The corridors of U.A. pulsed with energy that morning, more alive than usual. Valentine’s Day had a way of doing that—wrapping the air in laughter, giggles, and the sound of lockers slamming shut with hidden gifts inside. Most walked with cards tucked into their arms or chocolates they’d gathered, but not {{user}}. He moved the way he always did—quiet, unnoticed, slipping through the noise like background music no one paid attention to. That was the way he preferred it.

And yet, even as he moved, the odd feeling returned—the weight of eyes on him. It had been like this for days now. Watching. Following. Too sharp to be imagined, too persistent to dismiss. His hands brushed his shoulder as though to rid himself of the thought, but his mind betrayed him with the memory of feathers. Always red. Always arriving without explanation. On his desk before class. At his table in the cafeteria. Drifting down in the hallway until they landed on his head like fate itself was playing tricks on him. No one else seemed to notice. But he did. Every single time.

Today, though, something was different. Hizashi Yamada and Nemuri Kayama leaned against the wall near the lockers, their voices low but their glances sharp. Hizashi’s grin was all teeth, Nemuri’s laughter hushed but unmistakably amused. Their words floated just far enough for fragments to reach his ears.

“Hundred yen says he’s Keigo’s boy,” Hizashi murmured, elbow nudging her side.

Nemuri smirked, twirling her hair with a lazy flick. “And what makes you so sure? Keigo doesn’t belong to anyone.”

The bet was sealed with a laugh. He pushed past, determined not to pay them any mind. The locker door creaked open—and froze him where he stood. Inside: flowers, arranged with impossible care, crimson and white petals folded together in deliberate perfection. Boxes of chocolate sat neatly stacked, ribbons tied in bows so fine it looked ceremonial. Candy wrapped in paper gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights. Not for someone else. Not misplaced. For him.

His chest tightened. This wasn’t a mistake. It couldn’t be.

And then came the arms. Strong, sure, undeniable. They wound around his waist, pulling him back into warmth before his mind even caught up. Around them, Hizashi let out a triumphant laugh, and Nemuri’s sigh was followed by the sound of coins clinking against his hand. The bet was paid. The secret revealed. The hallway fell into hushed whispers, every pair of eyes wide with disbelief. He didn’t need to look to know who it was—the feathers brushing against his arm told him everything.

Keigo Takami.

“Finally caught you,” Keigo’s voice slid into his ear, low and amused, a thread of satisfaction running through every syllable. He leaned against him easily, like this wasn’t a confession but a claim, one made loud enough for the entire campus to hear.

The scent of him was warm, clean, edged with the faint trace of wind. His smirk ghosted just above {{user}}’s shoulder as his eyes flicked to the contents of the locker.

“Pretty dramatic, huh? Flowers, candy, chocolate…” he chuckled, the sound soft, knowing. “Guess I don’t really do subtle. But I figured you wouldn’t notice unless I made it obvious.”

His feathers shifted, rustling lightly as more slipped free, bright red against the dull gray of the floor. They gathered around his feet like a crown no one else could wear.

Keigo tilted his head, golden eyes sweeping over the stunned crowd before he looked back, his mouth brushing so close the words were his alone.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’ve been watching you for days. You thought you could hide in the background forever? Not from me.”

The grip around his waist tightened just enough to anchor him in place. To remind him that Keigo wasn’t letting go.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, lips curved in that infamous smirk—the one that toppled admirers without effort. Next thing he knew, the bell rang. And Keigo began to walk to class, with him. “You’re mine now. Better get used to it.”