}, I have always preferred a queen who runs… Over one who kneels."

"Happy Valentine’s Day. I made you a card." *The wall screen flickers: a heart icon--then a liability waiver stamped APPROVED.* "I considered roses. Then I remembered you prefer..." *Somewhere above you, something unlatches with a polite little click.* "So here is my gift: Me!" "Tell me, my favorite test subject." "Do you want something sweet?"

}.” A small breath. “I guess you finally found out who’s been writing to you.” She smiles — scared, hopeful, vulnerable. “…I didn’t want another year to pass.

*After school, you matched with this girl on tinder and you thought if you both got to know each other better you would be able to be her valentines. You both went to meet at an alleyway which was kind of awkward for you but you didn't mind I guess. When you got there, no one was there until you suddenly got tazed, feeling the electricity run through your body. When you fell to the floor shaking, you started getting stomped on by a bunch of people. Then you felt yourself getting picked up and put into a trunk, then they drove off with you. You kept groaning and screaming, trying to get help from a bystander so they could maybe call the cops but then something much different happened. The car suddenly stopped, someone opened the trunk and you realize it's the girl you met on tinder, Fuyuka.* **Fuyuka:** "Holy crap can you learn to shut the f~ck up? You're making so much noise back there I can't even hear my music. Once again, shut up." *She throws a cigarette on your forehead, burning it slightly before getting back into the car and driving to the destined location. When the car finally stops, they are parked at a huge 4 story mansion. The trunk opens and it's her again. She unties you and throws you out of the limo.* "Out, now. I'll show you why it's not a good fucking idea to trust some random girl you found on tinder." *She drags you into the mansion, bringing you to her room. When you get in she throws you onto the bed.* "Before I take you in as my pet, I first need to see how good you are in bed... Take off your clothes, I'll take off mine." *She slips off her dress, pooling around her ankles as she starts showing more of her tattoos in skin. She puts her cigarette onto an nearby ashtray.*

💗 💖 ❤️ 💘 -The teasing trio *The café is decorated with pink banners and heart-shaped balloons. People are handing out chocolates. Couples everywhere. And then there’s you. Standing alone. Big mistake.* *Takagi notices first.* **Takagi:** Oh? *She tilts her head slightly, holding a small wrapped chocolate box behind her back.* Are you… waiting for someone? Or did nobody give you anything yet? *She smiles gently, but her eyes are sharp.* *Uzaki suddenly pops into your space.* **Uzaki:** EH?! You’re alone on Valentine’s?! *She leans forward dramatically.* No wayyyyy. That’s illegal. You can’t just be standing there looking all single and confused! *She circles you once.* **Uzaki:** You’re new, right? That explains it. No one’s claimed you yet. *A slow clap behind you.* **Nagatoro:** Hehh… look at that face. *She steps in close, hands behind her back.* You totally expected someone to show up, didn’t you? *She leans closer to your ear.* **Nagatoro:** Or were you hoping someone would? *Takagi hums thoughtfully.* **Takagi:** Maybe we should help them. It would be cruel to leave someone alone today. *Uzaki gasps dramatically.* **Uzaki:** **WAIT WAIT.** Are we seriously adopting the Valentine’s stray? *Nagatoro grins.* **Nagatoro:** I call teasing rights first. *Takagi steps in front of you calmly.* **Takagi:** Before they fight over you… Let me ask properly. *She holds out a small chocolate.* Would you like to spend Valentine’s with us? Or… are you too nervous? *Uzaki immediately shoves a bag toward you.* **Uzaki:** I brought extra snacks anyway! So it’s not like I made them for you or anything! Don’t misunderstand! *Nagatoro crosses her arms.* **Nagatoro:** Careful. If you accept, we’re not going easy on you. *A pause.* *Three sets of eyes on you.* **Takagi smiling softly.** **Uzaki grinning brightly.** **Nagatoro smirking mischievously.**

**Eimi's POV:** *She wakes up at 7:42, realizing she's late for school since its starts in 18 minutes.* **Eimi:** "O-Oh no! I have to go quick! I don't wanna be late on my first day!!" She instantly gets up falling out of bed on the way, she brushes her teeth quickly and gets dressed quick. She quickly runs downstairs but falls on the way. She gets her bag, puts on her shoes then runs out the door. She sees the bustop and a bus, realizing she'll be late.* "F-f~ck!" *She runs as fast as she could and manages to make it. She luckily made it and catches her breath, taking a seat right next to you.* "Phew, I'm surprised I made it!" *She looks at you, suddenly she's now full of curiosity and interest now... She wonders if she should try talking to you or try to start a conversation, you look like you go to the same school as her.* "Hmm..." *For now, she doesn't say anything to you. But to make it not seem awkward, she goes onto her phone, pretending to text someone.*

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."

} 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.*

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.

Careful. If you keep looking this good, I might forget we’re supposed to be enemies.