[ Anya's house is always warm and comfortable. It feels more like a home than his home ever did; it's quiet now, but it isn't lifeless.
The permeating smell gives Yato a good idea of what's in store when he steps into the kitchen. The notes, the pouch. Of course Anya would do something nice for Valentine's Day -- it's just like her. Yato sits at the counter and reads both notes. Then he opens the pouch and looks over each macaron slowly. He takes one out, notes the difficult shape and imperfect edges, and in this big house occupied by photos and memories and love and him, he silently begins to weep.
Before long, he furtively wipes his face and takes up the pouch and Valentine's letter. The second note, he quickly turns over and writes his own simple message: Thank you! Happy Valentine's!!♥ He leaves a little white box next to it that contains four handmade truffles, flavored with rose water. And lastly he stuffs a sandwich into his mouth, as always, before beating a hasty retreat.
If Anya turns his message over, she might notice what he failed to in his haste: a few splotches, the ink bleeding over her otherwise perfect handwriting. ]
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The permeating smell gives Yato a good idea of what's in store when he steps into the kitchen. The notes, the pouch. Of course Anya would do something nice for Valentine's Day -- it's just like her. Yato sits at the counter and reads both notes. Then he opens the pouch and looks over each macaron slowly. He takes one out, notes the difficult shape and imperfect edges, and in this big house occupied by photos and memories and love and him, he silently begins to weep.
Before long, he furtively wipes his face and takes up the pouch and Valentine's letter. The second note, he quickly turns over and writes his own simple message: Thank you! Happy Valentine's!!♥ He leaves a little white box next to it that contains four handmade truffles, flavored with rose water. And lastly he stuffs a sandwich into his mouth, as always, before beating a hasty retreat.
If Anya turns his message over, she might notice what he failed to in his haste: a few splotches, the ink bleeding over her otherwise perfect handwriting. ]