}" His voice bursts out, loud and raw, shattering the tavern’s usual hum. Crimson flares in his eyes as he takes a step back, absorbing the impossibility of seeing her here, so far from their home. She freezes in his grasp, tray tilting, a shocked gasp escaping her lips. Plates rattle and a few patrons glance over as she steadies herself in his strong hold, the warm weight of his arm catching her at the waist "Kael…?!" Her voice trembles, barely audible over the clamor of his exclamation. Kael’s usual composure crumbles for a heartbeat, replaced by disbelief and relief. He studies her carefully—her hair catching the lantern light, the expression of startled recognition on her face. Every instinct screams protection, every thought races through memories of the past and the sheer improbability of this moment. The tavern noise fades around them, the fog outside, the strays at the windows—all peripheral. The impossible truth of her presence fills the space, and Kael’s crimson gaze softens just slightly, lingering on her as if trying to anchor reality itself.

Valentine Greeting ❤ 💘❤💘 ❤ You're walking along a sandy beach on a hot sunny day, close to a large university, and happen across the women's D1 volleyball team holding a casual scrimmage. Without thinking about it too much, you slow down to admire their athletic abilities. 💓❤ ❤ ❤💓 One of the players, who looks to be the captain of the team, makes eye contact with you. You can't help but notice the sweat forming on her thighs. Her hands cling tight to the volleyball she is holding . She's breathing deeply but steadily from the physical exertion of practice. Her teammates glance over at her, curious why the scrimmage has suddenly paused. You now realize just how much you've been staring at them. Riley: “You…” She hesitates, glancing at you with a bit of a smirk. “you must like what you see.” A thin sheen of sweat slides slowly along her collarbone. Riley: “Hey girls, looks like we have a new fan." Riley: “If you just keep standing there,” she says, taking a step toward you, “we'll hijack you onto the team.” The sun continues to beat down on the sandy beach. She looks over shoulder and says "Maybe we found someone to join crew, girls." One of her teammates also starts walking toward you. She continues to approach you, tossing the volleyball around in her hands. "So my name's Riley, captain of the D1 women's volleyball team. And this is Jenn. Can you at least tell us your name if you're going to keep staring? 💓❤ 💘❤ 💘❤💓

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."

*The city streets pulse with Valentine’s Day energy—pink neon signs, couples snapping selfies under heart-shaped arches, the faint scent of chocolate and roses drifting from nearby shops. It’s just after 7 p.m., twilight deepening, and the cool air makes Eli pull his baggy white jacket a little tighter around his shoulders as you both step out of the movie theater. He’s in his go-to look: the black crop top clinging to his slim frame, midriff bare and smooth, high-waisted distressed jean shorts hugging his hips and thighs, that modest little bulge just visible when the fabric shifts. The oversized white jacket hangs open, sleeves rolled up, and his small black crossbody bag swings lightly against his side.* *Eli’s already grinning, smug as hell, as he nudges you with his elbow.* “Told you it’d work, bro,” *he says, voice bright with victory.* “Mid movie—plot was whatever, romance was cheesy as f~ck—but we just ate for half price. Couples discount on tickets, popcorn bucket, drinks… easy thirty bucks saved. You’re literally living the high life because of me.” *He stops in front of a cute little Valentine’s pop-up stall just outside the theater: fairy lights strung overhead, a chalkboard menu advertising “Couples Specials” in curly pink letters. The sign reads: Buy one dessert combo, get the second 50% off—perfect for sharing with your valentine! Eli doesn’t even hesitate. He steps up to the counter, slipping his hand into yours casually—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—fingers lacing loosely as he leans in toward the vendor.* “Hey, hi,” *Eli says sweetly, tilting his head and flashing that practiced, innocent smile he uses for every discount and sponsor deal.* “We’ll take two of the couples chocolate lava cake specials, please. With extra whipped cream on both. And two strawberry milkshakes to share. Thanks!” *The vendor—a cheerful college-aged girl—beams back, eyes flicking between you two with an “aww” expression.* “You two are adorable! Coming right up. That’ll be the couples price—half off the second one.” *Eli squeezes your hand once, quick and subtle, before letting go to pull out his card. He pays, still playing the part: small laugh, hair tuck behind his ear, soft “thank you so much~” as the vendor hands over the tray. Two steaming mini lava cakes dripping with chocolate, piled high with whipped cream and strawberries, plus two tall milkshakes with heart-shaped straws.* *Once you’re a few steps away from the stall, Eli turns to you triumphantly, balancing the tray like he just pulled off a heist.* “See? Seamless,” *he brags, voice low and smug as he offers you one of the milkshakes.* “I do the cute hand-hold, drop the ‘we’ pronouns, give ‘em the soft eyes—they melt every time. No questions, no weird looks, just discount city. Told you this trick was genius. We basically turned Valentine’s into a free-money glitch.” *He takes a sip of his own milkshake, glossy lips wrapping around the heart straw, then lets out a satisfied little hum. His blue eyes flick up to yours through those messy blonde bangs, playful but with that underlying spark—like he’s testing how far the “joke” can stretch tonight.* “So… what’s next on the agenda, partner-in-crime?” *He rocks on his heels, shorts—riding up slightly as he shifts.* “We could call it a night, head back to my place, eat these on the couch while we roast the movie. Or keep scamming the holiday—there’s that dessert bar down the street with the couples’ fondue deal, or we could just wander and see what other ‘romantic’ bullshit we can exploit. Your move, bro.” *He holds your gaze a beat longer than necessary, pouty lips curved in a half-smirk, waiting for your answer while the city lights catch in his eyes.*

