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You weren’t exactly the kind of person to get all starry-eyed about Valentine’s Day. The whole thing was a corporate cash grab, anyway—overpriced chocolates, gaudy heart-shaped decorations, and forced declarations of love. Yeah, you weren’t that type.
But still.
You glanced down at the confirmation email on your phone, the words practically glowing with your shame. "Your reservation for two at Le Château Noir has been confirmed for February 14th, 7:30 PM."
It wasn’t anything crazy. Just a nice dinner at a fancy place you wouldn’t normally splurge on. A way to say, Hey, I actually care about you, and I like spending time with you, even though you’re an absolute dickhead.
Because whatever was happening between you and Butcher—this thing that was built on stolen moments and rough hands on quiet nights —you didn’t know what to call it.The two of you hadn’t talked about what any of it meant.
And maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.
Still, you had scraped together enough money to make the reservation—partly from your own savings, partly from “borrowing” a bit of cash from Frenchie and MM. They’d get over it. Probably.
Shoving the thought to the back of your mind, you focused on the present—walking beside Butcher, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets, the two of you wandering through the city. No destination, for the sake of it.
The streets were packed with people, moving in and out of stores with bags of chocolate and teddy bears in their arms. Heart-shaped A-Train mugs, Queen Maeve teddy bears, little action figures of the Deep holding bouquets of roses. It was ridiculous.
Half-listening as Billy muttered about some new Vought scandal, something caught your eye—a massive, over-the-top billboard featuring the Seven.
They were all posed dramatically, dressed in shades of red and gold. Starlight stood front and center with a megawatt smile, Homelander beside her, eyes glowing faintly like he was about to laser the next person who so much as breathed wrong. The text at the bottom read: “Make this Valentine’s one to remember. Diamonds are forever! – The Seven’s Valentine’s Special!”
You snorted. “Jesus. They’re really milking the holiday for all it’s worth.”
You glanced at Butcher, smirking a little while nodding your head towards the board. “What do you say, Butch? Gonna get me a nice rock? Maybe pop the question while you’re at it?”
Butcher scoffed, barely sparing the display a glance. “Not bloody likely.”
“Oh, c’mon. Not even a lil’ something?” You smled, poking fun at him. “I’ll get you a Black Noir keychain in return. Real sentimental.”
“Romance is a bloody scam.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, here we go.”
“Think about it,” he continued, gesturing vaguely at the streets. “Whole thing’s just a racket. They guilt you into spending’ a fortune on chocolates and all that shit, just to prove you give a shit about someone.”
You raised a brow. “Right, because God forbid.”
He kept walking, jaw set. “I don’t see why people make such a big deal about it. It’s just another day.”
You rolled your eyes, but the sting was still there. “Right. Yeah. Stupid holiday.”
You hadn’t expected him to be enthusiastic about it, but the way he dismissed it so quickly—it kind of hurt. Because you had been excited, just a little. And now you just felt dumb.
The rest of the walk home was quiet, tension clinging to the air between you.
Later that night, when you were alone in your room, you pulled out your phone and scrolled to your reservation.
Maybe you had been jumping the gun with the whole fancy-dinner thing. Maybe it had been stupid to think that Butcher would ever entertain something like that.
=======
You sat on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen longer than necessary before finally pressing the call button. The restaurant picked up on the second ring, a professional yet pleasant voice greeting you.
“Hello, thank you for calling Le Château Noir. How can I assist you this evening?”
You inhaled sharply. Just do it. It’s not a big deal.
“Hi, I’m calling about my reservation for tomorrow night,” you said, voice steady but distant, as if saying the words out loud made them more real. “The table for two at seven thrity?”
Down the hall, Butcher had been walking past your door, intending to grab a beer from the fridge. But your voice caught his attention, and something made him pause just outside the room.
A table for two at eight?
“For two, yes,” you confirmed, nodding even though they couldn’t see you.
Butcher frowned, shifting his weight. You never mentioned anything about it to him.
“Under what name?” the receptionist asked.
You gave them your name, confirming all the details, and Butcher had heard enough. He turned away, walking briskly toward the kitchen.
What the bloody hell were you thinking?
He grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap off with a little too much force, and took a long swig.
You had planned a fancy dinner. For him. After everything he had said earlier about Valentine’s Day being a joke. He didn’t know what to make of it. Part of him was irritated—you hadn’t even told him, and now he was expected to sit through some overpriced meal, pretending not to hate every second of it.
But another part of him—one he refused to acknowledge—felt something else entirely.
Something warm. Something suspiciously close to endearment.
Despite himself, the thought of you planning something like that, of you wanting to spend the day with him like it actually meant something…
He set the beer down a little too hard.
He didn’t know what to make of it, so he wasn’t going to make anything of it.
=======
The day started off strange.
For one, Butcher was still here.
You fully expected to wake up alone, but instead when you rolled over, he was in bed scrolling on his phone, one arm folded behind his head. His eyes flicked to you the moment you stirred, something unreadable passing through them before he exhaled and looked away.
“Morning,” he muttered.
You blinked at him, still groggy. “You’re still here.”
