It's been weeks since my birthday.

Since then, school workload has intensified, especially in preparation for midterm exams.

I'm convinced that the teachers collaborated and decided to punish us students by passing out exams every other day for one and a half weeks.

But now that exams are finally over, it's mid-February, and I've got other problems.

Selene-chan has been slightly off-kilter.

It's small, subtle differences. When I call her name, she flinches every so slightly before answering me. When I touch her, she stares at the contact for a moment longer than usual. More strangely, whenever I offer to join her for lunch instead of joining Iida and Midoriya, she makes an excuse and says that it's better if I eat with them instead of her. Never has she refused eating with me. And how do I ask her why she's behaving so oddly? She'll deny flinching and staring, and her excuses are viable. That sunrise, she said she would be more honest with me. Instead, she's hiding something, I think irritatedly. Whatever it is, I will find out.

This is what occupies my thoughts as I sit in an elaborate wooden chair by a cloth-covered restaurant table at an evening event organized for elite Pro-Heroes and business investors. Dad brought me here, thinking it would be a good idea to meet prospective heroes I might collaborate with in the future and businessmen who might sponsor their products via publicizing me. I think that's the same explanation that the parents of the few other teenagers I spot gave their children. They're making more of an effort than I am at interacting with others. Because Dad brought only me to this party, I'm bored and waiting for this event to end. If I had a manga with me, I could tolerate it, but no. It would be rude, he said. So it's fine he is disrespectful, but it's problematic if I am. The hypocrisy!

Although, I should do something now before Dad returns from the washroom. I glance around until my eyes land on the snacks counter. Might as well eat something, since dinner will be served two hours from now. What's the chance there will be takoyaki? I stroll over, to see the outline of a familiar figure. White hair tied in a chignon, cream gloves and choker with maroon lace matched with a maroon and cream body-hugging gown. Speak of the devil and the devil will come! Selene-chan is attending this function, too. Suddenly, my long, tiresome night is energized with life. She has two plates in hand, one already piled with food and the other in the process of being piled. Grinning, I approach her with the intent to make a joke about her voracious appetite, but that grin drops when some random dude sidles up to her.

I can't hear what he's saying, but given Selene-chan's frown and attempts to lean away from his touch, he's harassing her. For a second, I wonder why she hasn't hit him with her cane yet, until I realize that she doesn't want to make a scene. Not here, where everyone wants to keep their image clean. I can't help her outright, either, so I implement the go-to method, one I've used before: the boyfriend method. Just as creep invades her personal space again, I push between them, intentionally shoving him aside, and reach for a green apple. "I was wondering where you had gone," I say, taking a bite out of the apple. "These are good. Here, I'll hold that plate for you, sweetheart." She is stunned to see me and appalled at my calling her by that endearment. "Play along," I whisper.

She nods slightly and passes me the plate. I put a few apples, some clementines, and - would you look at that - dates. One of my favorite fruits. A strong hand grips my shoulder and turns me around angrily. It is the creep. "Hey! Don't cut in!"

"Oh, sorry. Didn't see you there. I was looking for my girlfriend," I defend myself, nonchalantly. For emphasis, I take another bite out of the apple. Selene-chan snickers behind her hand.

"Girlfriend? Who? This girl? How did someone like you land a bombshell like her?"

I'm about to retort, but she beats me to it. She's stopped snickering and gives the creep a cold glare. "What is it to you? I've already told you I'm not interested in spending the evening with you. Now, if you will excuse us." She loops her arm through my free one and gestures that we should leave with a slight pull.

I turn to guide her to my table, but the creep interrupts us. "Hey! Let's keep it cool. We can share, yeah? You get a turn, then I get a turn." Oh, how I wish I could punch the bastard's face right now.

"She's not a toy who can be shared at a whim," I growl. I pull her closer to me. "She's a person who can decide for herself who she wants to spend her time with. You're disgusting for even suggesting that. Fooling around with girls doesn't make you manly, respecting them does." Before the bastard can argue, I turn and bring Selene-chan with me.

I help seat her at the table, and once I'm assured she's all right, I ask her, "Who was he, and did he hurt you?"

"The third-born son of a businessman. About our age, chain-smoker, alcoholic, playboy, I'm half-certain he consumes drugs. Since he's unlikely to inherit the most lucrative of his parents' companies, he spends his time indulging in vice. He just tried to make advances on me, thinking that I was just another commodity to satisfy his desires. But before he could try to do any more, you stepped in. Thank you for that." She pushes a plate toward me, the one holding fruits. "Have some."

She behaves like herself now. No wincing, no prolonged focusing, no makeshift excuses. Easy conversation flows between us. I take this time to observe her. This gown is slightly different from the ones she's typically worn. It's a maroon mermaid gown with a cream shawl wrapped around her shoulders and tied in a knot at the front. The knot is hidden behind a garnet brooch. There are black accents throughout, like the hem of the shawl. Once again, her outfit matches my red and black tuxedo. This is the fourth time we've unintentionally matched. I wonder … if I wear a neon triangle print suit, will she wear something just as ridiculous? She meets my gaze and smirks in knowing. I blush at being caught. "It is Valentine's Day tomorrow, so I thought why not wear something a little … bolder." Oh, yeah. It is mid-February. I had forgotten what holiday came in February. "May I know what type of chocolate you prefer? Dark, milk, or white? With nuts or without nuts?"

