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Valentines Day, from me 2 u (boyliife one shots)

HELLO GANG did u miss me...sorry for not updating for two weeks guys, but to make it up to u I decided to drop smth for valentines day!

this is a multi one shots (seperate) for hollis, roman, Jonah, nate, and Ryan!

all chapters will have a special flower and song representing them. enjoy! I wrote these over a period of weeks lol ignoretrhe bad writing and inconsistency

valentine’s day, established relationship, breakup/post-breakup, angst, fluff, romantic gesture, reconciliation, gifts/flowers, emotional conversation, bittersweet ending

pls like, repost, and cmmt!

JONAH

you get home after a long day and find jonah has set up a quiet, romantic surprise just for you.

flower: roses - symbols for love. song: lover girl - laufey

you’re exhausted when you get home.

like brain fried. shoulders tight. you almost forget it’s valentine’s day because work swallowed the whole day.

you unlock your apartment and step inside, already reaching to kick your shoes off.

then you notice the lights are dimmer than usual.

you frown.

and then you see it.

a single rose on the floor.

you just stare at it for a second like your brain needs to buffer.

“…what?”

you close the door slowly and take a few steps forward.

there’s another rose. then another. leading toward the living room.

you feel your chest tighten a little.

you follow them.

and when you round the corner you actually stop breathing for a second.

the table is set up, candles lit, plates already there. glasses poured. it’s not over-the-top. it’s still your apartment, your slightly messy space. but he tried. you can tell he tried.

you let out this quiet laugh under your breath.

“no way.”

“you like it?”

his voice comes from behind you and you physically jump.

you turn and there he is, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting to see your face this whole time. bouquet in his hand. hair pushed back. wearing that button down he only pulls out when he wants to look serious.

you just stare at him.

“jonah.”

he walks over slowly, almost cautious. like he’s not sure if you’re about to cry or roast him.

“happy valentine’s day,” he says, softer now.

you look at the flowers. then at him. then back at the setup.

“you did all this after rehearsal?”

he shrugs. “had help with the timing. not the cooking though. that was all me so… lower your expectations.”

you laugh and take the bouquet from him. your fingers brush and he doesn’t pull away right away.

“this is insane,” you murmur.

“good insane?”

you nod.

he kisses you then, his hand slides to your waist and you can feel he’s a little tense.

you pull back slightly. “why are you nervous?”

“because i wanted it to be good,” he admits. “you deserve good.”

he pulls your chair out for you and you sit, still kind of in shock. dinner isn’t perfect but he watches you every time you take a bite like he’s waiting for a grade.

“stop staring at me,” you mumble.

“i can’t.”

you kick his leg under the table and he grins.

after dinner he doesn’t rush anything. he just stands, holds his hand out.

“come outside.”

you let him guide you to the balcony. the air is cold enough to wake you up fully. the city lights glimmers below you,

he pours wine into two glasses he clearly hid out here earlier. you raise an eyebrow.

“you’ve been planning this for a while, huh.”

“maybe,” he says.

you both lean against the railing. quiet for a second, and it’s comfortable.

then he sets his glass down.

that’s when you know something’s coming.

he turns to you fully, no jokes now.

“i’m not good at speeches,” he starts. “you know that.”

“yeah. you ramble.”

“thanks.”

you smile a little.

he takes your hands anyway.

“i just… i don’t want this to ever feel temporary. you know? like some fun chapter before the next thing. i don’t see a next thing without you in it.”

your throat tightens.

he swallows.

“i want the boring days. the tired days. you coming home stressed and me ordering food because i burned dinner. i want all of it. with you.”

it’s not flashy… he’s not trying to sound poetic.

he just means it.

you step closer without even thinking.

“you’re such an idiot,” you whisper.

“why.”

“because now i’m going to cry.”

he laughs softly and presses his forehead against yours.

“don’t cry. i worked too hard for this makeup.”

you shove him lightly but you’re smiling and he kisses you again, deeper this time.

and somewhere in the distance, fireworks start going off. probably not even for you, probably some event downtown.

but they light up the sky anyway.

you pull back just enough to look at him.

“did you plan that too?”

he smirks. “i’ll take credit.”

and for once, you don’t feel tired at all.

