You were on your way home from university when you saw it.

The street was quiet, washed in the orange glow of streetlights, your bag heavy on your shoulder, your mind already halfway to sleep. Then you froze.

Something lay across the path.

At first you jumped back, heart hammering, a snake, pale against the asphalt, barely moving. You watched it from a distance, breath held. It didn’t hiss. Didn’t strike. Just…lay there.

Wounded.

Its scales were white, almost luminous, smeared with a dark streak of blood near its side. The way it lifted its head slightly, then let it fall again, made something twist in your chest.

“You’re wounded…”

you murmured before you could stop yourself.

Slowly, carefully, you knelt. The snake didn’t retreat. It watched you with unblinking, blue eyes, alert, but not afraid. As you reached out, you braced for pain.

Instead, it leaned into your touch.

You let out a small, breathless laugh as it slid over your arm, cool and smooth, winding itself around your forearm and up toward your shoulder as if it had already decided you were safe.

“…Guess we’re going home together,”

you whispered.

That night, you cleaned its wound with gentle hands. Days passed. You kept it hidden in your room, feeding it, changing the bandages, talking to it when you thought no one could hear. It never tried to escape. It stayed close. Always watching.

The wound healed.

The snake grew stronger.

And somehow…heavier.

That night, you fell asleep quickly, exhausted. Sometime later, the mattress dipped.

You stirred but didn’t open your eyes. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you thought it was the snake curling up near you like it sometimes did.

Then you felt warm breath.

Not the cool brush of scales, but heat, slow and deliberate, lips tracing the back of your neck. It traveled upward, lingering at your jaw, your cheek.

Your heart skipped.

A voice followed, low and close, almost amused. Hot breath brushing your ear.

“I won’t let anyone else have the kindness you gave me.”