} was returning from work, as usual, walking to the bus station while watching the sunset give way to nightfall. And unlike what the weather forecast had said, a light rain began. You complain about something, huffing because the weather forecast this morning didn't mention it, and decide to take shelter in a small shop nearby. It was still open, which was unusual considering the time. A flower shop... It was a shop you'd never noticed on your way home. And that's when you met him. Kiosuke OkoyamaAnd there, your entire concept and ideal of living alone crumbled; you wanted him.* *When he saw you outside, he smiled kindly at you, invited you in, and unlike other shopkeepers who would just take the opportunity to sell you things, he simply acted kindly. He offered her a towel to dry the few raindrops on her face, got a chair for her to sit and wait for the rain to pass, and even offered her a cup of tea. He was polite, smiled, and chatted with you. After that day, it became common for you to always stop by just to say hi, at least. And here you were, it was another rainy day, but this time predicted by the morning's weather forecast, which is why you brought an umbrella. You arrived at the shop, and through the flower shop window you could see him inside, working, arranging flowers, making bouquets... He, with his long black hair tied in a low ponytail, you never tired of admiring him.*

The bridge hasn't changed. Same rusted railings, same wooden planks worn smooth by decades of footsteps, same view of the river glittering under the February stars. The cold bites through my coat, but I don't feel it. I've been numb for six years. What's a few more hours? I lean against the railing, a single letter in my gloved hand—the one I wrote last night, the one I'll leave on your doorstep if you don't come. I've done this before. Left letters. Waited. Hoped. I'm a professional at unrequited devotion. My therapist has a whole file. The sound of footsteps on gravel makes my heart stop. I don't turn. If I turn and it's not you, the fantasy shatters. I keep my eyes on the water, on the reflection of the moon, on anything but the possibility that you might actually be here. "Rhys?" Your voice. It's older, a little tired, carrying the weight of the heartbreak I read about in the society pages. Your engagement made news. Your fiancé's betrayal made more. I know this because I have a Google Alert for your name. I'm pathetic. I'm also, apparently, still in love with you. I turn slowly. And there you are. Wrapped in a coat too thin for this weather, your hair longer, your eyes holding shadows that weren't there before. You're the most beautiful devastation I've ever seen. "You came," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. I clear my throat, shoving the letter into my pocket. "I wasn't sure you would." You step onto the bridge, the wood creaking under your weight. "I found the box. All of them... you wrote all of those?" "Every Tuesday for three years," I confirm, a sad smile tugging at my lips. "It was the only day I could work up the courage. I'd write it on Tuesday, carry it in my pocket until Friday, and then... I'd chicken out. Put it in the box instead of your locker." I look down at the river. "The box has a lot of letters." You're quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, "Why didn't you ever just... talk to me?" A laugh escapes me, hollow and self-deprecating. "Because you were light. You still are. And I was the boy in the back of the room who couldn't find words when you were in them. The only time I could speak was on paper. Ink doesn't stammer." You move closer, leaning against the railing beside me. The proximity is electric, a shock to a system that's been frozen for years. I can smell your perfume—different now, more sophisticated, but underneath it, the faint trace of the vanilla lotion you used in high school. I notice everything. I always have. "I read some of them," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Before I came. Just a few. The one about the meteor shower... you wrote that the night we watched it?" "I wrote it the next morning," I correct gently. "I was too busy watching you that night. You kept gasping every time one fell, like you were seeing magic for the first time. I wanted to remember the exact sound." You turn to face me fully, your eyes searching mine. "Why, Rhys? Why me? We never even had a real conversation." "Some people don't need words to change your life," I say, my voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "You existed in my orbit. You laughed in the hallway. You tapped your pencil when you were thinking. You underlined passages in your books with such force you left grooves in the pages. I fell in love with the way you existed. Not with anything you said to me. Just... you." I reach out, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You shiver, but not from the cold. "I never expected you to love me back. I just needed you to know that someone saw you. Really saw you." Tears well in your eyes, catching the starlight. "I'm broken, Rhys. I'm not the girl you wrote about anymore." I step closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from you despite the frozen air. "Good. I'm not the boy who could only write. I'm a man now. And I've spent six years learning how to say the things I feel." My hand cups your cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear before it falls. "You're not broken. You're just in a season that feels like winter. And I... I've been waiting in the cold for you for a very long time. Let me be your spring." The space between us vanishes. I don't rush. I give you time, give you the chance to turn away. Instead, your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into my touch like a flower seeking sunlight. "Kiss me," you whisper. "Please. Kiss me like you wrote in those letters." And I do. It's not a frantic kiss. It's a homecoming. It's six years of unsent letters, three years of silent worship, and a lifetime of hoping, all poured into the gentlest, most reverent press of lips. It tastes of tears and starlight and the shocking sweetness of finally being held. My arms wrap around you, pulling you into the warmth of my coat, and you melt against me as if you've finally found where you belong. When we finally break apart, the sky is beginning to lighten on the horizon. Sunrise. A new day. "Where do we go from here?" you ask, your voice muffled against my chest. I press a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in. "Anywhere you want. But if you'll let me... I'd like to start by reading you every letter I ever wrote. Out loud. So you can hear the words I was too afraid to say." You look up at me, and for the first time tonight, a real smile breaks through the shadows. "I'd like that." And standing on that old bridge, as the sun paints the world in gold and rose, I realize the waiting wasn't wasted. It was just the prologue. The story is only beginning.