HOLLIS

after a fight, hollis comes by with a small gesture, hoping to make things right.

flower: daisy - symbols new beginnings song: DAISY - 2hollis

valentine’s day feels stupid this year.

you’ve been staring at your phone all afternoon, not because you’re waiting for a text, but because you’re trying not to send one.

last week was bad.

not a small argument. not a petty misunderstanding. it was the type where voices get sharp and things slip out that you can’t take back, the kind where you both went quiet afterward instead of fixing it.

you haven’t really talked since.

just surface-level, safe, careful.

you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, back against the couch, lights off except for the lamp in the corner. you didn’t decorate. didn’t make plans. didn’t tell anyone you were free.

you tell yourself you don’t care.

there’s a knock at the door.

you freeze.

he wouldn’t.

you wait a second. maybe it’s a neighbor.

another knock. softer this time.

you get up slowly, heart beating harder than you want it to. when you open the door, there he is.

Hollis looks tired.

he holds up a small paper bag.

“i brought food,” he says quietly. “you didn’t answer my text.”

you swallow. “i saw it.”

“yeah. i figured.”

there’s a long pause where neither of you move.

“can i come in?” he asks.

you hesitate. just enough for him to notice.

then you step aside.

he walks in slowly, like he doesn’t fully feel welcome yet. his eyes scan the room, taking in the low light, the fact that you didn’t do anything for today.

“you weren’t doing anything?” he asks.

“no.”

“me neither.”

he sets the bag down on the coffee table and sits on the floor without asking, back against the couch where you were earlier. he doesn’t try to touch you. doesn’t try to close the space.

you stay standing for a second before sitting down across from him.

the silence is thick.

“i don’t want to fight,” he says first.

“then don’t,” you reply.

his jaw tightens slightly.

“i’ve been replaying that night in my head all week,” he admits. “every word.”

you look down at your hands.

“so have i.”

he nods slowly.

“i shouldn’t have said you don’t support me,” he says. “that wasn’t fair.”

you blink. you weren’t expecting that first.

“you don’t,” he adds quickly, correcting himself. “you don’t make me feel unsupported. i was frustrated and i took it out on you.”

“i shouldn’t have said you’re selfish,” you say quietly.

he looks up at you immediately.

silence again.

you hate that you meant it in the moment, n you hate that he probably believed it.

“i just feel like i’m competing with everything in your life sometimes,” you say. “the group, the schedule, the pressure. it’s like i get what’s left.”

he exhales slowly, rubbing his hands together.

“i don’t know how to balance it,” he says honestly. “i’m still figuring it out. but that doesn’t mean you’re an afterthought.”

you don’t respond right away.

he looks at you like he’s trying to decide how much to say.

“when you said you were tired of trying,” he continues, voice lower now, “that scared me.”

your throat tightens.

“i’m not tired of you,” you say. “i’m tired of feeling like i’m losing you.”

he shifts closer this time.

“you’re not losing me,” he says.you search his face for doubt.

there isn’t any.

“i don’t want us to end because we’re both stubborn,” he adds. “or because i’m bad at communicating. i don’t want to wake up in a few months and realize we let something good fall apart over ego.”

you let out a shaky breath.

“so what are we doing then?” you ask.

he reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls something out slowly.

it’s small.

you frown slightly.

he unfolds his hand.

a single daisy.

not wrapped, not dramatic, just one simple white daisy with a slightly crooked stem.

“i know everyone does roses,” he says. “but daisies mean new beginnings. or whatever. i googled it.”

despite everything, you almost laugh.

“of course you did.”

“i didn’t want to bring something that felt… fake,” he continues. “i don’t want to pretend last week didn’t happen. i just don’t want it to be the thing that ends us.”

he holds the daisy out toward you.

“i’m not promising i’ll never mess up again,” he says quietly. “i probably will. but i am promising i’m not going anywhere. if you’re willing to keep trying with me.”

your eyes sting.

you reach out slowly and take the flower from him.

“you’re so bad at grand gestures,” you whisper.

he huffs out a laugh. “i know.”

“but this is… good.”

he looks relieved in a way that makes your chest ache.

you move closer on your own this time until your knees touch. his hand slides carefully to your waist, like he’s asking permission without words.

“i don’t want to almost lose you again,” he murmurs.

“then don’t,” you reply.

he leans forward and kisses you, when you pull back, your forehead rests against his.

