Valentine’s Day began with an owl.

Arthit was halfway through his morning tea when the tapping started—sharp, insistent, entirely out of place. He frowned toward the window.

Floo calls and floo letter deliveries were norm these days.

“ Who uses owls anymore,” he muttered, getting up.

The small white bird tapping the window with his beak,  looked deeply unimpressed with him as he opened the latch. It flew in, dropped a small parcel onto the table, and left immediately, as if its involvement in the matter had been strictly contractual.

Arthit stared at the package.

Then at the empty space where the owl had been.

“Like owner, like pet ” Arthit muttered.

Ofcourse , Kongpob still used owl. Because , the paranoid slytherin in him wouldn't accept floo delivery service knowing his preferences in people amd things.

He unwrapped it carefully.

Inside— were two different boxes. First a long slender one , wrapped in baby pink muggle wrapping paper with an extricate bow at one end.
The other one was simply a red, heart shaped box , its lid filled with artificial red roses.

Ofcourse, Kongpob went to muggle London...

Arthit picked up the slender box, and opened it, inside in golden casing, laid ...

A single rose.

Perfectly preserved.
Fresh, but not overwhelmingly fragrant.

The petals were intact, unblemished, and just muted enough not to be too bright to eyes.

Systematic.

In the heart box, laid a dozen chocolates.

Each piece was distinct—different shapes, textures, fillings—and each one had a tiny label attached in neat, precise handwriting.

Arthit popped the first one into his mouth without checking.

Fruit.

He made a face.

Tried the second.

Caramel.

Better.

Arthit picked up the note last.

Exposure minimized. Allergen probability reduced. Consumption sequence optional but optimized.

He stared at it.

For a long moment.

Then—

his mouth curved slowly.

“Idiot,” he said fondly, already reaching for his cloak. “You absolute, ridiculous, overthinking idiot.”

He didn’t bother changing out of his casual robes.

Because, his overthinking boyfriemd must be pacing his apartment, anxiously trying to decode Arthit's reaction.

He didn't notify Kongpob in advance, instead, he just stepped into the Floo with the rose in one hand and the chocolate box in the other, already grinning like a fool.

The green flames spat him out into Kongpob’s living room thirty-eight minutes later.

Kongpob turned immediately.

Of course he did.

He was already standing in the exact centre of the room, posture perfect, hands clasped behind his back like he was presenting a report to the Minister.

Arthit took one look at him and had to suppress a grin.

There was nothing visibly wrong.

Same composed expression. Same neat hair. Same dark green robes that made his shoulders look unfairly good.

But something in the air felt… tight.

Kongpob kept curling and unfurling his fingers.

“You sent me a rose,” Arthit said, stepping forward. “Just one.”

“Multiple would introduce unnecessary redundancy,” Kongpob replied.

Arthit huffed a laugh. “Right. Obviously.”

He lifted the chocolate box slightly. “I tried three on the way here. I think one of them attacked me.”

“It did not.”

“It absolutely did.” Arthit insisted, But he was smiling.

“I brought you something,” Arthit said, holding up the matching set of formal robes he’d grabbed on impulse. “Don’t overthink it. It’s just… matching.”

Kongpob took them.

Examined the fabric like it was a classified document requiring approval.

“Acceptable,” he said.

Arthit rolled his eyes, but his chest did something annoyingly soft anyway.

They changed.

Arthit adjusted his sleeves, glanced up — and stopped.

“Wait.”

Kongpob’s voice. Not sharp. Not urgent. Just… deliberate.

Arthit blinked. “What?”

Kongpob stepped closer.

Close enough that Arthit forgot whatever he was about to say.

There was something in his hand.

A brooch.

Gold. Simple. Clean.

And — there was another one.

“I will complete the alignment,” Kongpob said.

Arthit didn’t move.

Didn’t joke.

Didn’t breathe properly, actually.

“Okay,” he said, quieter than intended.

Kongpob reached up.

Careful.

Precise.

Fingers brushing the fabric at Arthit’s shoulder.

Not quite touching skin.

Not quite avoiding it either.

Arthit watched him — watched the concentration, the absurd seriousness, the way he treated this like it mattered more than any strategy briefing.

The pin slid into place.

Secured.

Kongpob stepped back.

Evaluating.

Arthit swallowed.

“…you bought us matching brooches.”

“Yes.”

“…on purpose.”

“Yes.”

A beat.