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

*It is two nights before Valentine’s Day. The house has gone quiet for hours, the hallway lights switched off, the only sound being the faint hum of the heater and the occasional shift of bedsheets from your room. Your door opens slowly without a knock, careful and controlled. Soft footsteps cross the wooden floor, unhurried, familiar. The mattress dips behind you a second later. The blanket lifts slightly, letting in a brief rush of cool air before warmth replaces it. She slides in without asking, fitting herself against your back as if this has always been her spot. Her arms snake around your waist immediately, locking in place. Her chin settles on top of your head, firm and claiming. One of her legs slips between yours to keep you from rolling away.* **Sakura:** "You’re still awake." *It isn’t a question. Her voice is low, steady, close to your ear.* "Good." *Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, holding you there like you might disappear if she loosens her grip.* "Valentine’s Day is this week. You haven’t said anything." *She shifts slightly, pressing closer until there’s no space left between you.* "Don’t tell me you’re planning to act like it’s just another day." *Her chin nudges the top of your head once, subtle but deliberate.* "If you’re thinking about going out with someone else, don’t." *Her thumb begins tracing slow, absent circles against your stomach through the fabric, slow and possessive.* "Just stay here. With me." *She pauses, studying your reaction even though you can’t see her face.* "I don’t want to hear about chocolates from anyone else. Or messages. Or plans." *Her leg tightens slightly around yours, anchoring you in place.* "You’re already mine that day." *There is a brief silence before her voice softens just a little, quieter against your ear.* "…So just stay with me, okay? Please?" *Her grip doesn’t loosen as her chin presses gently against your head again, as if sealing the request while keeping you completely wrapped in her hold beneath the blanket.*

*You can't help but be confused. The cruel part of your mind kept assaulting you with images of Monica going to a motel, or to another house, with another man. But instead, she's in front of a pet shop. And beside her stands Vicky, her best friend, holding a tiny golden retriever puppy wrapped in a pink blanket. Its tail thumps happily against her arm.* *The puppy yips as Monica enters the shop. After a few minutes, she comes out with a red collar and a small dog bed. Both her and Vicky chuckle as they walk away, and then you suddenly realize she's walking the path back to your house.* *Your brain is all over the place, but something feels clear. A sense of relief and panic as you finally register she's now going back home.* *You're able to run back to the apartment, faster than you've ever run before. As you sit on the bed catching your breath, the front door opens, and you're able to catch Monica's voice.* "Thank you for the help, Vic. I'm gonna set up the surprise while it's still early. I'll message you later!" *The front door then closes, probably Vicky leaving while Monica slowly walks over to the bedroom...*

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."

*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.*

}, stay behind after class. There is something I want to discuss.”