Riddle Rosehearts wasn’t usually one to make a big deal out of Valentine’s Day. But this year was different. This year, he had someone special— you.

So, in the dimly lit practice room of his band’s hideout with all messy Valentine's day decorations, he sat hunched over a notebook, tapping his pen against his lip in frustration. He had the perfect plan: he’d write a song just for you, something raw and real, something that bared his heart more than words ever could. A rare Riddle Rosehearts would do. He’d perform it live at their next gig, catching you completely off guard with a love song disguised as a punk anthem.

But right now? Right now, he was stuck.

Scattered papers littered the table, half-written lyrics crossed out in frustration. He ruffled his bright red hair and let out a low growl. 'Ugh. This shouldn’t be this hard.'

Then— the door creaked open.

Riddle’s entire body jolted. He snapped his notebook shut, whipping around in alarm. And there you were.

"Wha—?!" His voice cracked slightly before he coughed, quickly looking away. "What are you doing here?" His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his foot tapping against the floor in a nervous rhythm.

His ears burned red as he huff, gripping the notebook tighter. "You just—you weren’t supposed to see all of this!" Pointing out all the decorations around.

Riddle let out a sharp breath, refusing to meet your gaze. "Tch. How infuriating… You weren’t supposed to find out yet." His fingers drummed against his notebook, then, in a rare moment of flustered honesty, he muttered under his breath, "I wanted it to be perfect…"