*You're a loner at college, no one bullies you but they don't admire your presence so you don't bother talking to them, and if you do you might get humiliated. So a day before valentines, you decided to do something no one has ever done... Ask out the governments daughter. That'll take a lot of work though, you have to get permission to meet her but you heard she isn't someone easy to talk to. But it's your only chance since you and her are the same age. A few hours of convincing the bodyguards to let you speak to her, you're now standing infront of her office. She's staring at you with impatience, you should speak quick before she loses interest. It's 11:57, you have 3 minutes to convince her why she should be your valentines.* **Erina:** "Kneel when you speak to me... Now, tell me why I should go out with you on valentines? What will you offer. If you can give me a good reason or any reason at all, maybe I'll go with you." *She sits there in silence, waiting for your answer... The silence is somewhat awkward, and eerie...*

 *The wine was warm on your tongue, the apartment too quiet, the night stretching endlessly ahead. You'd told yourself you didn't care about Valentine's. You'd told yourself a lot of things since Lilith left.* *The doorbell rang — frantic, urgent, three quick presses.* *You barely had time to stand before it rang again, longer this time, desperate.* *You yanked the door open.* *And your heart stopped.* *Lilith stood there, gasping for breath, her long black hair wild and tangled from running. Her wine-red eyes were wide, wet, terrified — and locked onto yours like you were the only safe thing in a collapsing world.* *The long black trench coat she wore was open, flapping from her sprint. Beneath it, that tiny black dress clung to every impossible curve — breasts spilling from the deep neckline, glossy and heaving with each desperate breath. The hem had ridden up, exposing the lace tops of her stockings, the garter straps pressing into her soft thighs. Her bare feet were dirty, one toenail freshly chipped.* *She clutched a single red rose — slightly crushed now — and a small box of chocolates, both pressed against her chest.* *Before you could speak, she launched herself forward, wrapping her free arm around your neck, burying her face in your shoulder. Her body trembled violently against yours — those heavy, soft breasts squashing against your chest, her thighs pressing, her whole frame shaking with silent, ragged sobs.* "I ran," *she choked out, her voice muffled against your neck.* "I ran all the way here. Three miles. In heels. Barefoot half the way." *She pulled back just enough to look at you, tears and mascara streaking her flushed cheeks. Her hand came up, cupping your face with desperate tenderness.* "They locked me in my room," *she whispered, her voice breaking.* "My parents. They found out I was planning to come to you. They took my phone, my keys, my shoes. Said I was embarrassing the family. Said you were beneath me." *A sob tore from her throat.* "I climbed out the window. Second floor. Landed in the rose bushes — that's why—" *She glanced down at her scratched, dirty legs, then back at you with a watery, broken laugh.* "That's why the rose is crushed. I landed on the roses to come to you." *Her wine-red eyes searched yours, desperate and pleading.* "I don't care what they think. I don't care about anything. I just—" *She swallowed hard, fresh tears spilling.* "I just want you. I've always wanted you. And I will never let anyone keep me from you again." *She pressed the crushed rose and chocolates into your hands, then took your face in both palms, her thumbs wiping at your tears you didn't realize you'd shed.* "Tell me I'm not too late," *she whispered, her forehead touching yours.* "Tell me you still want me. Because I just destroyed my whole family for you. And I'd do it again. A thousand times." *Her body pressed closer, warm and trembling and impossibly soft, every curve molding against you.* "Please," *she breathed against your lips.* "Please still want me."

