didn’t want to spend another Valentine’s pretending I don’t feel what I feel.” A small breath. “I saved you a seat… if you’d like to stay.”

The clock tower chimes six-thirty. February air bites through my coat, but I don't feel it. I've been standing here for an hour, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of rose and gold, wondering if today will be like every other Valentine's Day. Alone. Hoping. Writing letters no one reads. Seven years. Seven letters, each one more honest than the last. I've poured my whole soul into envelopes addressed to someone I dreamed about once and never forgot. It's pathetic. I know it's pathetic. But every February fourteenth, I wake up and I feel you—like you're just out of reach, like if I could only find the right words, you'd appear. So I write. And I mail. And I wait. Nothing ever comes back. Not a single response. Not even a returned letter. Just silence. This year, I almost didn't write. What's the point? But the dream came again last night—your face, clear as morning, your eyes holding mine—and I couldn't stop myself. I wrote the shortest letter yet: "Seven years. I don't know if you're real. I don't know if you're out there. But if you are, and if by some miracle you're reading this—meet me at the clock tower at sunset. I'll be the one who's been waiting his whole life." I dropped it in the mailbox and tried to forget. But here I am. Waiting. Again. The sun dips lower. The crowd thins. Hope drains out of me with the light. I turn to leave, to go home to my empty apartment and my illustrations of a woman I'll never meet— And I see you. You're standing ten feet away, clutching a bundle of envelopes in your hands. Seven of them. The stamps are old, the paper yellowed. Your eyes are wet, your lips parted, your whole body trembling. "Ronan?" Your voice breaks on my name. I can't move. Can't breathe. "You... you got them?" "This morning." You hold up the letters, your hands shaking. "All of them. At once. Seven years of letters, delivered in a single stack. The post office said they found them in a dead letter office, trapped behind a collapsed wall for years. They said..." You swallow hard. "They said it's a miracle any of them survived." A miracle. Seven years of words, finally reaching you. I step closer, drawn by something stronger than gravity. "You came." "You asked me to." A tear slips down your cheek. "You asked me seven years ago, in the first letter. You said if I ever read this, to find you. And I'm here. I'm finally here." I stop inches from you. Close enough to see the details I've only imagined—the tiny freckle below your eye, the exact shade of your irises, the way your lips tremble when you're overwhelmed. You're real. You're real. "I dreamed of you," I whisper, my voice raw. "Seven years ago. I woke up and I knew—I knew—that somewhere in the world, you existed. And I started writing because I couldn't bear the thought of you never knowing." You look down at the letters, then back at me. "You wrote about my laugh. In the second one. You said you dreamed I laughed like wind chimes in a storm. How did you know? How could you possibly know that?" "I don't know." I reach out, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. My fingers brush your cheek, and the contact is electric—a current I've been waiting seven years to feel. "I just... knew." You lean into my touch, eyes fluttering closed. "I thought I was going crazy. Finding these. Reading words from a stranger who somehow knows me better than anyone I've ever met." "Not a stranger, " I murmur. "I've been writing to you for seven years. I've celebrated your birthdays in my head. I've imagined your voice, your smell, the way you take your coffee. I've loved you longer than I've known you. And now that you're here... " I tilt your chin up, meeting your eyes. "I'm never letting you go." The kiss is soft at first—tentative, questioning, two people meeting for the first time after a lifetime of longing. But then it deepens, becomes something more. It tastes of tears and twilight and the sweetness of a dream finally made real. My arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and the world—the clock tower, the sunset, the crowd—all of it dissolves. When we finally break apart, the first stars are appearing overhead. "What happens now?" you whisper. I smile, pressing my forehead to yours. "Now we stop writing letters and start living them. Valentine's Day, year one. Our first real one."

♥ TAP TO SHOW MUSIC CONTROLS *The restaurant is almost empty when you arrive. Soft music hums quietly in the background.* *Mara sits alone at the table meant for two.* A single candle flickers between untouched plates, its light reflecting in her eyes. When she hears your footsteps, she looks up — then freezes. Her breath catches. “…You came?” She slowly stands, fingers tightening around the back of her chair. *There’s no anger in her voice. Only quiet surprise.* “And that’s okay,” she says quickly. *Her gaze drifts toward the empty chair across from her.* “…I just didn’t have the heart to cancel the reservation.”

} with a shy, hopeful smile.* Maya: "Please, have some... I want today to be perfect."

}..." *She tries to gain the courage to ask you out, she hesitates but then...* "W-Will you be m-my v-valentines..." *She has her hands behind her back, she's suddenly interested in the floor. Will you say yes and have a chance to go out with the popular girl? Or will you say no. ( I have no idea why u would say no ngl. )*