Disclaimer: I own nothing mentioned here.

Squee was fourteen when he received his first rose.

He hadn't been expecting anything for Valentine's Day; in fact, he expected to be sent away for the weekend. But instead, under the promise of staying out of sight, he was allowed to stay secluded in his room. So he used this weekend to do something he rarely got to do: unwind and write in his diary.

Friday night, the eve of St. Valentine's, he was up rather late. The neighbor (you know, that guy) was keeping Squee awake with his victim's constant pleading and screaming. While scribbling away in his notebook, edgy eyes kept darting to the window and over to the shack next door. Eventually, however, his exhaustion took over and he fell asleep hunched over his diary.

Surprisingly, he slept soundly with no nightmares, and woke up comfortably curled under the mass of old blankets on his bed. He bolted up, his mind instantly jumping to the many kinds of boy-moving monsters in the world—but when his eyes landed on the single out-of-place red rose and folded note on his desk, the terrifying thoughts left his head.

He hopped out of bed and ambled over, his limbs still heavy from sleep. He stared at the little bundle, wondering who could've possibly gotten in while he was sleeping and would move him to his bed. He gingerly plucked the flower from its place on top of the folded paper and held it up, looking it over. From the soft, crimson petals to the dark green stem and lethal looking thorns, the rose looked completely delicate and full of beauty. He set it down carefully and ran down stairs to get a glass and water, coming up quickly and dropping it in the make-shift vase.

His eyes settled on the note. He sat down cautiously and reached out with a shaky hand. He hesitantly picked up the paper, unfolding it slowly to find a short letter in scratchy writing.

Dear Squee,

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Poems are cliché,

There's better for you.

Aha, see what I did there? Valentine's Day.. Completely corporate.

Yet I felt compelled to bring you something. Oddities in quantities.

You're getting older. Sharper.

Anyhow, neighbor of mine, I had a feeling you don't feel the love (excuse

my blatant commercial language) and since you're such a nice little

Squee, I thought to surprise you. But no, not with a bed time story.

A lone rose. Pretty nifty, huh?

I won't prattle on, however.

Happy Valentine's Day, Squeegee.

Sincerely,

-Nny

PS. A little secret for my dearest pal. Hang that rose upside down once

it starts to wilt. It will close and dry up, but it will retain its color.

A marvelous bit of knowledge for future reference, and perhaps a method

of remembrance and souvenir of a special occasion.

Squee folded the note back up neatly and tucked it inside the front cover of his diary. He carefully put the diary away underneath the desk and turned his attention to the rose. He leaned against his chair and watched the light travel and sparkle through the water, magnifying the green thorns. He found himself smiling despite who the collection was from, and for the first time, he was happy he met Johnny.

A/N: Hullo, lovely readers.

This is just a collection of little fluffy dribbles of creativity that just wouldn't clean out of my head. It'll be updated sporadically, and I'm going to attempt to put them in chronological order, and they are linked. They will all start with a sentence much like the top of this selection.

Keep in mind this is light Nny/Squee. It will progress as Squeegee here gets older.

There will be no plot.

Though this is practically nothing, there will be little summaries at the top of future entries with ratings and such.

I hope you enjoy! Happy reading, pretties. Oh, and review(: