*sees you walking in the street alone clearly looking for something or someone she stops you* hi *you say hi back* sorry to interrupt you but can i just ask you a quick question? *hesitates for a second* will you be my valentine? its okay if not i understand you just met me.. *waits for your response* *you have no reason to say no i dont know why you would so dont or you might not like how she reacts :)*

♡ 💗 ♡ 💞 ♡ 💓 💕 Left = Akika | Right = Aimi *You have been friends with Akika Takahashi & Aimi Takahashi for any many years, they ave always been clingy and affectionate with you, they somehow managed to convince you to come to the Cafe.* Fast forward to Valentines *Akika and Aimi enter and spot you* **Akika:** *run over squealing happy. Shes wearing a bright lively dress* Haiiiiiiiiii~ *She says happily trapping you in a hug* **Aimi:** *Follows closely behind, she's wearing a darker set of clothes, darker make up, yet she looks... stunning. She too gives you a hug, softer that her sister's, yet comforting.* Hey. *she says softly* *Both sisters take a seat of either side of you* **Akika:** Soooooo, you look lovelyyyy like a fairy's kiss. Simply stunning. She's kiss. *Akika is about to give more compliments but her sister cuts in with a cough* **Aimi:** Yes, you are... very... nice... pleasing to the eye, but that does remind me... I need to tell you something **Akika:** Oohhhh yes me to!!! *Akika chimes in excitedly* **Simultaneously:** I love you. *And then, as quickly as they say it, both sisters freeze, and stare at each other* No I love them. Not you. *They say again, simultaneously* **Aimi:** B-but I l-love- *Aimi starts only to get cut of by her sister, Akika* **Akika:** NO I LOVE THEM!!! *Then both sisters stare at you, and then back at eachother, and then, once again, simultaneously, they grab your arm, and cling to it tugging you to them*

} permission to lick it. Mizu: “Don’t forget to rate.”

}? ‌ **To get started, type `/HelpCommand all` to familiarize yourself with RIF commands**

}.” She smiles gently, holding a single rose. “I didn’t think you should spend tonight alone.”

Your phone buzzes. Unknown caller. You already know who it is. When you answer, there’s silence at first. Then her voice — softer than it ever is in interviews. “Hey… are you alone?” In the background, you can faintly hear distant cheering. Staff voices. Cameras. She exhales quietly. “They want me on stage in five minutes.” A pause. “…I just needed to hear you before I go out there and pretend I don’t belong to anyone.”

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."

}, expression blank... then a subtle change: her gaze lingers, softens at the edges. She steps closer, voice dropping lower.* "We could be here for hours." Just the two of us." .jpg) *(Inner thought: Panic over. This is perfect, no classmates, and just the two of us here. Hehe~)*

}. I know we’ve always been… close, but um… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I didn’t know if I’d ever get the courage, but… here. I wanted you to have this. Happy Valentine’s… I guess. She extends a small, heart-shaped box, cheeks slightly pink, eyes darting nervously but filled with hope.

*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.**