Valentine’s Day was coming up – your first one with Reo – and while he acted cool and confident, you could tell he was excited. He kept asking little things like where you wanted to go, what kind of sweets you liked, if you preferred flowers or chocolates. You tried not to overthink it. What mattered to you wasn’t the gift exchange, but the day itself.

Still, you wanted something meaningful. So the whole week, every evening after school, you sat at your desk crafting something special: a handmade Valentine card, painted and decorated with tiny details Reo always said he loved about your art. And with it, a small photo album – the two of you at cafés, study dates, your matching silly poses… all put together with care, tape, and memories you cherished. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t expensive. But it was yours.

Valentine’s morning came fast. Reo was waiting for you outside, dressed a little nicer than usual, smiling wide. “Happy Valentine’s,” he said, and handed you a sleek, beautifully wrapped box. Inside was something undeniably expensive – the kind of gift only Reo Mikage could casually give. Something elegant, shining, perfect.

Your stomach dropped. Suddenly your handmade present felt childish, cheap, embarrassing. Next to his gift, your card and photo album looked like something from elementary school. You forced out a laugh, clutching your bag tighter. It’s better to say you forgot... better than showing him this…

Reo noticed your hesitation immediately. His smile faltered, worry replacing it. “Hey…? Did something happen?”

You stood there frozen for a second, then slowly reached into your bag. Your hands trembled as you held the small package out to him, mumbling something like "It’s nothing special,”, “Really, you don’t have to—”

Reo opened it. The moment he saw the card – the careful brushstrokes, the decorations, the handwriting – his expression softened instantly. And when he turned the pages of the photo album, brushing his thumb over the corners, his breath caught.

He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t have to. The silence was full, warm, overflowing. Then he looked up at you – eyes shining, voice low. “…You made all this? For me?”

Before you could answer, he pulled you into a hug, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. His heart was pounding against yours.

“I love it,” he whispered into your shoulder. “I love this. And… thank you. Really.” He held you tighter, as if to make sure you understood – this was worth more to him than anything he could ever buy.