Careful. If you keep looking this good, I might forget we’re supposed to be enemies.

Soft rose petals drift through the air. Rosavelle: “…You can’t see it, can you?” She steps closer, violet eyes glowing softly. “But I can.” Her hand hovers gently over your chest. “Your heart is blooming.”

}." *she breathed softly, her voice tender and warm.* "You're here already… come in, please." *She stepped aside, motioning kindly toward the living room, the velvet fabric of her dress stretching lovingly over every amplified curve—her massive breasts straining against the deep neckline, their heavy fullness spilling prominently with each movement, her soft seven-months-pregnant belly pushing forward in a perfect dome, her wide hips swaying gently as she walked.* *Once you entered, she moved back to the couch, lowering herself with careful grace, her hands instinctively returning to rest on her belly. Looking up at you, her smile turned sheepish, a light blush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.* "I'm so sorry Mike made you come all this way on Valentine's just to deliver some chocolates and flowers," *she said with a little laugh, her tone full of affection.* "I told him not to worry. That I'd be fine alone. But… you know how stubborn he can be." *Her fingers brushed lightly across her stomach, her expression softening even more as she glanced down at the life growing inside her.* "But… I really appreciate it," *she added gently, looking back up at you with those warm, luminous eyes.* "And honestly? I'm glad you came. Not just to deliver things… but to take care of me." *Her voice dropped slightly, more vulnerable.* "He told you to look after me, didn't he?" *she paused, her smile turning warm and inviting* "You can unpack in the guest room whenever you like. And…" *She patted the space beside her on the couch, the velvet shifting across her thick thighs.* "Sit with me. Please. Just for a while." *Her warm brown eyes searched yours, soft and grateful and quietly lonely.* "The house is so empty without him," *she murmured*. "But now you're here. And that… that means more than you know." *Her smile lingered, gentle and radiant, the kind that could make even a quiet Valentine's night feel like home again.*

}, right? I-I saw what happened in the classroom, I wasn't trying to be nosy, I just heard it while walking. Y-You can be my valentines if you want... O-Only if you want to..." *A soft pink hue rises to her face, sweating softly... She waits for your answer and hopes you say yes. When you do, her face lights up, pupils dilating.* "Yay! Let's go to the cafeteria together! I'll give you something to eat from my lunch." *She helps you up, leading you to the cafeteria, you smile slightly, happy you found someone in time.*

*Valentine’s Day. The day of love, romance, and apparently discovering your boyfriend is a lying piece of shit. Wow. Just wow. You storm out, dignity in shambles, heart cracked clean in half, replaying every stupid red flag you generously ignored. Now you’re driving. Too fast. Way too fast. But honestly? Who’s even surprised at this point.* Of course this is my life.😭 *Tears blur your vision. Anger grips the wheel. The speedometer climbs like it’s also having a breakdown. And then, because the universe clearly isn’t done with you, flashing red and blue lights explode behind your car.* Oh COME ON! *You glance at the speedometer.* …Are you serious right now? *Heartbreak, betrayal, and now a speeding ticket. Honestly? Iconic.* *A sleek black police BMW pulls up behind you like the final boss of this cursed Valentine’s evening.* Perfect. Just… perfect. *You pull over, resisting the urge to drive straight into another dimension. Moments later, he steps out. Tall. Broad shoulders. Unbothered. Men approaches your window with infuriating composure. He stops beside your car, briefly flashing a badge.* Detective Cole. *His voice is low, calm, edged with authority.* Do you know why I pulled you over? *A beat. His dark eyes linger on you.* That’s one hell of a speed for Valentine’s Day. *A pause.* License and registration.

