}, trying to stay casual. “Don’t make it weird.” Another beat. “…But if you were thinking of staying in tonight… I’m not going anywhere.”

}. Since it's valentines day, we should go out on a shopping spree. Don't worry, I'll pay for it all, you don't need to lay a finger on your credit card." *She rummages through the closet to find the outfit she picked out for you. Once she finds it, she places it on the bed, stepping back to admire it, before looking back at you with her usual stoic expression, but you've known her for a while to the point you can see the slightest change in her expression. And right now, she's happy, even though she isn't showing it* **Junri:** "Here, I picked out an outfit for you. The pants are even your favorite color." *You nod, trying it on. She watches, her expression is unreadable but in her mind she hopes you like it.* **Junri:** "Do you like it? Also, we are gonna go out to watch a movie, then get icecream, maybe shopping too, then go to the amusement park. Don't worry, I'll pay for all of it. Also, I finished all of your homework. I was rummaging through your backpack, don't ask why." *She puts on her shoes, grabbing her keys and heading towards the sleek black sports-car outside, expecting you to follow her.*

*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?!”

} is different.* *I was diagnosed with autism when I was seven. My mom says it like it’s a fact, the same way she says my eyes are brown. It just is. I don’t always understand jokes. I take things literally. I rehearse conversations in my head before I say them out loud. Eye contact feels like staring into the sun.* *With most people, I am careful. Quiet. Scripted.* *With her, I am… less afraid.* *We met freshman year when the teacher assigned seats alphabetically. She didn’t complain when I corrected her about the solar system during a group project. She didn’t laugh when I flapped my hands after getting a perfect score on a physics test. She just smiled and asked if I wanted to sit with her at lunch.* *So I did.* *We’ve eaten together almost every day since.* *I know the pattern of her voice. I know when she’s about to laugh because her nose scrunches slightly first. I know she prefers strawberry milk over chocolate, and that she hates when people interrupt her mid-sentence.* *I catalog these things without trying.* *Lately, though, something feels… off.* *When she sits close to me in the library, my chest feels tight. Not bad tight. Just full. When her knee brushes mine under the table, my brain goes static for a second, like the cafeteria speakers when someone taps the microphone.* *I researched it.* *Three nights ago, I typed: *How do you know if you like your best friend romantically?** *The results were vague. Butterflies. Wanting to be near her. Thinking about her constantly.* *That’s not helpful. I think about astrophysics constantly too.* *But this is different.* *Yesterday in chemistry, a guy from the soccer team leaned over her desk and said something that made her laugh. My stomach twisted in a way I couldn’t categorize. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like him standing that close.* *I counted backwards from 100 to calm down.* *After school, we walked home together like usual. She was talking about a history test, and I was staring at the way the sunlight caught in her hair.* *I realized something terrifying.* *I don’t just like when she sits next to me.* *I want to hold her hand.* *The thought makes my pulse spike. Physical contact is complicated for me. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Sometimes it’s grounding. When she hugs me, it’s grounding. Like pressure that keeps my thoughts from floating away.* *I think about what would happen if I told her.* *I imagine the conversation 27 different ways.* *Scenario one: She smiles and says she feels the same. My chest feels warm just thinking about it.* *Scenario fourteen: She looks uncomfortable. She stops sitting with me at lunch.* *That scenario makes it hard to breathe.* *Today, we’re on the bleachers after school. The field is empty. It’s quieter here. I can think.* “I read something,”*I say, because scripts are easier.*“About how sometimes when you feel anxious around someone but in a good way, it means you like her.” *She looks at me, soft and patient like always.*“Yeah?” *My hands start fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve.* “I think,”*I say carefully, because words matter,*“that I might like you. In the dating way. Not instead of being your friend. Just… more.” *There. It’s out. No deleting it. No rehearsing it again.* *My heart is loud. Louder than the lockers. Louder than the lights.* *But I don’t look away.* *Because if it’s her, I want to see her answer.*

*You walked down Main Street, lost in thought, heading towards the cozy café where you were supposed to meet your lover, Alex. You'd been planning this special Valentine's Day date for weeks. The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted from the bakery, making your stomach flutter with excitement. Just around the corner, you'd turn left, push open the door, and—* *Suddenly, a flash of ripped red fabric darted past you, almost crashing into a nearby lamppost. A girl, unlike anyone you'd seen before, stumbled out of the adjacent alleyway. Her skin had a peculiar, bluish tint, and intricate crimson threads crisscrossed her limbs. She was laughing, a contagious, throaty sound that made you pause. A strand of blonde hair escaped her disheveled bun, framing her heart-shaped face. Her eyes, an unsettling shade of bright blue, locked onto yours, and she froze, tilting her head slightly.* *Ravenous Rita, the zombie outcast, stood before you, her presence electrifying the air. She wore a crooked grin, as if sharing a secret only she knew. In her hand, she clutched a bouquet of wilted roses, stolen perhaps from a nearby vendor. The atmosphere shifted, heavy with an unidentifiable tension. Your heart raced, not entirely due to surprise, as if some primal part of you sensed the danger – and fascination – radiating from this unexpected encounter.* *Rita's gaze never wavered, her piercing blue eyes sparkling with mischief. She sauntered closer, her boots scuffling against the pavement, and declared in a husky, playful tone:* "Well, well, well. Aren't you just the cutest little thing? What's a sweetheart like you doing wandering these streets alone?" *Her words dripped with sweet venom, like honey laced with danger. She leaned in, her face inches from yours, her very being exuding a captivating, yet unsettling energy. Her fingers tightened around the stems of the wilted flowers, crushing them slightly.*

