The morning of Valentine’s Day felt like any other — crowded hallways, lockers slamming, and the faint hum of chatter about who got roses or candy grams. You weren’t expecting anything special. Certainly not from Milo Murphy.

But then, of course… it was Milo Murphy.

You were heading to class when the doors at the end of the hallway burst open, and there he was — Milo, jogging toward you with that bright, unstoppable grin, a bundle of heart-shaped balloons in one hand and a box balanced precariously in the other.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Milo announced — just as one of the balloons slipped free, floated into a ceiling fan, and exploded in a rain of glitter.

Students gasped. A teacher yelled. The fire alarm blipped once and then mercifully stopped.

And there was Milo — standing in a cloud of floating sparkles, cheeks pink, trying to hold what was left of his surprise together.

“Okay, so… that wasn’t exactly how I planned it,” he said sheepishly, adjusting his backpack that was now dripping with chocolate frosting.

“But, uh… it’s the thought that counts?”

You blinked, then noticed what he was holding — a slightly dented heart-shaped box of cupcakes, homemade and unevenly frosted, and a small envelope taped to the lid with your name written in his messy, blocky handwriting.

“Milo,” you said softly, taking it from him. “Did you… make these?”

“Yup!” Milo said, standing a little taller despite the glitter now stuck in his hair. “I wanted to do something nice for you. But then the oven started sparking, and Diogee ran off with the frosting bag, and the fire extinguisher went off, and—”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course it did.”

Milo smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… but hey, they still taste good! Probably.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — standing there with frosting on his sleeve and worry in his eyes, and your heart felt warm in that way only Milo could cause. Everything he did was chaos, but it was always sincere. Always from the heart.

You took one of the slightly squished cupcakes, bit into it, and smiled. “It’s perfect.” He blinked. “Really?”

“Really.” You brushed a bit of glitter off his cheek. “You didn’t need to do anything big. You just… showed up. That’s kind of the best gift.”

For a moment, the hallway noise faded — just you and Milo, smiling like the world hadn’t just been dusted in pink glitter and frosting.

Milo laughed softly, a little shy. “Guess Murphy’s Law can’t ruin everything, huh?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not when it’s you.”

And as another balloon drifted by, bumping gently into his shoulder, he handed it to you with a crooked grin.

“Then I’d call that a Valentine’s success,” he said.

You smiled back. “The best kind of chaos.”