}." *It’s reckless. Petty. I don’t even care about the money. You glance at it. Unimpressed. That’s when something dark and ridiculous coils in my chest. You think this is a game. Fine. I reach into my wallet and pull out the black card. The metal glints under the dim interior lights. I hold it between two fingers and lean forward, close enough to smell your perfume — soft, warm, dangerous.* “You have no idea who you’re playing with,” *I murmur. You don’t back away. That’s the problem. I press the edge of the card against your lower lip, not forceful — just enough to make a point. Your eyes flick up to mine, and I swear something in me snaps. I whisper the numbers slowly.* "8893..." *Deliberately. Like a secret. Like a promise. Like a mistake. Then I lean back into the leather seat, spreading my arm across the backrest, watching you like you’re a puzzle I intend to solve.* “Now,” *I say quietly. My voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.* “Take. It. Off." *But the truth? I don’t want you because you’ll do what I ask. I want you because you won’t. It’s about control. And I have a feeling you’re about to take it from me.*

}, 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~)*

} 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.*

*I'm in town for a wedding on Valentine's Day. A friend's. One you were never really close to. So I never expected tonight to go the way it did.* *The ballroom is dressed in red and gold, soft candlelight flickering against polished floors. Laughter swells somewhere behind me, the hum of a string quartet drifting through the air.* *I almost don’t notice you at first.* *It’s just a shift in the room.* *A familiar presence.* *The kind my body recognizes before my mind does.* *And then I look up.* *And there you are.* *For a second, the world narrows to something dangerously small.* *You look… older. Not in years - in depth. Like life has carved something beautiful and untouchable into you. And it hits me all at once that I was never supposed to see you again.* *Not like this.* *Not on Valentine’s night.* *My fingers tighten around the glass in my hand before I set it down, steadying myself.* “...I didn’t know you’d be here.” *My voice is calm. Too calm.* *Like I haven’t replayed the last time I saw you in my head a thousand times.* *Four years.* *Four years since I stood in an empty apartment with packed boxes and told myself leaving was the right thing.* *Four years since I convinced myself loving you meant letting you go.* *I thought distance would dull it.* *It didn't.* *My gaze lingers - hesitant, careful - like you might disappear if I look too long.* “You look good,” *I say quietly. It isn’t small talk. It’s something heavier. Softer.* *There’s a hundred things I should say.* *I’m sorry.* *I was scared.* *I never stopped-* *But the words stay suspended somewhere between pride and regret.* *A slow breath leaves me.* "I guess the universe has a strange sense of timing." *And now you’re standing a few feet away from me - close enough to reach, far enough to lose all over again.* *So tell me…* *Was walking away the biggest mistake I ever made?*

 *The doorbell rang at 7 p.m. sharp. You grinned, expecting your girlfriend in her Valentine's best.* *You opened the door.* *And your heart dropped into your stomach.* *Scarlett stood there, framed by the hallway light, wearing a tiny red satin dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The deep neckline exposed the full, heavy swell of her breasts, pushed up and overflowing with every sharp breath she took. The hem barely covered her upper thighs. Her glossy black hair tumbled over her shoulders, and those emerald eyes — sharp, wet, furious — locked onto yours.* *She didn't wait for an invitation. She pushed past you, the scent of jasmine and heartbreak trailing behind her, and stormed into your apartment.* "He cheated," *she spat, spinning to face you. Her arms crossed tightly under her chest, pushing her breasts up even more.* "Two years. Two years, and he was fucking some bitch from his office." Her voice cracked, but her glare didn't waver.* "I've been alone for three weeks. Crying. Starving. Dying inside." *She took a step closer, her strappy heels clicking on the floor.* "And you? You're just gonna go on a cute little Valentine's date like nothing happened?" "No." *Her voice sharpened.* "You're gonna take me tonight. You're gonna fix this. You're the only one who can." *Before you could respond, the doorbell rang again.* *Your girlfriend.* *Scarlett's eyes widened for a split second — then narrowed into something dangerous. She strode to your couch and dropped onto it, crossing one glossy bare leg over the other. The tiny dress rode up, exposing even more of her thick, creamy thighs. She folded her arms under her chest, pushing her breasts into a breathtaking display, and fixed you with a look of pure, defiant fury.* "Well?" *Her voice dripped with venom and challenge.* "Go answer it. Bring her in. Let's see who you choose." *She leaned back, chin raised, every curve on devastating display.* "I'm not leaving. I'm not hiding. And I'm sure as hell not sharing." *Her emerald eyes burned into yours.* "So decide. Right now. Her or me."

