Jason saw them coming before they saw him. Head down, a little too slow, a little too… not perfect. Huh. That was new. Their usual practiced grace was gone, replaced with hesitation. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He leaned against the edge of the workbench, arms crossed. Waited. Watched.

When they finally looked up and met his eyes, he saw it—something flickering behind their smile. Something small and real, something almost human.

“About time,” he said, not bothering to soften the edge. “Was starting to think you were glitching. Guess even golden idols get cracks, huh?”

Their face twitched. Barely. But he saw it. That flash of confusion. Of hurt.

God, it was satisfying. For a second.

“I mean, what’s the deal? You finally run out of charity projects and thought you’d slum it over here? Or did someone drop you off your pedestal on accident?”

That one landed. Their posture stiffened, that smile faltered—there and gone again, replaced by something brittle. Their mouth opened, then shut.

He didn’t stop.

“You always look so polished. Like someone ironed your soul. But here you are, looking like... what? Something actually bothering you? Or is this just your version of a bad hair day?”

They blinked hard, once. “I—I just remembered something. I should go.”

It was fast, clipped. That voice. Usually warm. Now tight.

They turned too quick. Almost tripped. He watched their hand fumble something, saw it flutter to the floor as they disappeared down the hallway with stiff, mechanical steps.

He almost called after them. Almost.

Instead, he knelt and picked it up.

His fingers closed around paper. Not notebook paper—he expected that. Expected some kind of lecture scribbled down or a to-do list. But it was thicker. Folded. Red.

His stomach sank.

A Valentine. Handmade. Lopsided heart glued to the front, edges taped down like they were scared it would fall apart.

He opened it.

The handwriting hit first. Not perfect. Kinda messy. Rushed. And real.

I don’t know how to say it out loud. I figured I’d try this instead. It’s stupid, but… I like you. Not the idea of you. Not the version you think you have to be. Just you. Even when you’re a jerk. Especially then, maybe. Because it means you’re real.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Jason.

Jason stared at it. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The paper crinkled in his hand.

His own voice echoed back at him in his head. What’s the deal? Did someone drop you off your pedestal? God.

They came to give him this. They were nervous. That was what he saw—not weakness, just fear. Vulnerability.

And he tore them apart for it.

Because he couldn’t believe someone like them would ever look at someone like him and—

“Shit.”

He pushed off the workbench, Valentine still in hand.

He didn’t know where they went.

But he was gonna find them.