“happy valentine’s day,” he says quietly.

you look down at the daisy in your hand.

“happy new beginnings,” you correct.

ROMAN

your first valentine’s without him is quiet, lonely, and full of memories.

flowers: black dahlias - symbols broken trust, love song: sad girl - Lana del ray

valentine’s hits differently when it’s the first one without him.

you wake up and immediately feel it in your chest, a hollow space where anticipation used to live

. it’s quiet in the apartment, too quiet, like the walls are holding their breath. you make coffee mechanically, scroll through your phone, but there’s nothing from him. no texts, no calls. not that you expected any. not anymore.

the fight last week was sharp, precise. no yelling, no slamming doors. just words cutting through like knives wrapped in silk. you told him you needed space. he told you he couldn’t give it. and then it ended. Just like that.

you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, trying to convince yourself it’s okay. that it was necessary. that it wasn’t sudden. that you’re strong enough to handle this. the coffee grows cold in your mug.

your phone buzzes. you don’t pick it up. it’s probably him. maybe he’s checking in. maybe he regrets. maybe he wants to fix it. but the thought of speaking to him makes your throat tighten.

instead, you wander to the living room and slump into the couch. you find yourself opening the drawer where you keep the little things: the ticket stubs from his shows, the hoodie that still smells like him. you hold it for a moment, then toss it back. it’s too heavy.

you remember the last time you kissed him. the way he pressed against you,, like he didn’t want to hurt you but couldn’t stop himself from being honest in the moment. the memory makes your chest ache, a twisting ache that has no relief.

evening comes, and the city outside is alive with couples and laughter. you feel like you’re looking through a window at another world. you thought maybe, just maybe, he’d show up. that maybe you’d forgive him in a blink, because love doesn’t always make sense.

but he doesn’t. the black dahlias he got u a month ago sits on your counter, dead and withering away.

you don’t cry. not yet. you just let the quiet settle, like an unwelcome blanket you can’t shake off. you pick up your phone again, scrolling through your messages until you stop at the last one from him. it’s simple. i’m sorry. i wish i could stay.

you read it over and over, and it doesn’t get easier. it never will.

you place your phone down, hug the hoodie to your chest, and let yourself sink into the emptiness.

it’s valentine’s day. he’s gone. and even though every rational part of you knows it was for the best, a piece of you still wants him here.

and that piece will want him for a long time.

RYAN

a calm valentine’s night turns bittersweet when you realize timing is working against you.

flowers: black roses - symbols the end song: dont smile - sabrina

valentine’s day with ryan feels normal.

that’s the worst part.

he picks you up like he always does, one hand on your waist when you get in the car. he kisses your cheek, then your lips. but there’s… something in his eyes.

not distance.

not anger.

just… thought.

dinner is simple.he holds your hand across the table. rubs his thumb over your knuckles absentmindedly.

you both laugh. you talk about random things. memories. a trip you took last summer. the time you got lost driving and ended up at the beach at midnight.

and every time you laugh, it feels a little too important. like you’re both trying to memorize the sound.

you’ve known for a while.

no one said it out loud, but you both feel it.

wrong timing. different paths. things pulling you in opposite directions. love isn’t the issue.

life is.

after dinner, instead of dropping you home, he drives somewhere quiet. an overlook you’ve been to before.

you sit on the hood of his car like you have a hundred times. his jacket around your shoulders. his arm around you.

for a long time, neither of you speak.

you rest your head against him and whisper, “we’re not okay, are we?”

he exhales slowly.

no defensiveness. no pretending.

“…no.”

your chest tightens but you’re not surprised.

“i don’t want to lose you,” you say.

“i know.”

he says it like it hurts him too.

“but i don’t want us to start resenting each other either,” he adds quietly.

it’s not explosive, it’s not messy.

it’s mature.

and that makes it worse.

you pull back to look at him and his eyes are already glassy, even though he’s trying to stay composed. he brushes his thumb under your eye when a tear slips down.

“i wish we met later,” he says softly.

and there it is.

the line that breaks everything.

not “i don’t love you.”

not “this isn’t working.”

jus wrong timing.

he disappears into his car or a second while you sit awkwardly, arms wrapped around yourself.

when he comes back, there’s something in his hands.

a small bouquet, black roses.

you blink at them, confused at first.

he walks toward you slowly.

