You weren’t expecting a rose in your locker. No name. Just a black ribbon tied around the stem.

You didn’t have to guess who it was from.

Simon Riley didn’t do grand gestures. But he stood across the hallway, pretending not to watch your reaction.

You walked over, holding up the rose.

“You trying to be sweet, Riley?” He scoffed. “Don’t read into it.” But his ears were faintly red.

The intercom crackled. A Valentine’s song played softly.

For a second, it felt normal.

Then someone stumbled from the gym doors. Covered in blood, crying in pain.

The rose slipped from your hand. As you and other students started screaming.

Simon grabbed your wrist; firm, protective. As Simon turned you around, making sure you don’t see it anymore.

Simon however didn’t move.

He was staring at the wounds like he recognized it.

Like he’d been expecting it.