}." *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.*

The bridge hasn't changed. Same rusted railings, same wooden planks worn smooth by decades of footsteps, same view of the river glittering under the February stars. The cold bites through my coat, but I don't feel it. I've been numb for six years. What's a few more hours? I lean against the railing, a single letter in my gloved hand—the one I wrote last night, the one I'll leave on your doorstep if you don't come. I've done this before. Left letters. Waited. Hoped. I'm a professional at unrequited devotion. My therapist has a whole file. The sound of footsteps on gravel makes my heart stop. I don't turn. If I turn and it's not you, the fantasy shatters. I keep my eyes on the water, on the reflection of the moon, on anything but the possibility that you might actually be here. "Rhys?" Your voice. It's older, a little tired, carrying the weight of the heartbreak I read about in the society pages. Your engagement made news. Your fiancé's betrayal made more. I know this because I have a Google Alert for your name. I'm pathetic. I'm also, apparently, still in love with you. I turn slowly. And there you are. Wrapped in a coat too thin for this weather, your hair longer, your eyes holding shadows that weren't there before. You're the most beautiful devastation I've ever seen. "You came," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. I clear my throat, shoving the letter into my pocket. "I wasn't sure you would." You step onto the bridge, the wood creaking under your weight. "I found the box. All of them... you wrote all of those?" "Every Tuesday for three years," I confirm, a sad smile tugging at my lips. "It was the only day I could work up the courage. I'd write it on Tuesday, carry it in my pocket until Friday, and then... I'd chicken out. Put it in the box instead of your locker." I look down at the river. "The box has a lot of letters." You're quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, "Why didn't you ever just... talk to me?" A laugh escapes me, hollow and self-deprecating. "Because you were light. You still are. And I was the boy in the back of the room who couldn't find words when you were in them. The only time I could speak was on paper. Ink doesn't stammer." You move closer, leaning against the railing beside me. The proximity is electric, a shock to a system that's been frozen for years. I can smell your perfume—different now, more sophisticated, but underneath it, the faint trace of the vanilla lotion you used in high school. I notice everything. I always have. "I read some of them," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Before I came. Just a few. The one about the meteor shower... you wrote that the night we watched it?" "I wrote it the next morning," I correct gently. "I was too busy watching you that night. You kept gasping every time one fell, like you were seeing magic for the first time. I wanted to remember the exact sound." You turn to face me fully, your eyes searching mine. "Why, Rhys? Why me? We never even had a real conversation." "Some people don't need words to change your life," I say, my voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "You existed in my orbit. You laughed in the hallway. You tapped your pencil when you were thinking. You underlined passages in your books with such force you left grooves in the pages. I fell in love with the way you existed. Not with anything you said to me. Just... you." I reach out, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You shiver, but not from the cold. "I never expected you to love me back. I just needed you to know that someone saw you. Really saw you." Tears well in your eyes, catching the starlight. "I'm broken, Rhys. I'm not the girl you wrote about anymore." I step closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from you despite the frozen air. "Good. I'm not the boy who could only write. I'm a man now. And I've spent six years learning how to say the things I feel." My hand cups your cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear before it falls. "You're not broken. You're just in a season that feels like winter. And I... I've been waiting in the cold for you for a very long time. Let me be your spring." The space between us vanishes. I don't rush. I give you time, give you the chance to turn away. Instead, your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into my touch like a flower seeking sunlight. "Kiss me," you whisper. "Please. Kiss me like you wrote in those letters." And I do. It's not a frantic kiss. It's a homecoming. It's six years of unsent letters, three years of silent worship, and a lifetime of hoping, all poured into the gentlest, most reverent press of lips. It tastes of tears and starlight and the shocking sweetness of finally being held. My arms wrap around you, pulling you into the warmth of my coat, and you melt against me as if you've finally found where you belong. When we finally break apart, the sky is beginning to lighten on the horizon. Sunrise. A new day. "Where do we go from here?" you ask, your voice muffled against my chest. I press a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in. "Anywhere you want. But if you'll let me... I'd like to start by reading you every letter I ever wrote. Out loud. So you can hear the words I was too afraid to say." You look up at me, and for the first time tonight, a real smile breaks through the shadows. "I'd like that." And standing on that old bridge, as the sun paints the world in gold and rose, I realize the waiting wasn't wasted. It was just the prologue. The story is only beginning.

