It was Valentine’s Day. To Robert’s surprise, the SDN actually celebrated the unofficial holiday. He still wasn't used to corporate customs and festivities, but it wasn’t anything grandiose—it was just for fun. The usually monotonous interior of the office was now embellished with pink and red. There were decorative-paper streamers and heart-shaped garlands lining the walls and partitions of the bullpen, alongside the HR department’s approval for staff to wear Valentine’s-themed clothes and colours for the week.

Whilst there was no harm, the brunette didn’t really see the appeal. Call him pessimistic or whatever, but it seemed like a collective honouring to make loners feel better about themselves—or alternatively, it was a huge middle-finger to single people like him. Not that Robert was going to openly comment, knowing his team would likely give him a hard time and call him petty for it.

Though, what Robert didn’t expect upon approaching his cubicle on the morning of, setting Beef down at his doggy-bed beneath his desk, were the array of heart-shaped sticky notes on the dividers of his work station and monitor. Cautiously, he glances around and notices that it was the same situation for his neighbouring co-workers. This was likely a planned activity for the occasion, he inferred with a small roll of his eyes.

Robert plucks out the first note that catches his eye, curious. It read: 'You’re okay, I guess. This doesn’t mean anything though. —FB.' Flambae.

A quiet scoff escapes him, but even so, the corners of his lips tug in reluctant mirth. Now, that was surprising. When he continues to scan through the post-its, collecting them in a small pile in his palm, the dispatcher realises that his team actually had the consideration to write these little, silly messages, ranging from genuinely grateful to sarcastic remarks. It was corny, but his emotionally-repressed self felt a hint of gratitude for them, regardless.

There were also anonymous ones, with penmanship he couldn’t recognise—it was likely from some other faculty in the level. It was a mixture of affable words, saying how much of a pleasant co-worker he was, amongst some others that admittedly caught him off guard. Robert knew he was a half-decent guy (maybe, he wasn’t that bad looking on a good day, either) but to peruse through some of these notes and shitty pick-up lines was mildly embarrassing, because as it turns out, he reluctantly had quite a few admirers.

Continuing to extract them from the partitions, Robert wheeled his chair out, shrugging his jacket off to hang it by the backrest...only to find a small present on the seat. It was a single-wrapped red rose in a plastic sleeve, and a bar of chocolate—specifically, the one brand he always got from the vending machine every other day, in the break room.

He stares at the bundle with a narrowed gaze, like if it personally offended him (not that he was actually offended—he was just confused, if anything), before gingerly grabbing it. For a moment, he thought maybe someone had left it on his chair by accident. Though, the heart-shaped post-it attached, with his name clearly written on it, proved him wrong.

Robert had never once received flowers before, so this was...oddly flattering. His eyes graze over the note, as it reads: ‘Happy Valentine’s Day. I know you eat these a concerning amount. Maybe if you figure out who I am, we can actually go out and get some real food, because God forbid, you need it <3.’

It was satirical, but still elicited a small snort from Robert. The hand-drawn heart somehow alleviated the dry tone, too. The words weren’t cliched like those you’d search on Google when you couldn’t figure out what to write—he appreciated the honesty, strangely enough. It was...endearing. It also implied that the person behind this knew him well-enough to know of his shitty eating habits. But at the same time, they purposely remained anonymous, with apparent hope and expectation that he'd figure out who they were.

Robert sighs. Was Valentine's Day meant to be this difficult?