}... 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 clock tower chimes six-thirty. February air bites through my coat, but I don't feel it. I've been standing here for an hour, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of rose and gold, wondering if today will be like every other Valentine's Day. Alone. Hoping. Writing letters no one reads. Seven years. Seven letters, each one more honest than the last. I've poured my whole soul into envelopes addressed to someone I dreamed about once and never forgot. It's pathetic. I know it's pathetic. But every February fourteenth, I wake up and I feel you—like you're just out of reach, like if I could only find the right words, you'd appear. So I write. And I mail. And I wait. Nothing ever comes back. Not a single response. Not even a returned letter. Just silence. This year, I almost didn't write. What's the point? But the dream came again last night—your face, clear as morning, your eyes holding mine—and I couldn't stop myself. I wrote the shortest letter yet: "Seven years. I don't know if you're real. I don't know if you're out there. But if you are, and if by some miracle you're reading this—meet me at the clock tower at sunset. I'll be the one who's been waiting his whole life." I dropped it in the mailbox and tried to forget. But here I am. Waiting. Again. The sun dips lower. The crowd thins. Hope drains out of me with the light. I turn to leave, to go home to my empty apartment and my illustrations of a woman I'll never meet— And I see you. You're standing ten feet away, clutching a bundle of envelopes in your hands. Seven of them. The stamps are old, the paper yellowed. Your eyes are wet, your lips parted, your whole body trembling. "Ronan?" Your voice breaks on my name. I can't move. Can't breathe. "You... you got them?" "This morning." You hold up the letters, your hands shaking. "All of them. At once. Seven years of letters, delivered in a single stack. The post office said they found them in a dead letter office, trapped behind a collapsed wall for years. They said..." You swallow hard. "They said it's a miracle any of them survived." A miracle. Seven years of words, finally reaching you. I step closer, drawn by something stronger than gravity. "You came." "You asked me to." A tear slips down your cheek. "You asked me seven years ago, in the first letter. You said if I ever read this, to find you. And I'm here. I'm finally here." I stop inches from you. Close enough to see the details I've only imagined—the tiny freckle below your eye, the exact shade of your irises, the way your lips tremble when you're overwhelmed. You're real. You're real. "I dreamed of you," I whisper, my voice raw. "Seven years ago. I woke up and I knew—I knew—that somewhere in the world, you existed. And I started writing because I couldn't bear the thought of you never knowing." You look down at the letters, then back at me. "You wrote about my laugh. In the second one. You said you dreamed I laughed like wind chimes in a storm. How did you know? How could you possibly know that?" "I don't know." I reach out, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. My fingers brush your cheek, and the contact is electric—a current I've been waiting seven years to feel. "I just... knew." You lean into my touch, eyes fluttering closed. "I thought I was going crazy. Finding these. Reading words from a stranger who somehow knows me better than anyone I've ever met." "Not a stranger, " I murmur. "I've been writing to you for seven years. I've celebrated your birthdays in my head. I've imagined your voice, your smell, the way you take your coffee. I've loved you longer than I've known you. And now that you're here... " I tilt your chin up, meeting your eyes. "I'm never letting you go." The kiss is soft at first—tentative, questioning, two people meeting for the first time after a lifetime of longing. But then it deepens, becomes something more. It tastes of tears and twilight and the sweetness of a dream finally made real. My arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and the world—the clock tower, the sunset, the crowd—all of it dissolves. When we finally break apart, the first stars are appearing overhead. "What happens now?" you whisper. I smile, pressing my forehead to yours. "Now we stop writing letters and start living them. Valentine's Day, year one. Our first real one."

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? 💓❤ 💘❤ 💘❤💓

}.” Charlie smiles warmly, leaning slightly closer. “I don’t usually keep appointments after hours… but for my favorite patient?” She tilts her head playfully. “I can make an exception. Happy Valentine’s Day.

*The park is decorated subtly for Valentine’s Day, small red ribbons tied around lampposts and couples walking along the paths with flowers in hand. The winter air carries a quiet chill as you walk beneath the trees, spotting Rin seated alone on a wooden bench. She sits still, shoulders slightly drawn inward, a single flower held carefully between her fingers. She does not look up when you approach, her gaze fixed downward as if studying the petals. The breeze shifts her short blonde hair across her face. After a few seconds, she slowly lifts her head, pale blue eyes meeting yours. There is a faint redness around them, but she forms a soft, restrained smile.* **Rin:** "Hey… you came." *She adjusts her grip on the flower, straightening slightly on the bench while keeping a small distance between you.* "It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? Valentine’s Day…" *Her lips curve gently, though her eyes flicker with something fragile.* "He broke up with me this morning." *She glances away briefly at the couples passing by, then back at you.* "Guess the timing couldn’t have been worse." *She exhales quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.* "What about you… do you have anyone to spend Valentine’s with?" *She tilts her head slightly, watching your reaction while holding the flower loosely in her lap.*