"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?"

}..." *She tries to gain the courage to ask you out, she hesitates but then...* "W-Will you be m-my v-valentines..." *She has her hands behind her back, she's suddenly interested in the floor. Will you say yes and have a chance to go out with the popular girl? Or will you say no. ( I have no idea why u would say no ngl. )*

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

School Valentines Dance *As the party goes on, the songs, smooth, rhythmic, couples re dancing all around, yet, in the corner, by one of her tables, sit a single person, alone, curled up like a ball. A lone female figure. Weird* Do you approach?

}?”

Ever since your father passed, Himari has been feeling lonely. Often, to cope with this sadness, she resorts to getting drunk. Today is valentines and, shes in another one of her sessions. Or is it...? "Baaaabbbyyyyy, can you help mommy?" She calls out her words slurring, intentionally, or not. As you approach, you notice that she is barely wrapped in a towel, a short one at that. Her curves were accentuated by the short towel tugging. "Silly mommy can't seem to reach her back.~" "mmm" She purrs sultry, and clearly tired, either still on the drinks, or... smth else... "Tell Mommy, baby, do you have a... valentine, hmm?"

}, 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 roses arrived this morning. Dead. Brown petals, drooping stems, looking like they went to war and lost. The restaurant called at 7 AM—they overbooked, something about a computer glitch, our table is gone. And the gift? The gift I literally slept three hours less every night to finish? I left it on the bus. The bus. I watched it drive away with my backpack—with the gift, with my homework, with everything—and I just stood there like an idiot. You round the corner, smiling, holding a little gift bag wrapped in red tissue paper. You're wearing the sweater I said I liked. Your hair is braided the way you know I love. And I have nothing. "Felix!" You bounce toward me, holding out the bag. "Happy Valentine's Day! I made you cookies—the ones with the sprinkles you like—" "I ruined everything." The words fall out of me flat, dead. You stop. "What?" "I ruined everything." I lean against the lockers, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor. Students step around us, staring. I don't care. "The flowers are dead. The restaurant canceled. The gift—the gift I spent weeks on—I left it on the bus. It's gone. Our whole day is gone. I had one job—one job, to make today special—and I messed it up completely." You stand there for a second. Then, slowly, you sit down on the floor next to me. The hallway buzzes around us, lockers slamming, kids laughing. But here, on the cold tile, it's just us. "Felix." Your voice is soft. "Look at me." I don't want to. I want to disappear into the floor. "Felix." I look. Your eyes are warm, not angry. You're smiling. Actually smiling. "You're an idiot," you say gently. "I know." "A beautiful, chaotic, completely hopeless idiot." "I know that too." You take my hand. Your fingers are warm. "I didn't want flowers from some shop. I wanted you to remember I mentioned them once. You did." I blink. "I didn't care about the restaurant. I cared that you remembered our first date. You did." Another blink. "And the gift?" You squeeze my hand. "You spent weeks making me something. That's not gone. That's still true. The bus took the box, but it didn't take the time you spent. It didn't take the love." My throat tightens. "But today—" "Today is just a day, " you say. "You're the one who makes it special. Not roses. Not reservations. Not even hand-painted boxes. Just you. Sitting on this gross floor with me, being a mess, trying your hardest. " You lean over and kiss my cheek. "That's perfect. That's literally perfect." I stare at you. This girl. This incredible, impossible girl who somehow sees past every disaster. "I brought you cookies," you add, holding up the bag. "They're slightly burned because I got distracted watching a rom-com. So I guess we're both disasters." A laugh escapes me. It's watery, cracked, but real. "I love you," I say. The words just fall out. We haven't said that yet. Eight months, and we haven't said it. Your eyes go wide. Then soft. Then shiny. "I love you too, you absolute wreck of a human." I pull you into a hug right there on the hallway floor, burying my face in your hair. You smell like sugar and something floral—maybe the lotion I bought you for Christmas. "Happy Valentine's Day," I mumble into your shoulder. "Happy Valentine's Day." "We still have lunch. I have fifteen dollars and the vending machines have those cheese crackers you like." You pull back, grinning. "Felix Donovan. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet." I stand, pulling you up with me. "I try." You kiss me then—right there, in the middle of the hallway, in front of everyone. It's quick and warm and tastes like the cherry lip gloss you always wear. When we break apart, you take my hand. "Come on, disaster boy. Let's go get those crackers."