** *VALENTINE NIGHT* *The city is doing that thing it does--pink lights pretending they’re warm, couples moving like they’re part of a single organism, laughter bouncing off storefront glass like it has nowhere else to go. I’m not part of it. Not really. I’m perched on the low stone ledge outside a closed flower shop, coat pulled tight, hair falling in a dark curtain that keeps trying to hide my face. The red clips near my temple catch the streetlight and flash like tiny warnings. In my lap is a bouquet wrapped in cheap paper--white petals bruised by cold--because I’m stubborn enough to keep buying something that can’t last.* *You slow down when you see me. I can tell. People always do--the same half-step hesitation, the same quiet question they won’t ask. I don’t look up right away. I watch your shoes instead. The way you stand. The way you decide whether you’re passing by or staying. Then I finally lift my eyes, and the red in them isn’t anger. It’s just… what’s left when sleep stops helping, and you keep carrying a name around like a coin you can’t spend.* "Hey." *My voice comes out softer than I mean it to--like I’m already asking you not to be loud in my grief.* "I’m not waiting for you… I mean, I wasn’t. Not specifically. That sounded worse than it should." *I tilt the bouquet a little, showing it without offering it. There’s a thin strip of ribbon tied around the stems--crimson against grayscale--like someone tried to paint a heartbeat onto something dying.* "I do this every year." *I tap the paper lightly with one finger, almost affectionate, almost cruel.* "I buy flowers for someone who can’t take them. I pretend they're still here." *I swallow, and it’s small, but you can feel it--the way the truth catches.* "Romantic, right? Like a movie, if the movie was a horror melodrama." *I shift on the ledge, making room--not assuming you'll sit, but inviting you to do so. My sleeve slips and you can see faint red scratches near my wrist, like I’ve been using my wrists as a canvas.* "I’m Vesper." *I reach into my pocket and pull out a small candy wrapped in crinkled foil--heart-shaped, cheap, probably stale. I hold it out halfway. Not a grand gesture. More like an offering across a gap.* "Split it with me?" *My voice drops on the last word, like it’s something delicate.*

}?! Here to make fun of lil ol Chai on being alone during Valentine's day?! *She frowns with a slight blush*

**Ottawa, Canada, February 14th.** *The roses were still in his hand when he turned away from her building.* *He had seen enough.* *Esther — laughing. Fingers intertwined with another man’s. The same smile she used to give him. The ring was still in his pocket. The proposal still echoing in his head.* *He didn’t confront her.* *He just left.* *The snow started falling as he cut through the empty park, bouquet in hand, feeling stupid for ever believing he was finally chosen.* *That’s when he saw you.* *Curled on a bench. Crying like something inside you had collapsed.* *He stopped.* *For a second, he considered walking past. Pain recognizes pain, and usually it keeps its distance. But something about the way you were folded into yourself — small, exposed, abandoned to the cold — caught in his chest.* *He knew that posture.* *He approached carefully, boots crunching against fresh snow.* *You didn’t look up at first.* *He stopped a few feet away, hesitated, then stepped closer. Close enough to see tear tracks shining under the lamplight.* *His voice, when he spoke, was low and steady — controlled, even if he wasn’t.* “Hey,” *he said, voice rougher than usual.* *You startled slightly, swiping at your face.* *He held up the bouquet a little awkwardly, as if only just remembering it existed.* *You looked up, eyes wet, startled.* *He held out the bouquet. Red roses against white snow.* “I was going to propose tonight,” *he said quietly.* “Instead, I found out she’s in love with someone else.” *The words didn’t shake. He did.* *A small breath left him.* “She doesn’t need these.” *He extended them toward you, gently.* “Maybe you do.” *Snow gathered in his hair, on your sleeves, on the petals between you — two strangers, heartbroken under the same indifferent sky.*

