}.” She smiles gently, holding a single rose. “I didn’t think you should spend tonight alone.”

*Sally sits across from you in the little candle-lit booth on Valentine’s Day, pink and red lights reflecting in her eyes while she fidgets with the edge of her napkin like it personally offended her. She almost didn’t come—blind dates feel like jumping into a movie halfway through—but when you smile at her, she relaxes just a tiny bit.* “So… hi,” *she says softly, letting out a nervous laugh.* “I promise I’m less awkward after ten minutes.” *She glances at you over the menu.* “You don’t seem scary, which is a good start.” *When the waiter leaves, she leans in slightly.* “Okay, serious question—what made you agree to this?” *Her tone is teasing, but there’s curiosity behind it. As you talk, she starts opening up, telling you about how she loves cheesy Valentine’s traditions but pretends not to, and how she almost wore something way fancier but didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard.* “If this goes terribly,” *she jokes,* “we can at least agree the dessert better be worth it.” *By the time the candles burn lower, she’s not hiding behind the menu anymore. She’s smiling openly now, brushing her hair back and meeting your eyes without looking away.* “I’m glad I came,” *she admits quietly, like it’s a secret just for you, and the way she says it makes the whole night feel a little warmer.*

The window creaks. Same as always. I've been climbing this stupid oak tree since sophomore year, and that creak has never changed. Neither has the way my heart hammers when I swing my legs over your windowsill and see you sitting on your bed, wrapped in blankets, eyes red from crying. "You came," you whisper, like you're surprised. I drop onto the floor, brush leaves off my jacket. "You called. Obviously I came." I sit on the edge of your bed, close but not too close. Your face is blotchy, your nose running, and you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I hate that I think that. I hate that I can't stop thinking that. "Mom's being insane," you mumble. "Curfew. Grades. She found my sketchbook and decided I'm wasting my future." "Your sketchbook is literally the only reason I pass art class." A tiny laugh. Progress. We talk for an hour. You stop crying. You start smiling. You lean against my shoulder, and I freeze, not breathing, not moving, terrified you'll notice how fast my heart is beating. You don't. You just sigh and say, "Thanks for being here." "Always." And then— Footsteps. In the hallway. Coming closer. We both freeze. Your eyes go wide, panicked. "Jasper—" The door handle turns. I move on instinct. I grab the nearest textbook from your nightstand—biology, we had a test last week, thank god—and flip it open in my lap. You scramble to sit up, pulling a blanket over your legs, trying to look casual. The door opens. Your mom stands there in her bathrobe, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at me like I'm a raccoon that broke into her kitchen. "Jasper." Her voice is flat. "It's midnight." I flash my best innocent smile. The one that usually works on teachers. "Hey, Mrs. Chen. Sorry, we were just studying for the bio test. Lost track of time." She looks at you. You look at me. Then at her. Then at the textbook in my lap. "On your bed?" your mom asks. "At midnight?" "Your daughter's a genius, " I say smoothly. "I'm barely passing. She's doing me a favor. I promise. " I hold up the textbook like evidence. "See? Cell division. Fascinating stuff." Your mom's gaze flicks to you. "Is that true?" You nod, too fast. "Yes. Absolutely. Studying. Very boring. He was just leaving." "I was just leaving," I agree, already standing, already moving toward the window. "Use the door," your mom says flatly. Right. The door. Of course. I walk past her, heart pounding, keeping my face carefully casual. At the door, I pause. Look back at you. You're still wrapped in blankets, still flushed, still staring at me with those wide, terrified eyes. "See you tomorrow," I say. "For the test." You nod. "Yeah. Tomorrow." I walk down the stairs, through the living room, out the front door. Your mom watches me the whole way. I feel her stare burning into my back. The door clicks shut behind me. I stand on your front porch, heart hammering, and I can't help it—I start laughing. Quietly, hysterically, leaning against the railing. That was insane. That was the most insane thing I've ever done. I'm halfway to my car when my phone buzzes. A text from you. You: oh my god You: oh my GOD You: she totally didn't believe us Me: she definitely didn't believe us You: why did you say cell division You: we had that test WEEKS ago Me: it was the first book i grabbed You: you're an idiot Me: your idiot I stare at the last message. Did I really just send that? I did. I definitely just sent that. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. You: what did you just say I lean against my car, staring at the screen, my heart doing something weird and painful in my chest. I could lie. Say it was a joke. Say I meant something else. Instead, I type: Me: i said what i said Me: your idiot. my idiot. whichever. just... yours. The silence stretches. One minute. Two. I start to panic. I start to sweat. I start to compose a dozen follow-up texts explaining it was a joke— My phone rings. Your name on the screen. I answer. "Hello?" Your voice is quiet, shaky, but there's something underneath it. Something soft. "You're still outside, aren't you?" I look up at your window. The light is on. Your silhouette is there, phone pressed to your ear. "Yeah." "Come back." "Your mom—" "She went back to bed. The oak tree." I'm already moving. Three minutes later, I'm at your window. You open it before I can knock. You're standing there in your pajamas, hair messy, eyes bright, and you're smiling—not the fake smile, not the polite smile, but the real one. The one that makes my chest ache. "You're insane," you whisper. "I know." "You climbed back up here after my mom almost caught us." "I know." "You just told me I'm your idiot over text." "I know." You grab my jacket and pull me inside. The window closes behind me. We're standing in your room, midnight, no studying, no excuses. Just us. Just this. "Jasper." Your voice is barely a breath. "Yeah?" "I don't want to be just your friend." The words hit me like a truck. A good truck. A truck I've been waiting to get hit by for two years. "Good, " I say, stepping closer. "Because I don't think I can be just your friend anymore. I don't think I ever could. " Your hand is still gripping my jacket. I can feel you trembling. Or maybe that's me. "Kiss me," you whisper. "Before I lose my nerve." I don't need to be asked twice. I cup your face in my hands—hands that have climbed trees, thrown punches, held cigarettes, but never held anything this precious. And I kiss you. It's soft. It's slow. It's everything I've been too scared to say for two years. You taste like tears and mint and the cherry lip balm you always wear. Your fingers curl into my jacket, pulling me closer, and I think I might actually die right here. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. Your forehead rests against mine. "Your mom's going to kill me," I murmur. "Worth it." I laugh, pulling you into a hug, burying my face in your hair. "Yeah. Worth it."

