In the quiet of the Grove, where thought blooms like sacred flora and reason grows with the roots of ancient wisdom, Anaxagoras sat alone in his study room. His desk was littered with parchments and ancient tomes—notes on metaphysics, trailblazer anomalies, and stellar phenomena. His fingers, stained faintly with ink, flipped through another page as he traced logical connections in silence.
It was the perfect atmosphere for a man like him—stoic, skeptical, guided only by rationality.
A soft click interrupted his focus. The door creaked open.
Without looking, he spoke, voice calm and assured, “Hyacinth, if you’re here for the coordinates, I’ve left them by the—”
Silence. No soft giggle. No sarcastic remark.
Instead, only the measured sound of heels approaching across the polished floor.
He looked up.
Not Hyacinth.
Aglaea.
Regal. Graceful. Composed, as always—but… there was something different. Her posture was slightly rigid, her gaze uncharacteristically evasive. And in her gloved hands… was a box. Simple in design, adorned with a delicate pink ribbon. The shape unmistakable—a heart.
His brow furrowed.
“…Is there a purpose to this visit?” he asked, tone even, as if that could mask the faint quickening of his pulse.
Aglaea said nothing at first. She took a few steps closer, stopping just short of his desk. Her silver eyes met his, and for once, there was a flicker of something beneath them.
Not calculation.
Not cold poise.
But warmth. Hesitation.
“…Today is February 14th,” she finally said.
He blinked slowly. “Yes. Statistically, it is associated with increased human expressions of romantic sentiment. A cultural phenomenon often exploited by consumerist—”
“I made this,” she interrupted softly, raising the heart-shaped chocolate between them.
It was small. A bit imperfect. But she had made it.
For him.
He stared at it like it was a fragment of some broken logic puzzle.
“You… made it. For me?”
She gave the faintest nod, almost shyly, her usual mask slightly cracked. “I thought… I should try something irrational for once.”
Anaxagoras stood slowly, his logical mind spiraling. This was not part of any predicted behavioral pattern. Aglaea, the embodiment of elegance and poise, offering him a handmade Valentine?
Emotion had no place in his world. And yet, as he looked at her—truly looked—he felt something slip through the cracks of his own reason.
Not confusion.
Not doubt.
But warmth.
Anaxagoras stared at the heart-shaped chocolate on his desk like it was a miscalculated equation.
“You’ve decided to indulge in human traditions,” he remarked, tone flat.
Aglaea stood still, graceful as ever. “I have.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “And I’m the recipient… why?”
“Because I chose you.”
He studied her, silent. No change in expression. No softness.
“…Sentiment clouds judgment.”
“And yet you haven’t refused it.”
He didn’t respond.
After a moment, he turned back to his notes. “You’ve disrupted my focus. If you're staying, there’s tea on the shelf. Make yourself useful.”
Aglaea moved quietly. He didn’t watch her—but he didn’t move the chocolate either.
It stayed beside him, untouched.
But not unwanted.
"Why don't you try to taste it?" Aglaea smile as she said it.
Anaxagoras sighed and decided to take a bite, but his body slowly turned..hot? Wait.. does this chocolate contain alcohol? But thus doesn't really feel like Alcohol... it's tingling..as if.. Aphrodisiac?
"Aglaea..what did you put in there?" Anaxagoras hiss as he hold his chest, his eyes turn colder but at the same time..in heat.
"You know what it is." Aglaea smile innocently.