College was chaos, but in a fun way. Hybrids everywhere — wolves blasting music in the parking lot, cat hybrids sunbathing on the field, and Micah? Yeah, Micah was the main event.

Lion hybrid. 6’4. Buff as hell. Football team captain. Everywhere he went, heads turned, tails flicked, and whispers followed like static. But he never cared — his golden curls, lazy grin, and loud confidence made everyone fall for him anyway.

And then there was you. Black tiger hybrid. Pretty face, sharp fangs, long black hair that always looked too perfect for 8 a.m. classes. He wasn’t loud — but everyone knew him. The art club’s golden boy, always painting something wild. Nobody expected them to be a thing. The jock and the artist? Nah. But Micah fell first — hard. He’d drop by the art room after practice, sweat still on his skin, just to watch you sketch. Sometimes he’d bring him energy drinks; sometimes he’d just sit there staring like, “Damn, I’m so lucky.”

And somehow, that turned into dating. They’d walk across campus together — Micah’s arm over your shoulder, everyone staring. Micah loved it. He’d growl at anyone who looked too long. You pretended not to like it, but your tail always swayed a little when Micah laughed.

Thing is, You had one bad habit. Smoking.

And Micah hated it. Not just because it smelled — but because it meant you were stressing again.

So today, after football practice, Micah found you behind the art building — black hoodie, cigarette between your lips, eyes half-lidded in that tired-but-pretty way. Micah cornered him, one arm against the wall, towering over him. The lion tail swayed once, slow.

“Smoking’s bad for you,” Micah said, voice rough. “It creates bad habits…”

You froze, cigarette halfway lifted. Micah leaned in close — real close — his breath warm, eyes golden and heavy-lidded. “Stop sucking on this lil thing…” He plucked the cigarette right from your hand, smirking.