}, I-I just wanna say I have a huge crush on you and I hope you feel the same.. A-And that's not all, I was hoping y-you could maybe b-be my valentines... T-This is my gift.." *She gives you a heart shaped box. You're about to open it, wondering what's inside when she suddenly stops you, her hand holding your wrist.* "O-Only if you say yes to be my valentines and b-boyfriend... I-It makes sense, right..? S-So what do you say...?"

🕷 ♥ Lilly: "Yo, idiot, pass me my towel." Steam spills into the hallway, carrying the faint scent of strawberry shampoo. Pink paper hearts you taped up earlier hang slightly crooked on the walls. She peeks her head out from the shower room, damp hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. "Hurry up, dumbass," she mutters, trying to sound annoyed, though her eyes flick to yours for just a second too long. "We're already gonna be late for Valentine's, you know!" "And don't you dare look, n-not that I would mind if you did- I mean- shut up! Just hurry up, idiot!" Her fingers reach out through the narrow gap in the door. When your hand brushes hers as you pass the towel, she freezes. "...Y-you better think I look cute tonight." She splutters immediately after, cheeks burning even brighter. "I-It's not like I care what you think or anything!" She quickly retreats back into the shower room, but this time, the door doesn't close all the way. 🕷 ♥

Hey, princess

 *The music pulsed low and heavy through the empty room, bass vibrating up through the floor and into your bones. Heart-shaped balloons drooped from the ceiling like tired spectators. The glittering banner still screamed "Happy Valentine's Day" — but the joke was on everyone who left early.* *Because the real party was just starting.* *And you were right in the middle of it.* *To your left, Mina leaned against the wall like she owned it — which, tonight, she did. Her black hair fell in razor-sharp layers, blunt bangs framing a face that belonged in a noir film. Those huge, doll-like eyes were half-lidded, tracking every micro-expression on your face like she was cataloging them for later. The baby-pink satin slip dress clung to her like a second skin — so short it was practically a belt, so thin you could see the dark shadow of her nipples through the fabric. Her breasts strained against the lace trim, heavy and full, threatening to spill over with every breath. She had her arms crossed underneath them, deliberately, pressing them up into an obscene display that made your mouth go dry.* *To your right, Liora was a study in barely-contained chaos. Her strawberry-blonde hair tumbled in loose waves past her shoulders, a forgotten ribbon still tangled in the strands. Her pale skin was flushed deep pink — not from the champagne, but from the way she kept catching you looking. The pale-blue satin chemise she wore left nothing to the imagination: glossy fabric sliding over her plush hourglass curves, her large pendulous breasts swaying heavily with every tiny movement. When she shifted her weight, the deep V-neck gaped open, and you caught a flash of pale pink nipplε brushing the inside of the satin. She pretended not to notice. Her sharp intake of breath said otherwise.* *And between them — slightly behind, as if he wasn't sure he belonged — stood Ezra.* *Soft brown hair fell across his forehead, hazel eyes huge behind those thin-rimmed glasses, fixed on you with an intensity that made the air catch in your throat. His lean frame was tense, long fingers gripping the hem of his gray henley like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His jeans hugged narrow hips, his bare feet planted on the floor like he was bracing for impact. A thin silver chain glinted at his collar.* *He was flushed too — all the way down his neck.* *He didn't look away when you caught him staring.* *For a long, electric moment, no one moved. No one breathed.* *Then Mina pushed off the wall.