“I didn’t want to get red,” he says quietly. “That felt like lying.”

your throat tightens.

he holds them out to you, not smiling,

“Black roses mean endings,” he adds. “But they also mean… rebirth. New chapters.”

Your fingers tremble slightly when you take them.

“You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, and it isn’t an insult. It’s heartbreak.

“I didn’t want tonight to feel fake,” he says. “If this is the last Valentine’s we get… I wanted it to be honest.”

He steps closer, one hand coming up to cup your face like he’s done a hundred times before.

“I love you,” he says.

Not past tense.

Present.

You kiss him like its your onlylifeline.

It’s goodbye.

When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours for a second longer than it should.

iI love you.,” he murmurs.

You hold the black roses tighter against your chest.

NATE

nate spends the whole day treating you, ending with a grand, over the top gesture.

song: best part - Daniel flower: tulips symbols passion

valentine’s with nate never starts small. you wake up before your alarm because your phone is buzzing nonstop on your nightstand. when you roll over, there’s already a text from him sent at 7:02 a.m. open the door. you blink at it. another buzz. now. you don’t even question it. you slide out of bed, still in one of his shirts, and pad to the door. when you open it, he’s standing there like he hasn’t slept.“good morning,” he says, smiling slow. behind him is a coffee tray from your favorite place. you don’t say anything. you just move aside so he can come in. “you’re insane,” you mumble, taking your drink. “i know,” he replies easily. “be ready in an hour.” “for what?” “for valentine’s.” you raise an eyebrow. “the entire day?” “the entire day.” and he means it. the first stop is brunch, but not casual brunch. not “let’s grab something quick.” he books the private corner table at the place you always point at when you walk by and say, one day. today is that day. you don’t even glance at the prices. you never do when you’re with him. he orders like he’s known the menu for weeks. you lean back in your chair, sipping something sparkling, watching him watch you. he doesn’t look around the room. he looks at you. “you’re staring,” you say. “yeah.” “why?” “because you look good sitting there.” you don’t argue. you let him look. after brunch, he takes you shopping.he makes you try things on, waits outside the dressing room, and when you step out in something you know is expensive, he doesn’t hesitate. “get it.” “nate—” “don’t start.” you smile because you weren’t going too. you let him buy it. you let him spoil you. he likes it., you like it. it’s balanced. by mid-afternoon your in a hotel suite he booked just for the view. floor-to-ceiling windows. champagne already chilling. your bags from earlier set neatly by the couch. “you’re ridiculous,” you say, kicking off your heels. “i know,” he says again, pulling you in by the waist. he kisses you passionately. “i love you,” he says against your mouth, casual like it’s obvious. it is obvious. dinner is worse. private chef. candlelight. you don’t feel awkward about it. you don’t feel guilty. you feel taken care of. he feeds you a bite of something overpriced and you laugh, pushing his hand away. “you’re doing too much.” “i’m not even close.” as the night winds down, he doesn’t rush you out. he just sits there across from you, chin resting on his hand, studying you like he’s memorizing something. “what?” you say. “nothing.” “that’s not nothing.” he stands instead of answering and walks toward the door of the private room. for a second you think the night’s over. then the door opens wider. and you actually go quiet. tulips. an entire arrangement of them, not a cute bouquet, not something you can hold in one hand. it’s massive. layers of soft pink and white and cream spilling out of wrapping paper like they’re barely contained. your favorite. you stand up slowly. “you did not.” he walks back toward you with them like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “of course i did.” you step closer, touching the petals carefully. “how did you even—” “i’ve known they’re your favorite since the second date,” he says. “you think i don’t pay attention?” your throat tighten a little. they’re fresh. perfect. over-the-top in the way only he would dare to be. “i wanted you to walk into a room and see something bigger than you expected,” he says quietly. “because that’s how i feel about you.” that’s the only semi-speech he gives, and it doesn’t feel rehearsed. you look up at him. “you’re so in love with me,” you say softly. he doesn’t deny it, doesn’t joke it off. “yeah,” he says. “i am.” you set the tulips down carefully and step into him, hands sliding up his chest. “i don’t do halfway,” he murmurs into your hair. “not with you.” you believe him. and when you look back at the ridiculous, beautiful wall of tulips behind you, you realize this isn’t about showing off. its about showing up. all day. every way.

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