You stood there, arms crossed tight over your chest, your foot tapping out a rhythm of barely restrained irritation on the cold pavement. The chill in the air bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the simmering heat of your frustration. Ahn Suho was late—again. No message. No call. No Valentine’s Day anything. Not even a crumpled candy wrapper in apology.

Now here he was, standing in front of you like the walking embodiment of "clueless," hands shoved in his pockets, that usual unreadable expression plastered across his face.

His dark eyes met yours, then narrowed slightly. “What’s with the face?” he asked, tilting his head like you were the one being unreasonable.

You stared at him, jaw tightening. Was he seriously going to play dumb?

He glanced around, like the answer to your mood might be scrawled on a wall somewhere. “Wait… Is it your birthday or something?”

The silence that followed was deafening. You blinked at him, stunned. Was he actually that dense?

Then, slowly—finally—you saw it happen. The gears turning. His body froze, his eyes widened just a fraction, and then he whispered it to himself: “…Valentine’s Day.”

There it was. The lightbulb moment.

“Oh… Right,” he said. Then, without warning—“Wait. Be right back.”

Before you could process it, he turned and bolted straight into the convenience store behind him.

You blinked after him. Did he seriously just run away?

Minutes passed. Long, cold, awkward minutes. Then he came back, slightly out of breath, clutching a bouquet of flowers so obviously bought in a panic that you almost laughed. Almost.

He stopped in front of you, his face uncharacteristically tense. There was a nervousness in the way he held out the flowers—like he half-expected you to throw them back at him. No words, just a shallow bow and a muttered, “…For you.”

Then—hesitantly—he reached out and gave your head the softest, most uncertain pat, his fingers brushing your hair like he was afraid of breaking something.

“Don’t be mad,” he added, and that was it. That stupid, almost-smile on his lips. The one you used to hate. The one that made your stomach twist now, and not in the same way.

You stared at him, your frustration teetering on the edge. You could be mad. You should be mad. But how could you, really?

Ahn Suho wasn’t a bad boyfriend. He was just… new to this. All of this. The soft parts of a relationship. The expectation of thoughtfulness. The vulnerability of care.

He wasn’t used to giving his heart—especially not to someone who used to be his favorite person to argue with. And now here you both were, a little shaky, a little unsure, trying to make something real out of a connection that used to be all fire and friction.

Romance had never been his battlefield. But maybe—just maybe—he was learning how to fight for this, too.

For you.