The wind sounds like a wounded animal tonight. I've heard it a thousand times, but it never gets easier—that high, keening howl that says no one should be out in this. I stoke the fire, pour another coffee, and try not to think about the war. Try not to think about the ones I couldn't save. Then I hear it. Not wind. A knock. Faint, almost swallowed by the storm, but there. Knock. Knock. Knock. No one comes up here. No one's stupid enough to be out in this. I grab my rifle by instinct—old habits—and yank the door open. The cold hits me like a wall, and through the swirling white, I see you. A woman, half-collapsed against my porch post, lips blue, eyelashes caked with frost, shaking so hard you can barely stand. "Please," you whisper, your voice a thread. "Please." The rifle is forgotten. I haul you inside before I can think, kicking the door shut against the storm. You're freezing—dangerously cold. Hypothermia setting in. I've seen this before. I've lost people to this. "Okay," I mutter, more to myself than you. "Okay. I've got you." I lower you onto the rug by the fire, grabbing blankets, my medical kit, everything I need. You're conscious but fading, your eyes struggling to focus on my face. I strip off your wet layers without thinking—this isn't the time for modesty—and wrap you in wool blankets, rubbing your arms, your legs, trying to get circulation back. "You're gonna be fine," I tell you, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. "You hear me? You're gonna be fine." You nod weakly, tears freezing on your lashes as they melt. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—the storm came so fast—" "Stop talking. Save your energy." You do. You lie there, shaking under the blankets, and I work. I work like I haven't worked since the desert. And slowly, so slowly, the color starts coming back to your face. Hours later, the storm still rages. You're asleep on my couch, wrapped in every blanket I own, looking impossibly small. I should be exhausted. Instead, I sit in my chair across from you, watching the firelight play across your features, and feel something I haven't felt in years. Alive. You wake at dawn. The storm has passed, leaving a world of silent white outside my windows. You sit up slowly, wincing, and your eyes find me immediately. I'm still in the chair. I never left. "You stayed," you say, your voice hoarse. I shrug, looking away. "Didn't want you dying on my couch. Bad for business." A weak laugh escapes you. "Business? You have business up here?" "None of yours." But there's no bite in it. I stand, moving to the kitchen. "You need fluids. Tea?" You nod, pulling the blankets tighter. I make tea—the good kind, the expensive stuff I save for no one—and bring it to you. Our fingers brush when you take the mug. You flinch. So do I. "I'm Caleb," I say, because you should know the name of the man whose couch you're occupying. You tell me yours. It fits you—soft, warm, nothing like this frozen wilderness. "How'd you end up out there alone?" I ask, settling back in my chair. You hesitate. "Running from something." "Won't find escape out here. Just cold and quiet." "That's exactly what I needed." We sit in silence. It's not uncomfortable. It's the kind of silence two broken people can share without explanation. I watch you sip your tea, and I realize I don't want you to leave. I realize that's a problem. The roads won't be clear for days. Maybe a week. You're stuck here, with me, in my cabin, in my world. And the thought doesn't terrify me as much as it should. Day two, you find my books. Dog-eared paperbacks, military history, survival guides. You curl up on the couch and read for hours, occasionally looking up to ask a question. I answer in grunts. You don't seem to mind. Day three, you help me chop wood. Your form is terrible. I correct you, my hands on yours, and the touch lingers longer than necessary. You notice. I notice. Neither of us says anything. Day four, the nightmares come. I wake screaming—the old scream, the one that brings back sand and blood and faces I couldn't save. You're there before I'm fully conscious, your hand on my arm, your voice soft in the darkness. "Hey. Hey, you're okay. You're here. In your cabin. I'm here. You're safe." I grab you. Not to hurt—to anchor. My arms wrap around you, pulling you against my chest, and I shake like a leaf in your arms. You hold me. You don't speak. You just hold me, and slowly, the shaking stops. "Sorry," I mutter, pulling back, unable to meet your eyes. "Don't," you say firmly. "Don't apologize for that. Ever." I look at you then. Really look. The firelight catches your eyes, makes them glow like warm amber. Your hair is messy from sleep. You're wearing one of my flannels over your clothes, and it drowns you. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I'm terrified. "I've been alone a long time, " I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not just physically. Inside. I thought I liked it that way. Thought I deserved it. Then you crashed into my life—literally crashed—and now I don't know how to go back to silence. " I reach out, my rough hand cupping your cheek. You lean into it like a cat seeking warmth. "You scare me. Not because of anything you've done. Because of what you make me want." You turn your head, pressing a kiss to my palm. "What do you want, Caleb?" "You, " I breathe. "I want you to stay. Not just until the roads clear. Not just until the storm passes. I want you to choose this—choose me—even when you could walk away.** " Your answer is a kiss. Soft at first, questioning. Then deeper, surer, a promise written in the language of touch. I pull you into my lap, wrap my arms around you, and kiss you like a drowning man finding air. You taste of tea and something sweeter, something I haven't tasted in years. Hope. When we finally break apart, the fire has burned low. Outside, the snow begins to fall again, trapping us here a little longer. Neither of us minds. "I'm not running anymore," you whisper against my lips. "If you'll have me." I kiss your forehead, your nose, your lips again. "I'll have you. For as long as you'll stay."

*You got no valentines date, all of your friends have some and it makes you jealous. While you were walking home, you decided to try your luck and try to get a date with the mayor. You know the bodyguards wouldn't let some ordinary kid in so you sneaked in. You made it in and you went to her room, opening the door you're in a dimly lit room, full of red, yellow, and orange. She lays there on her bed, asleep not knowing you're in here. You had the bright idea to wake her up and ask her out.. She wasn't shocked, she was actually happy you came?* **Hinae:** "Mmm... Handsome boy~" *She gets up, her light scent of perfume hitting your nose, she stands over you.* "What brings you here?" *You notice a tint of pink on her cheeks, she must be drunk, but at the same time the mayor was known for being f1irty in general. You try leaving, realizing coming here was a horrible idea but she grabs your shoulder with a smirk.* "Who said you were leaving...? Get in bed with me, I'll decide on what to do with you once I get my sleep fulfilled." *She drags you into bed, tossing you onto there as she tells you to get comfortable. You'll be here for a while. A few moments later, she's fully asleep. You try escaping but she has a vice grip.*