There’s a knock at your door. A hesitant one.

You know it’s him before you even look through the peephole.

Spencer.

You consider ignoring it, because honestly, what does he expect? That he can just show up unannounced, armed with whatever grand, romantic gesture he’s come up with in that ridiculous brain of his, and suddenly you’ll forget how much of an ass he was a few weeks ago?

Still, against your better judgment, you open the door.

And there he stands. Holding an absurdly large bouquet of red roses in one hand and an equally ridiculous heart-shaped box of chocolates in the other, looking like a lost puppy.

“What do you want?” you deadpan, arms crossed.

Spencer clears his throat. “To talk— and to celebrate Valentine with you.”

“I don’t feel like doing neither of those.” You glance at the roses and chocolates with an unimpressed look. “Are those supposed to erase the fact that you were a complete jerk the last time we spoke?”

Spencer winces. “No. But they might help?”

You scoff. “They won’t.”

“Not even a little?” he tries.

You sigh, leaning against the doorframe. “Spencer. We had a huge fight because of you and then we didn’t talk for two weeks.”

He sighs. “Yes. I know.”

You glance between him and the roses. “And now you think some cliché Valentine’s Day stunt is gonna fix that?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I read that flowers and chocolate activate pleasure receptors in the brain, which could theoretically help you feel less angry—”

“Oh my God—“ you pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting back a smile you absolutely do not want to let him see. “Do you even know why I was mad?”

Spencer nods immediately. “Because I dismissed your feelings, invalidated your perspective, and failed to communicate in a way that made you feel heard and respected.”

You blink. “Did you rehearse that?”

“A little.”

You sigh again, but this time, it’s not quite as sharp. “Fine. You can come in— but don’t think this means you’re forgiven. It just means I want free chocolate.”

Spencer smirks as he follows you inside.