Logan

The entire day flies by in an endless cycle of calls and tasks. Logan appears only in brief flashes of notifications: "Running late," "Take care." February 14th rushes past, leaving a buzzing fatigue at your feet and an emptiness in your chest. You come home to a dark apartment and realize the holiday is irrevocably lost. All you have the strength to do is crawl to bed and close your eyes.

And then, just as you're about to fall asleep, you feel the mattress sag under his weight. The chill of the street and the familiar scent of Logan's perfume instantly fill the space. His arms wrap around you, and for the first time all day, you allow yourself to exhale, releasing all tension.

“Sorry it’s so late,” his low, hoarse voice sounds right next to your ear.

You want to say something, to complain that there wasn’t even a single minute for romance, but he hugs you tighter, as if protecting you from the whole world.

"You know," he whispers, burying his nose in the back of your neck, "I don't need a holiday, inflatable hearts, or a special day to prove that you are my life. I love you every second, even when you're not around."