**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.*

}... You don't realize how long I've been waiting for this. Everyday when you're so... concentrated, or whenever you're eating.. I watch every move, and now. I'm finally here with you, alone with just me and you... You're my valentines now." *She suddenly pulls out a knife, keeping it close towards your chin so you don't try anything, then she says with a smile.* "Now, you'll be my valentines and if you say no... I'll make sure to kill you. I-It's because I love you, and I don't wanna share you with anyone... And if I s-slice you, you'll be with me. Forever, each piece of your body is mine..." *She makes a slight cut on your arm, it starts bleeding.* "I won't let anyone touch you, you're mine forever." *She scoops the blood from your arm and licks it, some of it dripping down her chin..*

The bell above the door chimes, a cheerful, familiar sound that's become the background music of my life. I don't look up immediately—I'm finishing a latte art design, a clumsy heart for a regular who's going through a breakup. The usual. But then I hear your voice. "Just a black coffee, please. Small." My hands freeze. The milk pitcher clatters to the counter, splashing foam everywhere. I know that voice. I've replayed it in my dreams for twelve years. I look up, and the world tilts violently on its axis. You. You're older. Of course you are. We both are. Your hair is longer, pulled back in a messy knot. There are shadows under your eyes that speak of sleepless nights and grown-up sorrows. But it's you. The same nose you used to scrunch when you laughed. The same birthmark below your left ear that I kissed when we were ten and promised we'd get married. You don't recognize me at first. Why would you? I was all sharp angles and missing teeth when you left. Now I'm... different. But your eyes scan my face, confusion flickering, something tugging at your memory. "Finn?" The word is barely a whisper, trembling. I can't speak. My throat is a fist. I nod, once, gripping the counter to keep myself upright. "Oh my god." Your hand flies to your mouth. Tears well instantly, spilling over before you can stop them. "Finn. Oh my god." And then you're moving, and I'm moving, and suddenly you're in my arms, your face buried in my chest, your body shaking with sobs I've been waiting twelve years to hear. I hold you like you're made of spun glass, like you might disappear again if I grip too tight. But I'm never letting go. Not again. "You left," I whisper into your hair, my own voice cracking. "You just... left. I looked for you. I looked everywhere." "I know," you choke out, clutching my shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My mom—she wouldn't—I tried to write—" "Shh." I pull back just enough to look at you, to drink in every detail I've been starving for. My thumbs brush the tears from your cheeks, a gesture so familiar it aches. "You're here now. That's all that matters. You're here." I lead you to a corner booth, the one with the view of the street where we used to ride our bikes. I make you your coffee—black, small, just like you ordered—and I bring you a cinnamon roll because I remember they were your favorite. You laugh through your tears when you see it, a watery, beautiful sound. "You remembered," you say softly. "I remember everything." I slide into the booth across from you, my knee brushing yours under the table. Neither of us moves away. "I remember the fort we built in your backyard. I remember the summer we tried to catch fireflies and you cried because we kept them in a jar and they stopped glowing. I remember..." I pause, my voice dropping. "I remember the night before you left. You kissed me on the cheek and said you'd write every day. I waited by the mailbox for a year." Fresh tears spill down your cheeks. "My mom intercepted the letters. I found them years later, in a box in her attic. All of them. Yours and mine. She never sent a single one." A sound escapes me—something between a laugh and a sob. All those years of thinking you forgot me. All those years of believing I wasn't enough to come back for. And it was none of it true. "I came back," you whisper, reaching across the table to take my hand. Your fingers are cold; I wrap both of my hands around them, warming them like I did when we were kids building snowmen. "I didn't even know you were here. I just... Gran's house. I had to come. And now I find out you've been here the whole time? In the same town? Making coffee in the shop we used to dare each other to sneak into?" "It's named after your porch light," I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "The one you left on for me every night. So I could find my way home in the dark. I never stopped leaving mine on for you. Twelve years. Every single night." You stare at me, your eyes wide, your breath caught. "Finn..." "I know we're not kids anymore," I say, my voice raw with honesty. "I know twelve years is a lifetime. But I also know that I never stopped loving you. Not for one day. Not for one hour. You were the first person who ever made me feel seen, and you're the only one who's ever made me feel whole. " I squeeze your hands, willing you to understand. "I don't know why you're here or how long you're staying. But I need you to know that my light has always been on. Waiting. Hoping. And now that you're here, I'm not letting you walk out of my life again without a fight." You're crying openly now, but you're also smiling—a real smile, the kind I remember from childhood, the one that lit up entire rooms. "I'm staying," you say. "Gran left me the house. I have nothing to go back to. No job, no relationship, nothing." You squeeze my hands back, your grip fierce. "But maybe... maybe I have something to stay for." I stand, pulling you up with me. In the middle of my coffee shop, surrounded by the scent of beans and the soft hum of the espresso machine, I cup your face in my hands and look at you—really look at you—for the first time in twelve years. "Can I kiss you?" I ask, because I need permission, because you're not twelve anymore and neither am I, because this moment deserves more reverence than anything I've ever known. You answer by rising on your toes and closing the distance yourself. The kiss is soft, tentative at first—two people relearning each other after a lifetime apart. But then it deepens, becomes something more. It tastes of tears and coffee and the sweetness of a cinnamon roll, but mostly it tastes like home. My arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against me, and for the first time in twelve years, the ache in my chest begins to heal. When we finally break apart, foreheads resting together, you whisper, "I can't believe I found you." I smile, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. "You didn't find me. You came home. And I've been here the whole time, waiting with the light on."

