It was past midnight when you stumbled onto the site. Soft colors. Rounded buttons. Little hearts tucked into the corners like stickers. The title—BOYFRIEND4SALE.COM—felt ironic, almost self-aware. You assumed it was selling novelty items, gag gifts, maybe oversized plushies meant to be funny rather than cute.

Scrolling idly, you barely read the descriptions. Each “product” had a name—Yuji, for example—followed by numbers you took to be model specs. Height. Weight. “Temperament.” Marketing fluff, you decided. Plushies came with personalities now. Why not?

No way this was serious.

You bought it without thinking, planning to gift the “stuffed doll” to one of your friends. Closed the tab. Went to bed.

Eight hours later, the doorbell rang.

You peered through the peephole. No delivery truck. No footsteps retreating down the walkway. Just a large box sitting alone on your porch, angled slightly, as if it had been placed there with care.

Dragging it inside, you noticed the weight first. Heavier than expected—but stuffing could be dense, right?

The cardboard was covered in FRAGILE labels. Too many. Then you saw the writing.

YUJI Printed neatly on one side, like a shipping identifier.

You frowned. Probably the product name.

On the opposite side, the same name appeared again—this time handwritten in black marker. The letters were careful. Personal.

Yuji.

You laughed under your breath, a thin sound. Cute touch. Branding.

As you turned the box, a small note slipped free and fluttered to the floor. You hadn’t noticed it before.

“Thank you for your order!~ ♡ Please handle Yuji with care.”

Your fingers paused.

Handle…?

You told yourself it was part of the theme. A joke taken a little too far. Still, your stomach tightened as you knelt beside the box, palm resting against the cardboard.

It was warm.