Kuro didn't know what Valentine's Day was supposed to look like.
Apparently, it involved ribbons.
And heart-shaped pastries.
And Lucien dramatically declaring that "romantic capitalism has infiltrated the Guild."
"I'm serious," Lucien insisted, holding up a pink-frosted biscuit like it had personally offended him. "Since when do we celebrate love with aggressively sweet bread?"
"Since always," Mika said dryly.
Kuro stared at the display table in the guild hall, watching members awkwardly exchange small gifts and notes. Some were bold about it. Some looked like they'd rather fight a wyvern.
"…Is this mandatory?" Kuro asked quietly.
Mika blinked at him. "What?"
"The giving."
"No," Mika said, softer now. "It's not mandatory."
Kuro nodded slowly. That was good.
Because he didn't have anything prepared.
Or at least—
He hadn't thought he did.
—
Later that evening, the Guild hall had emptied. Decorations drooped slightly where magic had worn off. The candles burned lower. The world felt calmer.
Kuro stood near one of the tall windows, watching the city lights.
Mika approached quietly.
"You avoided most of it," Mika observed.
"I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do," Kuro admitted.
Mika leaned beside him. "There isn't a 'supposed to.' It's just… showing someone they matter."
Kuro looked at him then.
"You matter," he said immediately.
Mika froze.
"That wasn't—" Mika cleared his throat. "I meant in general."
"I know." Kuro's expression didn't waver. "But you do."
There was no grand declaration. No dramatic lighting shift.
Just honesty.
Mika exhaled slowly, something warm flickering across his face.
"…You're unfair when you're sincere," he muttered.
Kuro tilted his head. "Is that bad?"
"Dangerous," Mika corrected.
Silence settled between them—not awkward.
Comfortable.
Then Kuro reached into his coat pocket.
"I don't know if this counts," he said, pulling out a small, folded strip of parchment.
Mika took it carefully.
Inside, written in neat but slightly hesitant ink:
Thank you for holding my hand at the edge of the sky.— Kuro
Mika stared at it longer than necessary.
"…You kept this with you?" he asked quietly.
"I wrote it after," Kuro admitted. "I wasn't sure when to give it."
Mika folded it back up with care—far more care than he used for most things.
"It counts," he said firmly.
Lucien's voice suddenly echoed from the doorway.
"I SWEAR if this turns into a slow-burn emotional confession scene without snacks—"
"Leave," Mika said immediately.
Lucien grinned. "Fine. But if either of you cry, I'm documenting it."
He vanished again.
Kuro blinked. "He's very invested."
"He thrives on chaos."
Kuro hummed thoughtfully.
Then, after a pause—
"Can I ask something?" Kuro said.
Mika nodded.
"…What would count as a proper Valentine's gift?"
Mika looked at him for a long moment.
Then he stepped closer.
"This," Mika said quietly, resting his forehead gently against Kuro's, "is enough."
Kuro stilled.
Then, slowly—
He smiled.
Outside, the city continued its soft celebration.
Inside the quiet Guild hall—
Love wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
It was simply chosen.