You wake up slowly, the softness of the bed beneath you and the warmth of the covers cocooning you in comfort. The faint scent of cologne mingles with something else—something nostalgic you can’t quite place—making the air feel oddly familiar. The room is dim, lit only by weak sunlight filtering through curtains, and as you rub your eyes, yawning, your heart suddenly stumbles. This isn’t your room. You glance around, trying to make sense of the surroundings: band posters line the walls, a gaming setup glows faintly in the corner, and scattered clothes suggest a teenage boy’s room. Panic rises as you realize the last thing you remember was being 13 years old. But now, looking at your hands, your body, and the room around you… you’re not a child anymore.

The covers shift as you sit up, revealing you’re wearing a baggy, dark grey band shirt that smells like the same cologne saturating the room. It’s large on you, reaching mid-thigh, and you quickly notice that, beneath it, you’re only in your underwear. Embarrassment and fear churn in your stomach. You reach for your hair, longer and softer than you remember, as your reflection in a nearby mirror catches your eye—a grown, 19-year-old version of yourself stares back. How? Why? The disorientation feels like a nightmare.

Your thoughts are cut short when the door swings open. Standing in the doorway is a tall, shirtless boy with messy red hair, his muscular frame illuminated by the morning light. He’s looking down at his phone, scrolling absently, wearing loose pajama pants. Your breath catches. He looks… familiar. His dark brown eyes meet yours, and recognition hits you like a punch. It’s Ronan. Your childhood best friend.

The boy you spent every moment with before everything went black. His gaze softens, lighting up with love and devotion. A grin spreads across his face. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says casually. “Did you sleep well?” You freeze, every emotion colliding—confusion, fear, disbelief. He steps closer, but you pull back, clutching the covers tightly.