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Sandrone has never cared for Valentine’s Day.
It is inefficient. Distracting. A commercialized excuse for sentimentality that clogs the streets of Snezhnaya with red ribbons and artificial sweetness. She has work to do. Schematics to refine. Automata to calibrate. Mechanisms are predictable. Romance is not.
And yet.
She stands in the workshop doorway longer than necessary, watching.
Columbina hums to herself as she stirs melted chocolate in a porcelain bowl, her voice soft and airy, threading through the cold air like something half-remembered from a dream. The kitchen assigned to the Harbingers’ quarters is far too domestic for Sandrone’s taste, all polished counters and warm lanternlight, but Columbina looks as though she was meant to exist in that glow.
Her dark hair falls in gentle waves down her back, framing her face in a silvery halo. The delicate ribbons woven near her temples shift faintly when she tilts her head. Her eyes, closed as always, give her an expression of perpetual serenity. To most, she appears fragile. To most, she appears unaware.
Sandrone knows better.
Columbina does not see in the conventional sense, but she misses nothing.
“You’re staring,” Columbina says lightly, not turning around.
Sandrone does not startle. She does not startle at anything. “Your technique is inefficient. The chocolate will scorch if you continue at that temperature.”
A small smile curves Columbina’s lips. “If you were truly concerned, you would have intervened sooner.”
Sandrone steps fully into the room, the click of her heeled boots measured and precise against the stone floor. Her mechanical companion lingers just beyond the doorway, silent and towering, a constant shadow at her back. She removes her gloves with deliberate slowness, placing them neatly beside the counter before reaching for the stove dial and adjusting the flame lower.
The scent of cocoa thickens in the air, rich and warm.
“I am intervening now,” Sandrone replies.
Columbina’s fingers pause around the wooden spoon. “Thank you.”
There is something in her tone that unsettles Sandrone more than open provocation ever could. It is genuine. Soft. Directed solely at her.
Sandrone has commanded ruin, constructed marvels, reduced entire workshops to obedient silence. She is accustomed to control. To dominance. But standing this close to Columbina, she is acutely aware of the unpredictable cadence of her own pulse.
“For whom are these?” Sandrone asks, though she already knows the answer.
Columbina resumes stirring. “For you.”
The words are spoken as though they are obvious. As though Sandrone should have expected nothing less.
Sandrone folds her arms. “I do not require confectionery.”
“No,” Columbina agrees. “You don’t.”
She sets the spoon aside and dips a fingertip into the glossy surface of the chocolate instead. Sandrone’s gaze sharpens at the careless motion.
“It will stain,” she says automatically.
Columbina lifts her hand, chocolate glistening against pale skin. “Then you should clean it.”
There it is.
Sandrone steps forward until there is barely space between them. She reaches for Columbina’s wrist, fingers firm but controlled, guiding her hand upward. Columbina does not resist. She never does. She trusts with unnerving ease.
Sandrone’s thumb brushes against the smear of chocolate. Warm. Smooth. She holds Columbina’s wrist steady and brings her own lips to the mark instead.
The sweetness is almost overwhelming.
Columbina inhales softly.
Sandrone does not rush. She lets her mouth linger, precise and deliberate, before drawing back just enough to speak. “Wasteful.”
Columbina’s lashes flutter, though her eyes remain closed. “You could have used a cloth.”
“I prefer this method.”
A faint flush creeps across Columbina’s cheeks.
Good.
Sandrone releases her wrist only to slide her hand higher, fingers settling at the curve of her waist. Columbina’s dress is soft beneath her palm, the fabric warm from the kitchen heat. Sandrone guides her back a step until the counter presses lightly against Columbina’s hips.
“You are making chocolate,” Sandrone says quietly, leaning close enough that her voice brushes against Columbina’s ear, “yet you have been distracted since I arrived.”
Columbina tilts her head toward the sound of her voice. “You are the distraction.”
Sandrone’s grip tightens, not enough to bruise, but enough to assert presence. “Explain.”
“I wanted to hear your footsteps,” Columbina says, her tone turning thoughtful. “I wanted to know if you would come.”
Sandrone studies her face, searching for mockery and finding none.
“You could have summoned me.”
“That would not have been the same.”
Of course it wouldn’t.
Sandrone does not respond immediately. Instead, she reaches for the bowl and turns off the stove entirely. With controlled efficiency, she pours the chocolate into waiting molds Columbina has arranged beforehand. Hearts. Predictable.
“You planned this,” Sandrone observes.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Columbina smiles again, softer this time. “Long enough.”
The molds are set aside to cool. The air between them feels heavier now, thick with cocoa and something far less tangible.
“Why?” Sandrone asks.
Columbina’s hands rest lightly on the counter. “Because you pretend you do not want things.”
Sandrone’s expression hardens. “I do not.”
“You do,” Columbina replies gently. “You pretend you do not want warmth. Or praise. Or to be chosen.”
Sandrone’s jaw tightens.
Columbina continues, unafraid. “You build machines because they obey you. Because they cannot leave.”
“And what are you implying?” Sandrone asks, her voice low.
“That I am not a machine.”
Silence stretches between them.
Sandrone reaches up, fingers brushing a strand of Columbina’s hair back from her face. The gesture is careful, almost clinical at first, but it softens without her permission.
“You are reckless,” Sandrone says.
“And you are afraid.”
Sandrone’s hand moves from Columbina’s hair to her chin, tilting her face upward. “Of what?”
“Of wanting me more than you can control.”
The words land like gunshots .
Sandrone leans in until their foreheads nearly touch. “You presume much.”
Columbina’s lips part slightly. “Then prove me wrong.”
Sandrone does not hesitate.
She closes the remaining distance, capturing Columbina’s mouth in a kiss that is slow and deliberate, nothing rushed or uncertain about it. She guides the pace entirely, one hand firm at Columbina’s waist, the other cradling the back of her head to keep her exactly where she wants her.
Columbina melts into it with a soft sigh, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of Sandrone’s sleeve.
Sweetness lingers between them, chocolate and breath and something undeniably theirs.
When Sandrone finally pulls back, it is only enough to speak against her lips. “You made these to confess.”
“Yes,” Columbina admits.
Sandrone brushes her thumb across Columbina’s lower lip, wiping away a faint trace of chocolate she missed earlier. “Then allow me to respond properly.”
She lifts Columbina easily, setting her onto the counter as though positioning a delicate instrument. Columbina gasps softly, surprised but not resistant.
“I do not celebrate Valentine’s Day,” Sandrone says, stepping between her knees. “I do not indulge in pointless rituals.”
Columbina waits.
“But I will accept what is offered,” Sandrone continues, her voice low and steady. “And I will return it in equal measure.”
Her hand slides along Columbina’s thigh, firm and possessive. “You chose me.”
“I did,” Columbina whispers.
“Then understand this.” Sandrone leans close again, her lips brushing the shell of Columbina’s ear. “I do not share what is mine.”
A shiver runs through Columbina at the possessive note in her voice.
Sandrone kisses her again, slower this time, deeper.
The chocolate cools forgotten on the counter.
When she finally pulls away, Columbina’s cheeks are flushed and her breath unsteady. Sandrone rests her forehead briefly against hers, a rare moment of quiet intimacy.
“I suppose,” Sandrone murmurs, “that your technique was not entirely inefficient.”
Columbina laughs softly, radiant.
“And Sandrone?” she asks.
“Yes?”
“Will you stay?”
Sandrone’s hand remains steady at her waist.
“Yes,” she says.
And for once, the answer comes easily.