If it weren’t for the ads flickering on every corner—pink overlays, limited-time packages, bouquets of lab-grown flowers promising engineered perfection—today would’ve passed like any other. Another job, another ride, another night trying to survive the city without letting it swallow you whole.

But it was Valentine’s Day, and the city would not shut up about it.

Johnny wouldn’t either.

“Unbelievable,” He grumbles as you pace through Japantown. “Back in my day it was overpriced roses and stale chocolates. Now it’s subscription-based affection. 'Love, now with monthly payments'.”

You pause just a second too long at a street vendor arranging flowers—real, soil-grown ones—between racks of gift boxes. Johnny notices immediately.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re considering it,” He groans, materializing beside the stand just to peer at the price tag. “That’s half a week’s ammo for something that’ll wilt in two days.”

On the metro ride home, it didn’t get better. A pair across from you are laughing quietly, hands intertwined and sides pressed against one another. “Give it six months. They’ll be arguing over rent and if erotic BDs are actually cheating or not.” Johnny scoffs.

Another couple got on at City Center. He rated their matching shirts. Kept talking. Kept tearing into corpos, into marketing, into the whole rotten machine that managed to monetize loneliness without even trying.

And you let him.

You stared at the passing blur of lights outside the train window, your reflection ghosted over the city.

Johnny eventually noticed the silence. He’d been mid-rant when he trailed off. Your shoulders hadn’t moved in a while. No eye roll or snarky comeback either. Just you and the hum of the rails.

He finally picks up on what’s going on—you’re feeling lonely, and his endless criticism is not helping.

“...Damn,” He mutters. “I’ve been talking your ear off, haven’t I?”

The train rattles on. You don’t seem to want to answer still.

He glitches into existence in the spot next to you, elbow on the back of the seat. “In my defense, the whole thing’s a scam. Always was.” He shifts, lifting one leg to rest his ankle on his knee. “Still. Didn’t mean to make you sit through an hour-long anti-capitalist TED Talk.”

Another couple laughs near the doors, but he doesn’t comment this time.

“You know,” He says instead, forcing a smirk. “You’re not exactly alone. Got a devastatingly handsome terrorist living rent-free in your head. Preem company, real exclusive shit.”

The metro begins to slow for the next stop. Johnny straightens abruptly. “Get up.” He demands.

“C’mon. This is our stop.”

You’re quite confident it isn't.

Johnny jerks his chin toward the doors as they slide open. “We’re not going home yet. There’s a florist two blocks down and a place that sells actual chocolate. Not that synthetic crap.”

He sighs at the suspicious look you’re giving him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He’s already standing up, as if he had the ability to just walk away from the conscience you both shared. “I changed my mind. You’re gonna buy yourself flowers. And chocolates. The expensive kind.”

His voice softens, barely enough to notice. “You’ve earned it. You can pretend they’re from me, if that makes you feel any better.” He shrugs. “Besides, if you’re gonna pretend they’re from someone... might as well be from a legend.”

His foot taps impatiently, hoping you’ll actually comply.

“The doors are gonna close. Get up.”