"It's Valentine's Day."

"I know."

"Let's have sex."

" … You need to stop."


Shrugging, Altair ignored the exasperated expression of the other and popped another Twix bar into his mouth, not before he finished off an entire box of jawbreakers. He crammed all the wrappers into the nearby trashcan and flipped the channel to M.T.V., concentrating more on the Calculus-obsessed man settled beside him; Malik's comfortable weight on his right shoulder had him leaning farther back, and as he—slyly, or was it more awkwardly—put his arm around the latter, he pressed a tense chin upwards and pushed his lips against the other's, the blaring television forgotten. Only when Malik attempted to bite his tongue off did he withdraw.

But not before the taste of chocolate was stronger than ever.

"If only they sold that type of candy in stores."

Malik snorted.

"It'd be wise to note whose house you are currently in."


"It's Valentine's Day."

"I already know that."

"Let's have sex."


" … I don't know what you are talking about."


Malik hated the Tunnel of Love.

Malik hated milk chocolate.

Malik hated maraschino cherries.

Malik hated fake flowers.

Malik hated candy grams.

Malik hated his sappy roommates.

Yet, most of all, Malik hated desperation.

"I just wanted to let you know that you already are mine, Malik.

"And tt's good to see that you know that."

But he was always a contradiction to himself, anyway.


"I wonder what we will do with all of this candy."

Gritting his teeth, Malik flung The Great Awakening at the other.

"Chocolate is not lube!"


"It's Valentine's Da—"

"Shut up."



Malik looked over his shoulder. "What?"

"Take this."

There was an awkward pause.

" … It's … it's a …" Arching an eyebrow, he put down the newspaper and blinked at the giant, obnoxious item in his hands. "It's a starfish plushie?"

Silence took hold.

Before Altair spoke:

"You are the Patrick to my SpongeBob.

So, happy Valentine's Day, Malik.

And just to let you know, condoms were eighty percent off …"