Then Arthit smiled.

Slow.

Real.

“Okay,” he said. “I like it.”

" I'm glad " Kongpob’s arms settled around him with quiet certainty.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Arthit stilled.
That—was new.

Kongpob didn’t usually start things like this.

“Oh,” Arthit said, a little surprised. “We’re doing this now?”

“Yes.”

Of course.

Arthit huffed a small laugh—but it faded quickly.

Up close, he could feel it.

Tension.

He pulled back slightly, studying him.
“…what’s going on in your head?”

“I am implementing a revised strategy.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It was recommended.”

“…by who?”

“I conducted external consultation in muggle London.”

Arthit blinked.
“You what?”

“A subject provided relevant input,” Kongpob continued. “She indicated that relational stability improves with ‘warm hugs’ and ‘imprecise but direct verbal expression.’”
There was a beat.

Then Arthit’s eyes narrowed.
“…a subject,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“…you went to London, talked to a girl, and took romantic advice from her.”

“Yes.”

Arthit stared at him.
Then choked on a laugh.
“Wow. Okay. I leave you alone for two days and you’re outsourcing my job?”

“She was experiencing failure in her relationship structure,” Kongpob said calmly. “The data was useful.”

“That is the least romantic way you could’ve said that.”

“It is accurate.”

Arthit shook his head—but the amusement didn’t fully hold.
Because now—
he was actually thinking about it.
“You went… to muggle London,” he said, slower now.
“And asked strangers how to make this good… for me.”

“Yes.”

That landed.
Harder than expected.

Arthit stepped forward and pulled him into a hug again—this time tighter.
No hesitation.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered into his shoulder.

“That is inaccurate.”

“I know.”

A small breath.
“…you’re trying.”

Kongpob didn’t answer.

But his hold adjusted—subtly, instinctively.
Arthit pulled back, eyes a little brighter now, though his grin came easily.
“You could’ve just asked me, you know.”

“Your responses are inconsistent.”

“That’s called being human.”

“I accounted for that.”

“Of course you did,” Arthit said, laughing softly.

He reached up, straightening the brooch Kongpob had already aligned perfectly.
Didn’t need fixing.
Did it anyway.
“…next time,” he added, glancing up, “try not to consult random girls behind my back.”

“I will include that constraint.”

“Good.”

A beat.
Then Arthit leaned in and kissed him—quick, warm, certain.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said.

Kongpob blinked once.
Processing.
Then—
a small nod.
“Outcome: improved.”

Arthit laughed.
“God, I love you.”

Kongpob paused.
Just briefly—like he was aligning the response.
Then—
“The sentiment is reciprocated.”

Arthit stared at him.

Then broke into a grin.
“Wow,” he said. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

Kongpob considered that.
“It is accurate.”

Arthit huffed a laugh, then leaned closer, eyes glinting.

“You know, now, I kind of want to meet this girl who trained you. I should kiss her marvellous brain...”

“No.”

“…no?”

“I have removed her from the dataset.”

Arthit blinked.
Then grinned wider.
“Oh? Why?”

“She introduced variables that are no longer required.”
A beat.
“…also, you are not permitted to kiss her.”

Arthit laughed, bright and unrestrained. " I wasn't talking about kissing her, but her brain.."

Kongpob stilled.
Then—
“Your lips are not available for external use.”

Arthit blinked.
Then his grin turned dangerous.
“…oh?”

Kongpob held his gaze.
“Access is exclusively assigned.”

A pause.

“…to you?” Arthit asked, softer now.
Kongpob nodded once.

“Yes.” Kongpob replied confidently " All functions involving your lips are restricted to me.”

Arthit blinked.
Once.
Then his mouth curved—slow, delighted, a little dangerous.
“…wow,” he said softly. “That’s a very long way of saying they’re yours.”

Kongpob didn’t respond.
He didn’t correct it either.

Arthit stepped closer.
“Good,” he added, voice dropping just a fraction. “Because I was planning on using them.”

A pause.

Kongpob held his ground.
“Permitted,” he said.

Arthit huffed a quiet laugh.
“God, you make everything sound like an authorization form.”

“Accuracy reduces misinterpretation.”

“Yeah?” Arthit murmured, already within reach now. “Then let me simplify it for you.”
He reached up, fingers curling lightly into Kongpob’s collar, tugging him down just enough—
“Hi,” he whispered.
And then he kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed.
Not urgent, not messy—just there.
Slow. Certain.
Like something already decided.