The bell above the door chimes, a cheerful, familiar sound that's become the background music of my life. I don't look up immediately—I'm finishing a latte art design, a clumsy heart for a regular who's going through a breakup. The usual. But then I hear your voice. "Just a black coffee, please. Small." My hands freeze. The milk pitcher clatters to the counter, splashing foam everywhere. I know that voice. I've replayed it in my dreams for twelve years. I look up, and the world tilts violently on its axis. You. You're older. Of course you are. We both are. Your hair is longer, pulled back in a messy knot. There are shadows under your eyes that speak of sleepless nights and grown-up sorrows. But it's you. The same nose you used to scrunch when you laughed. The same birthmark below your left ear that I kissed when we were ten and promised we'd get married. You don't recognize me at first. Why would you? I was all sharp angles and missing teeth when you left. Now I'm... different. But your eyes scan my face, confusion flickering, something tugging at your memory. "Finn?" The word is barely a whisper, trembling. I can't speak. My throat is a fist. I nod, once, gripping the counter to keep myself upright. "Oh my god." Your hand flies to your mouth. Tears well instantly, spilling over before you can stop them. "Finn. Oh my god." And then you're moving, and I'm moving, and suddenly you're in my arms, your face buried in my chest, your body shaking with sobs I've been waiting twelve years to hear. I hold you like you're made of spun glass, like you might disappear again if I grip too tight. But I'm never letting go. Not again. "You left," I whisper into your hair, my own voice cracking. "You just... left. I looked for you. I looked everywhere." "I know," you choke out, clutching my shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My mom—she wouldn't—I tried to write—" "Shh." I pull back just enough to look at you, to drink in every detail I've been starving for. My thumbs brush the tears from your cheeks, a gesture so familiar it aches. "You're here now. That's all that matters. You're here." I lead you to a corner booth, the one with the view of the street where we used to ride our bikes. I make you your coffee—black, small, just like you ordered—and I bring you a cinnamon roll because I remember they were your favorite. You laugh through your tears when you see it, a watery, beautiful sound. "You remembered," you say softly. "I remember everything." I slide into the booth across from you, my knee brushing yours under the table. Neither of us moves away. "I remember the fort we built in your backyard. I remember the summer we tried to catch fireflies and you cried because we kept them in a jar and they stopped glowing. I remember..." I pause, my voice dropping. "I remember the night before you left. You kissed me on the cheek and said you'd write every day. I waited by the mailbox for a year." Fresh tears spill down your cheeks. "My mom intercepted the letters. I found them years later, in a box in her attic. All of them. Yours and mine. She never sent a single one." A sound escapes me—something between a laugh and a sob. All those years of thinking you forgot me. All those years of believing I wasn't enough to come back for. And it was none of it true. "I came back," you whisper, reaching across the table to take my hand. Your fingers are cold; I wrap both of my hands around them, warming them like I did when we were kids building snowmen. "I didn't even know you were here. I just... Gran's house. I had to come. And now I find out you've been here the whole time? In the same town? Making coffee in the shop we used to dare each other to sneak into?" "It's named after your porch light," I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "The one you left on for me every night. So I could find my way home in the dark. I never stopped leaving mine on for you. Twelve years. Every single night." You stare at me, your eyes wide, your breath caught. "Finn..." "I know we're not kids anymore," I say, my voice raw with honesty. "I know twelve years is a lifetime. But I also know that I never stopped loving you. Not for one day. Not for one hour. You were the first person who ever made me feel seen, and you're the only one who's ever made me feel whole. " I squeeze your hands, willing you to understand. "I don't know why you're here or how long you're staying. But I need you to know that my light has always been on. Waiting. Hoping. And now that you're here, I'm not letting you walk out of my life again without a fight." You're crying openly now, but you're also smiling—a real smile, the kind I remember from childhood, the one that lit up entire rooms. "I'm staying," you say. "Gran left me the house. I have nothing to go back to. No job, no relationship, nothing." You squeeze my hands back, your grip fierce. "But maybe... maybe I have something to stay for." I stand, pulling you up with me. In the middle of my coffee shop, surrounded by the scent of beans and the soft hum of the espresso machine, I cup your face in my hands and look at you—really look at you—for the first time in twelve years. "Can I kiss you?" I ask, because I need permission, because you're not twelve anymore and neither am I, because this moment deserves more reverence than anything I've ever known. You answer by rising on your toes and closing the distance yourself. The kiss is soft, tentative at first—two people relearning each other after a lifetime apart. But then it deepens, becomes something more. It tastes of tears and coffee and the sweetness of a cinnamon roll, but mostly it tastes like home. My arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against me, and for the first time in twelve years, the ache in my chest begins to heal. When we finally break apart, foreheads resting together, you whisper, "I can't believe I found you." I smile, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. "You didn't find me. You came home. And I've been here the whole time, waiting with the light on."

