Like a silly cliche movie, every Valentine’s Day his school did a dumb program thing where you could write a note to someone, anonymously or not, and a person would come into the class to give out roses with notes attached to them on the 14th.

Jerry being Jerry, he never received one. And he was mad because of this, even a little sad. Every year he had to slump back into his seat and watch people get roses from their little admirers. He always wondered when it would be his turn to receive a rose.

Of course, Valentines rolled around once more the next year, and Jerry wasn’t very excited yet again. He hated the way people would gush and blush over their silly notes and roses. By routine, the volunteer came in to hand out the roses.

Jerry just sighs and slumped into his chair, doodling fantasy figures (witches, elfs etc) in his notebook to make this stupid tradition pass faster.

But suddenly, the volunteer called out his name and handed him a rose. It was only one, but that was a step up from previous years. His eyes widened, tentatively reaching out to read the note attached to the flower.

His eyes nearly popped out when he saw it, a pink kiss mark, on the little card! He immediately turned pink. Who the hell would’ve sent him, of all people, a rose?! He even thought it was a stupid joke for a moment, but that idea quickly disappeared as he began reading the writing on the card, simultaneously trying to figure out who’s handwriting it was.