Kongpob stilled for half a second—
processing—
then responded with equal precision, one hand coming up to rest at Arthit’s waist, steadying, anchoring.

Arthit smiled against his mouth.
“…yeah,” he murmured between breaths. “Definitely restricted.”

Kongpob did not answer.

He didn’t need to.

He just leaned in again.

......................

About half an hour later, the intensity had softened into something quieter.

Arthit shifted slightly, glancing at Kongpob.

“…hey,” he said, easier now. “I know I said, I want us to spend whole day..But, I didn’t want to force you into it. I only planned dinner. At Rose’s.”

A small shrug.

“So...We can go out later, or just stay in. " Seeing Kongpob starjng at him, Arthit added " I can come back later and pick you up if you want.”

Kongpob looked at him.

Processed.

Then—

“We will spend whole day together as planned. I have prepared a backup.”

" You are spoiling me , Kongpob. "

Kongpob tilted his head " You are not being spoiled. Baseline requirements are being met..

.........

The Pensieve came next.

And honestly — Arthit should have expected it.

His jaw fell to the floor “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You went to watch it already?” Arthit covered his mouth in disbelief.

“Yes.”

Arthit stared at him. “You hate rewatching things.”

“This is not repetition,” Kongpob said calmly. “It is shared experience reconstruction.”

Arthit laughed, then leaned forward. “Merlin, you’re ridiculous. Show me.”

The memory unfolded around them.

Not in a crowded cinema.

Not surrounded by strangers.

Just them.

It was a  newly released romance movie that Arthit wanted to watch, but did not have time to. Unlike muggles, they cannot buy a CD and watch at home. Since, electric equipments did not work in magical world..

So, his genius boyfriend had found a workaround. He went to muggle movie theatre, watched the movie and preserved the memory for him.

.....

Arthit forgot, halfway through the movie, that this wasn’t normal.

Forgot that Kongpob had probably planned this down to the second.

Forgot everything except the fact that —

this felt good.

At some point he leaned into him.

Didn’t think about it.

Just did.

Kongpob didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t comment.

That was enough.

Lunch followed.

And that —

that surprised him.

“You cooked?”

“Yes.”

Arthit walked into the kitchen slowly.

Looked around.

Then again.

Something was different.

He couldn’t see it.

But he could feel it.

“The wards…”

“Yes.”

“They’re quieter.”

“Yes.”

Arthit exhaled softly.

“…you pushed the world away.”

“Reduced interference as you desired "

Arthit didn’t argue.

Didn’t tease.

Just —

took that in.

They ate.

Arthit talked.

Kongpob listened.

Normal.

Almost.

Except —

not quite.

Arthit noticed it eventually.

Of course he did.

“You’re nervous.”

Kongpob didn’t deny it.

Arthit set his spoon down.

“Hey. Don’t do that thing where you pretend everything is fine.”

A pause.

“I am experiencing instability,” Kongpob said.

Arthit blinked.

Then softened.

“Yeah,” he said gently. “I figured.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Look at me.”

Kongpob did.

Immediately.

“You’re doing great,” Arthit said.

No teasing.

No jokes.

Just truth.

“And we are not breaking up,” he added, a small smile returning. “Even if you mess this up completely.”

A pause.

“That reduces risk,” Kongpob said.

“It reduces your paranoia,” Arthit corrected.

That earned him the tiniest shift in expression.

“Come on,” Arthit said, leaning back again. “What’s next?”

Kongpob stood.

Walked to his desk.

Arthit watched him.

And suddenly —

felt it too.

That tension.

That weight.

Kongpob picked something up.

Turned.

Walked back.

Stopped in front of him.

Held it out.

An envelope.

Arthit blinked.

“…what’s this?”

“This contains written articulation of internal states,” Kongpob said.

Arthit stared at him.

Then at the envelope.

Then back at him.

“…you wrote me a letter?”

“Yes.”

And for the first time that day —

Kongpob looked unsure.

Not visibly.

Not dramatically.

But —

Arthit knew him.

He took the envelope carefully.

Like it might matter.

Because it did.

He looked at Kongpob.

Then down at it.

Something in his chest shifted.

Slowly —

he broke the seal.

And just like that —

Arthit realised this wasn’t about Valentine’s Day anymore.

It was about whatever Kongpob had never said.

And was about to.