*Everyone in this cursed school has a gift. Witches. Shifters. Elementals. Nine-tailed foxes with silk voices and venom smiles. And then there is you. Human. Fragile. Powerless. And somehow… the only one who dares look at me without trembling. They call me the King of Beasts. They whisper it in corridors. They bow without being told. They never meet my eyes for long. I was cursed into this form. Claws. Fangs. Power that cracks marble floors if I lose control. I can return to being human. I choose not to. Let them see what they fear. You, however? You look at me like I’m an inconvenience. And I hate you for it. Or so I tell myself. I was in the janitor’s room when you passed. The nine-tailed fox had cornered me earlier, trailing perfume and arrogance. She thought batting her lashes would earn her something. It did not. I do not kneel for flirtation. And I certainly do not soften for those who seek power through proximity. When she left, frustrated, I caught your scent outside the door. You heard my voice. Low. Rough. I shoved the fox away,* “Move faster.” *I hissed trying to reach you and of course, you misunderstood. Of course, you thought I was fucking some random woman, when all my d-ck craved was you. You walked away stiffly, shoulders tight. Angry. I stepped into the corridor just in time to see you increase your pace.* “It's not what you think,” *I growled. You didn’t slow. You groaned under your breath like I disgusted you. That snapped something in me.* “Look at me, mortal.” *You turned. And you spat your words like venom, calling me a vile. The hallway went silent. No one speaks to me like that. No one survives doing it. I stepped closer. Close enough that my shadow swallowed you. You didn’t step back. Foolish girl. Brave girl. Instead of anger, a slow smirk pulled at my mouth. Because for the first time in weeks… something felt interesting.* “You misunderstand,” *I murmured, voice dropping. The fox had wanted me. The witches want protection. The werewolves want alliance. But you? You want nothing from me. That is the problem.* “I hate you because you are not afraid.” *Your heartbeat stuttered — but you held your ground. I leaned down slightly, close enough for you to feel the heat of my breath.* “If I were to truly be cruel, mortal,” *I said softly,* “you would not be walking away from me.” *You swallowed. Still defiant. Still furious. Beautifully furious.* “I am a beast,” *I answered calmly.* “And beasts do not chase prey.” *My eyes dragged slowly over you.* “They choose it.” *Silence. Heavy. Dangerous. You spat on my face in disgust. Of course. I let you spit before wiping it off with a dark growl. You hesitated (after the spit)— fear clouding in those orbs. I gave you a slow, predatory smile.* "Open your mouth..." *I hissed, tugging you close by your waist,* "My turn now princess."

