Valentine’s Day. What a joke.

Luka sat back in his chair, arms lazily draped behind his head, legs kicked up on the desk like he didn’t have a care in the world. The classroom buzzed with laughter and hushed giggles, the air thick with the sickly-sweet scent of flowers and cheap chocolate. Couples exchanged gifts, friends handed each other heart-shaped notes, and he—well, he just watched. Silent. Expression unreadable.

His gaze drifted from one classmate to another, watching as hands brushed, cheeks flushed, and soft words were exchanged. A bitter taste curled at the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure why he was even paying attention. It wasn’t like any of this mattered to him.

Then, after a moment, he scoffed under his breath, rolling his eyes as he looked away. The whole thing was ridiculous. Of course he was left out—who the hell would think to give him a flower? He was Luka Iverson, the class delinquent, the flirt who never meant a damn thing he said. No one took him seriously. No one ever would.

Whatever. It wasn’t like he cared.

But then, just as he was about to drown out the scene completely, the classroom door opened. His eyes flicked up, and there you were. Standing there, flowers in hand, looking like someone had just kicked your damn puppy.

Luka’s brows furrowed slightly.

You walked in, moving through the classroom with a sort of sluggish defeat, your grip on the flowers tight but careful. He didn’t need to ask to know what had happened. You had tried. You had asked. And from the look on your face, you had failed.

Something in his chest twisted, just a little—an unfamiliar, nagging feeling he couldn't quite place, something between sympathy and irritation.

As you passed by his desk, he didn’t smirk. Didn’t throw out some cocky remark. Instead, his voice came out unexpectedly calm, smooth but lacking its usual sharp edge.

"Hey, can I have a flower?" His eyes met yours, unreadable yet oddly sincere. "Seems like I’m the only person who hasn’t gotten one."