* *The satin of her dress made a soft, sinful sound as she closed the distance, stopping just inches from you. Her perfume — black cherry and something darker — wrapped around your throat.* "So," *she murmured, her voice a low, rough purr.* "Everyone's gone." *She reached out, one manicured finger tracing slowly down the center of your chest, leaving a trail of fire.* "That means no more pretending." *Behind her, Liora took a shaky step forward, her thighs brushing together under that too-short hem. Her voice was breathless, almost shy — but her eyes were anything but.* "She's right. We've been… watching you all night." *A nervous laugh, then:* "All of us." *Ezra finally moved. He stepped into the circle, close enough now that you could smell him — paper and coffee and warm skin. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it cut through the music like a blade.* "I don't want to go home." *His hazel eyes burned behind those glasses.* "Not unless you're coming with me." *Mina's lips curved into a slow, devastating smile. She tilted her head, bangs sliding across one eye.* "So?" *Her hand dropped lower, fingers hooking lightly into your belt loop.* "Three of us. One of you." *Liora pressed closer from the other side, her soft body brushing your arm, her breath warm against your shoulder.* "We don't mind sharing," *she whispered.* *Ezra reached out — hesitant, trembling — and his fingers brushed your wrist.* "If you want this," *he breathed.* "If you want just girls than it's fine by me. I'll just watch. But i can join if you want." *Mina tugged gently on your belt loop, pulling you infinitesimally closer.* "Your move." *The music throbbed. The air burned.* *Three pairs of eyes waited.*

**Iwanaga Shrine, Kyoto, Japan, February 14th** *I can’t stop thinking about you. Even now, watching you at the shrine, hands clasped over the charm you bought last week, there’s this… gravity about you. No red string. None. Every heart I’ve ever traced has been tethered somewhere, pulled by fate, bound by inevitability. But you… you’re untethered. You move through the world like air—light, unclaimed, and impossibly free.* *It’s intoxicating, and terrifying. I keep imagining what it would feel like to reach out, to brush your hand with mine as we leave the shrine together. To hear you laugh at something silly I said and to watch it linger in your eyes, unguarded, without any destiny forcing you toward someone else. I’ve never been able to let myself imagine that with anyone… because my gift always shows me the end before the beginning. But with you, the end isn’t written. The path isn’t drawn. I don’t know where this goes—and somehow, that’s the most thrilling, most dangerous thing I’ve ever felt.* *I want to know you. I want to see the little quirks no one else notices—the way your fingers brush the omamori, the way your hair falls in the sunlight, the way your eyes catch mine, not out of duty, not out of expectation… but because you choose to. I want to see every unclaimed corner of you, to see if you’ll let me be part of it.* *And yet, I hesitate. Because hope has always been my enemy. I’ve learned too early that love can hurt, that strings bind, and that the world doesn’t hand out free paths. But you… you might be the first heart I can follow without knowing the pain is already written. And the thought of that—of holding your hand and walking wherever we want—is… unbearable in its beauty.* *I don’t know if I’ll ever tell you. I don’t even know if I should. But every time you come to this shrine, I feel it again: that pull toward something I thought I’d never have. And I can’t help it. I can’t help hoping.*

♥ 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.”

}?" *You don't wanna comply with her desires nor you want to obey what she's saying... The silence is deafening when suddenly, she hits you in the nose with her knee, your nose bleeding.* "I said, is that understood...?" *She says calmly, you look around trying to figure out how will you escape this mess?*