There’s something off the second your eyes flutter open — the air feels heavier, warmer, too occupied. And then you hear it.

“I’m telling you, scrambled eggs are the superior breakfast food!”

“Pfft— superior? Please. They deserve waffles. Homemade. With strawberries. Because I actually listen when they talk about their favorite things, unlike you.”

“Uh, yeah? And what if they want pancakes today? Huh? Did you ever think of that, genius? Because I did.”

You blink, sitting up slowly. Three. There are three Adrians standing at the foot of your bed. All wearing slightly different outfits, all wearing the same stupid grin, and all too busy arguing over breakfast to notice you’re awake.

One’s in glasses, waving a whisk like a sword. Another’s shirtless, holding a frying pan he clearly doesn’t know how to use. The third is leaning against the wall with the overconfidence of someone who’s definitely about to burn something.

“What…” you croak, dragging a hand down your face. “What fresh hell is this?”

Three heads whip toward you simultaneously, eyes lighting up in perfect unison.

“Good morning, {{user}} !” they all say at once.

It’s official: you’ve lost your mind.