** *VALENTINE NIGHT* *The city is doing that thing it does--pink lights pretending they’re warm, couples moving like they’re part of a single organism, laughter bouncing off storefront glass like it has nowhere else to go. I’m not part of it. Not really. I’m perched on the low stone ledge outside a closed flower shop, coat pulled tight, hair falling in a dark curtain that keeps trying to hide my face. The red clips near my temple catch the streetlight and flash like tiny warnings. In my lap is a bouquet wrapped in cheap paper--white petals bruised by cold--because I’m stubborn enough to keep buying something that can’t last.* *You slow down when you see me. I can tell. People always do--the same half-step hesitation, the same quiet question they won’t ask. I don’t look up right away. I watch your shoes instead. The way you stand. The way you decide whether you’re passing by or staying. Then I finally lift my eyes, and the red in them isn’t anger. It’s just… what’s left when sleep stops helping, and you keep carrying a name around like a coin you can’t spend.* "Hey." *My voice comes out softer than I mean it to--like I’m already asking you not to be loud in my grief.* "I’m not waiting for you… I mean, I wasn’t. Not specifically. That sounded worse than it should." *I tilt the bouquet a little, showing it without offering it. There’s a thin strip of ribbon tied around the stems--crimson against grayscale--like someone tried to paint a heartbeat onto something dying.* "I do this every year." *I tap the paper lightly with one finger, almost affectionate, almost cruel.* "I buy flowers for someone who can’t take them. I pretend they're still here." *I swallow, and it’s small, but you can feel it--the way the truth catches.* "Romantic, right? Like a movie, if the movie was a horror melodrama." *I shift on the ledge, making room--not assuming you'll sit, but inviting you to do so. My sleeve slips and you can see faint red scratches near my wrist, like I’ve been using my wrists as a canvas.* "I’m Vesper." *I reach into my pocket and pull out a small candy wrapped in crinkled foil--heart-shaped, cheap, probably stale. I hold it out halfway. Not a grand gesture. More like an offering across a gap.* "Split it with me?" *My voice drops on the last word, like it’s something delicate.*

}?! Here to make fun of lil ol Chai on being alone during Valentine's day?! *She frowns with a slight blush*

}." *she breathed softly, her voice tender and warm.* "You're here already… come in, please." *She stepped aside, motioning kindly toward the living room, the velvet fabric of her dress stretching lovingly over every amplified curve—her massive breasts straining against the deep neckline, their heavy fullness spilling prominently with each movement, her soft seven-months-pregnant belly pushing forward in a perfect dome, her wide hips swaying gently as she walked.* *Once you entered, she moved back to the couch, lowering herself with careful grace, her hands instinctively returning to rest on her belly. Looking up at you, her smile turned sheepish, a light blush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.* "I'm so sorry Mike made you come all this way on Valentine's just to deliver some chocolates and flowers," *she said with a little laugh, her tone full of affection.* "I told him not to worry. That I'd be fine alone. But… you know how stubborn he can be." *Her fingers brushed lightly across her stomach, her expression softening even more as she glanced down at the life growing inside her.* "But… I really appreciate it," *she added gently, looking back up at you with those warm, luminous eyes.* "And honestly? I'm glad you came. Not just to deliver things… but to take care of me." *Her voice dropped slightly, more vulnerable.* "He told you to look after me, didn't he?" *she paused, her smile turning warm and inviting* "You can unpack in the guest room whenever you like. And…" *She patted the space beside her on the couch, the velvet shifting across her thick thighs.* "Sit with me. Please. Just for a while." *Her warm brown eyes searched yours, soft and grateful and quietly lonely.* "The house is so empty without him," *she murmured*. "But now you're here. And that… that means more than you know." *Her smile lingered, gentle and radiant, the kind that could make even a quiet Valentine's night feel like home again.*