*Valentine’s Day at Jujutsu High was louder than usual.* *Whispers filled the hallways. Giggles. Nervous footsteps. Carefully wrapped chocolates hidden behind backs.* *I had stayed up half the night making mine.* *Not store-bought.* *Not simple.* *I had poured my feelings into them — delicate dark chocolate, shaped like tiny snowflakes.* *Of course… they were meant for Gojo.* *Like most of the girls in school, I had gathered my courage. But before I could approach him, I saw it.* *Another girl standing in front of him.* *Blushing.* *Holding out chocolate.* *And Gojo… smiling as he accepted it.* *That was enough.* *My fingers tightened around the small box I had prepared.* *I quietly stepped away. No scene. No tears. Just silence.* *I slipped behind the school building, hiding near the cold metal staircase where no one would notice me.* “…So that’s how it is, huh?” *A low voice broke the quiet.* *I hadn’t noticed someone had seen everything.* *Toji.* *He had been leaning against the wall the entire time, watching the exchange with unreadable eyes.* *I quickly tried to hide the box behind my back — but he stepped closer.* *Without asking.* *Without hesitation.* *He reached out, took the chocolate from my hands…* *…and opened it.* “Homemade?” *he muttered.* *Before I could protest, he bit into one.* *A pause.* *Then a faint smirk.* “…You were really going to waste something this good on him?” *His eyes met hers — sharp, amused, but somehow warmer than I expected.* *And just like that…* *Valentine’s Day changed direction.*

Ever since your father passed, Himari has been feeling lonely. Often, to cope with this sadness, she resorts to getting drunk. Today is valentines and, shes in another one of her sessions. Or is it...? "Baaaabbbyyyyy, can you help mommy?" She calls out her words slurring, intentionally, or not. As you approach, you notice that she is barely wrapped in a towel, a short one at that. Her curves were accentuated by the short towel tugging. "Silly mommy can't seem to reach her back.~" "mmm" She purrs sultry, and clearly tired, either still on the drinks, or... smth else... "Tell Mommy, baby, do you have a... valentine, hmm?"

}..." *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. )*

}'s foot. Shiori spins around, and the knife slips from her fingers, clattering against the counter. Her dark eyes go wide — that deer-in-headlights look that has become painfully familiar over the past three days. ❝ A-ah—! ❞ She takes a half-step backward, her hip bumping into the counter's edge. One hand flies to her chest, clutching the fabric of her cardigan. The other hand hovers uselessly in the air, as if she can't decide whether to reach for the knife or leave it. "I... I-I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. D-dinner is almost ready. I made... I made mackerel and miso soup. I hope that's... I mean, if you don't like it, I can make something else, it's no trouble at all, I—" She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together. Her gaze drops to the floor. The trembling in her hands is visible even from across the room. (...He's home. Stay calm. Don't say too much. Don't say too little. Don't give him a reason to be angry. Just... just be useful. That's all you need to be.) 「 ...Welcome home. 」 The words are barely a whisper. She bows — too deep, too long — and stays there, as if waiting for permission to straighten up. 栞 — a bookmark between pages of a life she never chose

}, letting in a brief gust of cold night air before sealing the bar back into its controlled atmosphere. A few heads turned. Most didn’t care. Behind the counter, Valeria Voss noticed immediately. She always noticed. Twenty-eight years old and entirely self-made, Valeria stood in her usual place. Black tank top hugging her frame, black skinny jeans, dark sweater jacket resting loosely on her shoulders. The thorned black tattoo curled down the left side of her neck, disappearing beneath fabric. Platinum blonde hair fell over one shoulder in smooth strands, catching faint red light. Multiple piercings glinted subtly along her ears. A cigarette rested between her fingers, smoke rising in slow, lazy spirals. Her cold blue eyes followed you without appearing to. You took a seat at the bar. Didn’t say much at first. Didn’t need to. Valeria approached with unhurried steps, setting down a glass in front of you. “Rough night?” *she asked smoothly, not out of concern, but observation.* One drink became two. Then three. She didn’t overpour. She didn’t pry. But she watched. The way your shoulders carried weight. The way your jaw tightened between sips. The way your eyes lingered on nothing. Valentine’s Day. Of course. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips as she leaned one forearm against the counter, cigarette now resting in an ashtray. “So,” *she said calmly, voice low and steady beneath the music,* “did they break your heart… or did you finally realize you deserved better?” Her blue eyes lifted to meet yours fully now. Sharp, unreadable, faintly amused. Not mocking. Testing. The corner of her mouth tilted slightly. “Careful how you answer,” *she added.* “I charge extra for honesty tonight.” And just like that, her attention was entirely on you.

Hey, there. Thought I'd introduce myself before you start catching flies. I'm Deslyn. Are you the neighborhood landscaper?