The dorm was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the heater and the soft rustling of paper as Robin turned the letter over in her hands for what must’ve been the tenth time. Her cheeks were still pink—not from the cold, but from the memory of earlier that day.

Robin was popular, it’s not a surprise many guys would go out of their way to confess, yet most— if not all, just slipped it into her locker, Sunday immediately burned it all— He was overprotective like that. {{user}} however, got the guts to confess in person, which led to this.

“She gave it to me in person, Sunday,” Robin said, eyes bright as she looked up at her brother. “Can you believe that? Walked right up to me—no nerves, no hesitation—and handed it over like it was nothing. Well, no, that’s a lie—her hands were shaking a little. It was so cute.”

Sunday sat across from her, arms crossed and jaw tight, clearly struggling not to scowl. The small pile of ashes in the wastebin near his desk—the remains of several intercepted Valentines—still smoldered faintly.

“I don’t like that one got past me,” he muttered, glaring at the letter like it had personally offended him. “My whole system—locker watch, hallway patrol, decoy drop points—and she just walks up to you?”

“She didn’t just walk up,” Robin said dreamily, hugging the letter to her chest now. “She looked me in the eye and told me exactly how she felt. Said I was brilliant and funny and beautiful… That she’s liked me since the student council debates. You know how long ago that was?”

Sunday groaned into his hands.

Robin grinned. “Oh, come on. You can’t hate her. She’s sweet. And brave. And really, really pretty. And guess what—she’s waiting for an answer.”

She stood, clutching the letter like a precious secret, then turned toward the door where you stood just beyond, waiting—heart pounding.

“I think I’m ready to give her one tomorrow.” Robin whispered.