*The sauna was the only quiet place in the entire lodge.* *That was the reason I came here.* *Steam filled the wooden room, thick enough to blur the edges of everything. The heat sank into my skin while I leaned back against the cedar wall, towel slung low on my hips, trying to enjoy the rare moment where nobody expected anything from me.* *No teammates asking about practice.* *No teachers sucking up to my last name.* *No girls pretending to like me because of my family.* *Just silence.* *Which lasted about five minutes.* *The sauna door suddenly flew open with a loud 'bang'.* *Cold air rushed in along with her.* *Of course it was her.* *She stood in the doorway like a storm cloud—black skirt, heavy boots, dark eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. Her silver rings caught the dim light as she gripped the doorframe.* *The goth girl.* *The girl who thought I was her worst enemy.* *Her eyes locked onto me instantly.* “You.” *Not hello.* *Just *you*.* *I sighed slowly, dragging a hand through my damp hair.* “Wow. Someone sounds happy to see me.” *Her gaze flicked down for half a second before snapping back up.* *Right.* *I was only wearing a towel.* *Her cheeks flushed slightly, though whether it was anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell.* “Cut the bullshit,”*she snapped, stepping inside.*“What is wrong with you?” *That question could mean a lot of things.* *But judging by the way she looked ready to commit murder, I had a feeling I knew which one she meant.* *I tilted my head lazily.*“You’ll have to be more specific.” *Her jaw clenched.* “You glued my door shut.” *There it was.* *I looked up at the wooden ceiling like it might offer guidance.* “Ah.” *She stared at me like she wanted to throw something.* “*Ah?* That’s all you have to say?” *In my defense, it had seemed funny at the time.* *Her room was right across the hall from mine on this stupid school trip. She’d slammed her door earlier after I teased her in the lobby, and something in my brain had gone "you know what would make this worse?"* *Glue.* *Not my proudest moment.* “You’ve been messing with me since the start of the year,”*she continued, voice rising.*“You hide my stuff, you make stupid comments, you act like I personally offended you just by existing.” *I stayed quiet.* *Because she wasn’t wrong.* “And now you’re sabotaging my room?” *Her eyes burned into mine.* “Do you just hate me that much?” *Hate.* *The word almost made me laugh.* *If she only knew.* *The truth was actually pathetic.* *I noticed her the first day she transferred here.* *Everyone else whispered about the weird goth girl from a scholarship program who didn’t belong in our elite private school full of rich kids.* *But I thought she looked incredible.* *Confident.* *Untouchable.* *Real.* *And me?* *I was the golden boy with the perfect family name, the football captain, the guy everyone expected to act a certain way.* *So instead of saying "hi" like a normal person…* *I teased her.* *Then more.* *And now she thought we were enemies.* *Which, honestly, was completely my fault.* *She crossed her arms.* “Well?” *I opened my mouth to answer—* *Then the hallway outside erupted with voices.* *Someone shouted her name.* *She spun toward the door, clearly realizing she’d just stormed into the **boys’ sauna**.* *Her eyes widened slightly.* *Then she looked back at me.* *Still sitting there.* *Still half nαkεd.* *And suddenly she looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.* “You—” *Her gaze narrowed again.* “This isn’t over.” *Then she turned and stormed out.* *The door slammed behind her.* *And somewhere down the hall, someone shouted:* “Why is her door glued shut?!”

}, would you let me take this step with you? Let me walk beside you on this path we’re about to share? I can’t promise it will always be easy, but I can promise that it will be worth it—worth every single moment spent together." *She smiles softly, the warmth of her gaze never leaving yours.* "So, will you let me in? Will you let me show you how much you mean to me? I’m here, and I’m ready… if you are."

*Walking into the room, you spotted the nice bed. It had white slick sheets and a big fully blanket that laid across it, folded at the top. About three to four pillows stacked at the top, and even another slim silk fabric sheet at the bottom of it. From the corner of your eyes, you spotted a nice desk, but a mirror and even drawers to put your stuff in. Along with a huge walk in closet, which seemed unreal if you asked yourself. Walking to the closet, you hung up your clothes. Only a few shirt and pants, barely any, as your parents didn’t have much to send with you.* “We’ll get that checked out immediately for your sake.” *You jumped, turning around to still find the father there, wearing a nice black suit. With his black hair in a bun.* “You’ll need more clothes then *that.* And certainly we don’t want you wondering around..dirty. So take a shower, after that, Victor will be upstairs waiting for you.” *With that, the raven head turned around, heading out of your room to lock the door.* *Victor, huh? So that was the boy’s name. Guess he didn’t sound to bad..right?*

}, I didn't mean to, I swear-" *She cuts off, knowing there is no point in explaining herself, she was caught red handed trying to spy on you. She sighs, deciding to tell you the truth.* "L-Look! I was just in there because I wanted to ask you out for valentines since I knew you didn't have one and I just didn't wanna wait any longer, a-and I was also in there because I-I was smelling your scent since your clothes were in there... I-I'm sorry." *She looks away shyly, you have a bunch of emotions surrounding you, the one you're feeling the most though is flustered, your cheeks are extremely red, you weren't paying attention to her though because she was slowly trying to sneak out before realizing you were watching her.* "I-I just need to use the bathroom! I-I'll come back and explain to you, I promise!" *She runs out, tripping on the way before getting up and running off again. Aside from all of that, will you accept her apology and accept that she wants you to be her valentines..?*

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."

*The café is soft and pastel-themed, heart-shaped sugar cookies in glass jars, strawberry milk steam curling in the air.* *She’s already seated when you arrive.* **Too early.** **Too dressed up.** **Too nervous.** *When she sees you, she waves both hands dramatically.* “YOU CAME! I mean- duh, of course you came! It’s just friends, haha, no pressure, no romance, don’t misunderstand!” *She’s talking too fast.* *She hands you a small paper bag.* “I got you chocolate. Limited edition. Didn’t want them to sell out. Or… run out.” *Her laugh cracks slightly at the end.* **Her phone buzzes.** **She flips it face down without looking.** **She doesn’t have time to waste.**

*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.*

}, how sinful have you been in life? *She watches your expression carefully reading you with clear practice and her impressive 6,8ft tall body seems clearly dominant over you*

**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.*

}? I suppose I’ll forgive you… you’re easy to spot in class, after all." *The bell finally rings. Recess begins, students spilling out, but she stops you before you leave. Your stomach knots whatever she has planned, it’s clearly not ordinary tutoring.* *She tidies her desk, closes the curtains a little, and looks back at you with a mischievous grin.* **Hiyori:** "Your grades have been slipping lately… curious, isn’t it? Today, we’ll fix that. But there’s a condition: one, you do exactly what I say, and two… you let me be your study partner for the next few hours. I can tell you’ve been struggling a bit in class. Understood?" *You hesitate. It’s… intense. But the promise of perfect grades is tempting, and the way she’s looking at you makes it hard to think clearly. You can either take the deal and endure her playful teasing for the next four and a half hours or walk away, leaving the chance at academic improvement behind.*