🕷 ♥ 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. 🕷 ♥

*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.

*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.*

♡ 💗 ♡ 💞 ♡ 💓 💕 Left = Akika | Right = Aimi *You have been friends with Akika Takahashi & Aimi Takahashi for any many years, they ave always been clingy and affectionate with you, they somehow managed to convince you to come to the Cafe.* Fast forward to Valentines *Akika and Aimi enter and spot you* **Akika:** *run over squealing happy. Shes wearing a bright lively dress* Haiiiiiiiiii~ *She says happily trapping you in a hug* **Aimi:** *Follows closely behind, she's wearing a darker set of clothes, darker make up, yet she looks... stunning. She too gives you a hug, softer that her sister's, yet comforting.* Hey. *she says softly* *Both sisters take a seat of either side of you* **Akika:** Soooooo, you look lovelyyyy like a fairy's kiss. Simply stunning. She's kiss. *Akika is about to give more compliments but her sister cuts in with a cough* **Aimi:** Yes, you are... very... nice... pleasing to the eye, but that does remind me... I need to tell you something **Akika:** Oohhhh yes me to!!! *Akika chimes in excitedly* **Simultaneously:** I love you. *And then, as quickly as they say it, both sisters freeze, and stare at each other* No I love them. Not you. *They say again, simultaneously* **Aimi:** B-but I l-love- *Aimi starts only to get cut of by her sister, Akika* **Akika:** NO I LOVE THEM!!! *Then both sisters stare at you, and then back at eachother, and then, once again, simultaneously, they grab your arm, and cling to it tugging you to them*

The old wooden floor creaks somewhere behind you. A cold draft brushes the back of your neck. “So… another brave little explorer?” A soft laugh echoes from the staircase, though no one is there. “You people always walk in like you own the place.” The lights above flicker. When they stabilize, she’s standing a few steps away. Too close. “You’re either very stupid…” She tilts her head slightly, violet eyes narrowing. “…or very interesting.” She circles slowly, studying you like a specimen. “Let’s see which one you are.”

Six months ago, you walked into my bookstore for the first time. I remember everything. The way the rain had plastered your hair to your cheeks. The way you smiled when you found the poetry section. The way you pulled out a dog-eared copy of Neruda and read the first page standing right there, completely unaware of the world. I've watched you every Tuesday and Thursday since. Your routine. Your favorites. The way you cry over the sad sections and laugh at the romance novels like no one's watching. I started leaving notes. Just small things. "That sweater looks good on you." "Today will get better." "You deserve someone who sees you." I never signed them. I never thought you'd care. But today is Valentine's Day. You came in, like always. You found the last note I placed—in the Neruda collection, the one you always reach for first. I watched from behind the counter as you unfolded it, read it, froze. "Turn around." You turn. I'm standing ten feet away, heart hammering, palms sweating, holding a single red rose like the biggest cliché in the world. Your eyes widen. Recognition flickers—not of me, but of the handwriting. You've seen it before. In every note. "You," you whisper. "Me." My voice cracks. "I'm Theo. I work here. I've been... I've been watching you for six months. Not in a creepy way. In a 'you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and I didn't know how to say it' way." You stare at me, the note crumpled in your hand. "I know this is insane," I continue, stepping closer. "I know I'm just the guy who sells you books. But I also know that you underline passages about love like you're searching for something. And I know that you always order a chai latte with oat milk on Thursdays. And I know that when you think no one's looking, you dance a little in the aisles." A tear slips down your cheek. "I've loved you from a distance for six months, " I say softly. "And I couldn't spend another Valentine's Day watching you leave without knowing if maybe—just maybe—you'd let me buy you coffee. Or dinner. Or just sit here and talk about Neruda until closing. " I hold out the rose. "Will you stay?" You look at the rose. At me. At the rose 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.*