I'm puzzled at the question. "Huh? Why are you asking?"

"Well, I need to gift you chocolates for Valentine's Day, don't I? If I remember correctly, in Japan, the woman gives chocolate on the fourteenth of Februray, and the man on the fourteenth of March. I don't want to give you a sweet you don't like, so that is why I'm inquiring."

"Any chocolate is fine. With almonds, preferably."

She raises a brow before coolly replying, "All right."

"What's with that look?"

She smirks again. "Nothing, really. You like nuts in your dessert, while I simply despise them in mine. Don't get me wrong, I like almonds, but separately."

"I'll keep that in mind when I have to buy chocolates for you," I comment just as smoothly.

It's her turn to blush. I could almost forget her recent eccentric behavior, but I'm reminded of it when her blush doesn't fade after a while. It's now or never. I ask her outright, "Something's been bothering you again. It's affecting how you interact with me. What's going on?"

She sighs deeply before answering, "I should have figured that you would notice. School stress, the cold weather, family troubles. They're taking their toll on me."

Again, more viable excuses. "Be honest with me. Is this because of the near ice accident? Was I too forward when I … brought you close?"

She looks away. I was. "It was necessary. Otherwise, I would have been seriously injured. It's just that that much physical contact was too much for me. I'm sure you've figured by now that I have unresolved trauma regarding others touching me and myself touching others. That is mainly why I have severe agoraphobia. Being that close, I was worried that I would panic again, but I didn't. I was shocked and scared that I didn't. So every time you initiated contact with me, verbal or physical, that shock and fear returned. I'm sorry that I made you feel responsible for this, Todoroki-kun. I mean, Sh-Shouto-kun."

"May I?" I request as I offer my hand to her. Silently, she places hers on top of mine, to which instantly I clasp fully and rub circles on. "Didn't you tell me that my trauma is not my fault? I think you should take your own advice: your trauma is not your fault, Selene-chan." She swallows and nods in acquiescence. "Is this all right?" Another nod. "May I have a dance?" She's startled at the invitation, but says yes. I try my luck again. "And the next? And the one after that? And all the dances afterward?"

Selene-chan laughs and comments on my greediness. With matching smiles, I guide her to the center of the hall, never releasing her hand. Observing the other partners dancing, I point out, "French waltz."

"I'm impressed, Shouto-kun."

"Please, it's not that amazing. My ice skating instructor taught part-time at a western classical dance studio, and more than once dance lessons would bleed into skating lessons. I just picked up on it."

We fall into the circle of dancing couples and face each other. One of my hands rests on her waist, one of hers rests on my shoulder, and our free hands clasp in midair. All the while, I watch for any sign of discomfort. "Well then, we'll see just how well your tutor taught you," she challenges. The next piece begins and we each take a large step back. She wobbles a little, so I wrap my arm fully around the small of her back. Now my hand lies on the other side of her waist.

I whisper, "Maybe you need to practice your dance skills, Selene-chan. They've gotten a little rusty. Let me teach you." It takes everything in me not to chortle at her cherry red face. We spin and dip a few times. Each time we bend for the dip, her hand clenches my shoulder and my arm tightens on her waist. Though her face is not so deeply red anymore, an innocent pink still tinges her cheeks. It's until I can feel her breath so intensely on my skin that I realize how much closer we've gotten. We started with a good half meter between us, and now there are only centimeters left. I can see my face reflected in her liquid silver eyes. Blood rushes up toward my cheeks, but I make no move to pull away.

The moment comes, though, when we do have to separate. Part of the dance involves temporarily switching partners. But seconds before we do, I see the face of her switch partner. It's that creepy bastard. His eyes rake over her figure, like a beast salivating over its prey. I refuse to let him be in the vicinity of my Selene-chan, let alone let him touch her. The instant we have to separate, I bring Selene-chan closer and pull us out of the dance circle. My arm hasn't moved from its place, still hugging her waist possessively.

She looks at me confused and then back. When she spots the angry face of the bastard, all confusion vanishes, and she beckons to the balcony doors. Obliging, I swerve us through and between clusters of men and women. The doors are already open, and the balcony is vacant. We leap at the opportunity. The soft glow of moonlight and lamp lights outside contrast with the bright yellow glow inside. Selene-chan leans against the railing and shuts her eyes. That laugh, that rare, melodious laugh I love so much, rings like music from her open mouth. "I admit it. Your tutor taught you wonderfully. You're an excellent waltzer, Shouto-kun."

"What did I tell you? Although, I'm glad I got to dance with you."

"Me too. The playboy now really believes that we're a couple. Oh, his furious expression. It was so satisfying!"

I glance at her sidelong. "Yeah … a couple," I mumble low enough that she can't hear me. With her head thrown back, and unrestrained joy emitting from her lips, she looks more beautiful than ever before. I could hear that laugh all day, all night, and still want to hear more. Can I possibly capture that in my drawings? No. I cannot. This feeling … this ecstasy … this craving for more, no pen will ever be able to trap this moment in time. I feel lighter, hopeful, seeing my moon so merry. For a moment, pure moonlight seeps through the darkness and blesses this desperate blossom of the dark.

Will you be my valentine?

"Your valentine?"

Did I say that out loud?

Her mirth vanishes and is replaced with hesitation and disbelief.

I summon my courage and speak more clearly, "Will you be my valentine?"

"If you wish," she whispers, shyly.

"I wish it."