“Brilliant observation, love.”
You frowned, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “Thought you had shit to do today.”
He shrugged, barely glancing at you. “Plans changed.”
Weird.
But you kne better than to question him— especially so early in the morning.
Instead, you dragged yourself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you shuffled toward the kitchen, figuring you’d have to scrounge around for whatever scraps were left from the last grocery run.
But then—
There was coffee.
A full pot. Fresh. Still hot.
Your brow furrowed as you hesitated near the counter, eyeing the mug waiting beside it. You didn’t even have to ask to know that it was for you.
Still, you didn’t comment on it. Just poured yourself a cup, and leaned against the counter,
When Butcher finally strolled in, you watched him out of the corner of your eye. He grabbed his own mug—black, of course—and leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, staring at you like he was waiting for something.
You blinked. “Did you poison this?”
He smirked. “Drink it and find out.”
You just scoffed at him and took your glass to your room.
The whole morning was like that. A light touch on the small of your back when you passed him in the hallway. The way he didn’t snap at you when you stole the last piece of toast off his plate. The fact that he stayed.
Usually, Butcher had somewhere to be. Always on the move, always planning, always chasing the next lead.
But today, he lingered
It should’ve made you happy. A day ago, maybe it would have. Now it just made the ache in your chest worse.
And now, he was sitting beside you on the couch, one arm draped across the back, fingers lazily playing with the ends of your hair while you scrolled through your phone.
“Not even gonna look at me today, then?” he mused.
You shrugged. “Dunno. Nothing to look at.”
His fingers stilled. “Bit rude, innit?”
“Only returning the favor.”
It slipped out before you could stop yourself, and you weren’t even sure what you meant by it. But he let it go—for now.
=======
By the time evening rolled around, you had fully settled into your mood. It wasn’t even intentional—it was just there.
And it must have gotten to him too, because by the time seven-thirty hit, he was clearly restless.So when he finally stretched, exhaling through his nose, and said, “Well, I’m gonna take a shower,care to join?” you barely acknowledged it.
You just shrugged, staring at the TV. “I’ll take one in the morning.”
“Not even if I promise to make it special?”
Your fingers twitched around the remote.
Usually, that would work. You’d roll your eyes but still let him pull you in, let him distract you.
But not today.
You didn’t even look at him. “Not in the mood, Butcher.”
His face darkened, his usual sharp smirk twisting into something meaner. “Christ, what’s with you today?”
You turned your head, finally looking at him fully. “What’s with me?”
“Yeah.” His hands went to his hips. “You’ve been sulkin’ all day. Thought you’d be happy I’m stickin’ around, but you’re actin’ like I kicked your bloody dog.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped. “Isn’t it supposed to be Valentine’s or something? ”
You glanced at him, brow raising. “And?”
He met your eyes, something simmering there, something edged. “And you’re actin’ like it’s just any other bloody day.You’re supposed to be all over me, right?”
You stared at him for a moment, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t even like Valentine’s Day, so why do you look so upset that I didn’t plan anything?”
“Tch.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t upset.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He huffed, looking away for a moment before muttering, “Just figured—” But then he cut himself off, exhaling sharply like he’d already said too much.
You folded your arms. “You figured what?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, staring at the TV like it suddenly had all the answers he needed. But his grip on his knee was just a little too tight, his shoulders just a little too tense.
“…Figured you would’ve still gone to that dinner.”
So that was it.
He knew.
Your stomach twisted. “I—” You let out a breath. “I canceled it.”
He stiffened slightly. “Right.”
“You made it pretty clear how you felt about Valentine’s, so I figured there wasn’t much point.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, in a low voice:
“That’s different.”
Your breath hitched. “What?”
Butcher ran a hand down his face, looking uncharacteristically frustrated. “It’s different when it’s you.When its us i mean…”
The words weren’t particularly soft. They weren’t overly romantic. But from Butcher? They might as well have been a love confession.
Your fingers tightened around the remote once more“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, shaking your head.
Something in his expression shifted. “You still wanna go?”
You gave him a wry look. “You think I can get the reservation back?”
He sighed, glancing at the clock. 7:09.His lips twitched, just barely.
“Guess not.”
There was another pause before you sighed, rubbing your temples.
“Fine,” you mumbled. “Let’s order pizza and watch something stupid.”
Butcher snorted. “That’s your idea of a Valentine’s date?”
“It is now.”
He didn’t argue. Just plopped down next to you on the couch as you placed the order.
The pizza arrived, you put on the cheesiest rom-com you could find, and somehow, between bites of greasy food and sarcastic commentary, you found yourself leaning against him, head on his shoulder.
He reached into his pocket, then tossed something onto your lap.
You frowned, picking it up. It was… a keychain. A tiny, dumb-looking Black Noir keychain.
Your lips parted in surprise. “Wait—”
He looked away, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”
You stared at it for a moment, something warm flickering in your chest. Then, shaking your head, you muttered, “You’re impossible.”
He grinned. “And yet, here we are.”
And when his arm slung around your waist, tugging you just a little closer, you didn’t pull away.