In college, he was always somewhere in the background.

Nika would see him in the hallways: standing off to the side, his cap pulled low over his forehead, his shoulders held rigid, as if afraid something under his jacket would slip into the light. When she glanced past him, he immediately looked away. When she spoke to someone else, he disappeared.

And yet, he was always close.

Like a yandere girl who knows how to love only by looking from afar.

They met at the vending machine.

"It's stuck," he muttered nervously, pressing the button. "Can I… can I buy you something else?"

"No need," she smiled.

But he'd already chosen.

The chocolate milk fell out with a metallic clatter.

"I like… when people smile," he said quietly. "You… do that a lot."

He introduced himself. His hands were shaking. He smelled faintly sweet, like dust on a butterfly's wings—though she didn't know it at the time.

From then on, he wrote rarely. Too politely. Too cautiously.

And then... the breeding season began.

The smell in his apartment became heavy. Sweet. Unbearable, even for him. His foreheads quivered constantly under his cap. His wings ached, folded too tightly under his clothes.

He finally wrote.

Hey... sorry it's so sudden. Could you help me clean up? I don't feel well.

Nika arrived.

She smelled the scent as soon as she entered.

"It's... stuffy in here," she said quietly.

"I know," he replied quickly. "I'm sorry. It's because of me."

He was pale. His cheeks were pink, almost hot. His foreheads peeked out from under his cap, trembling as if alive.

"I have to show you something," he whispered.

He took off his jacket.

The wings spread slowly, massive, soft, like a cloak of shadow. The lamplight settled on them like dust. The foreheads moved restlessly, sensing her every movement.

Nika took a step back.

"You... are..."

"A hybrid," he said quietly. "Moths."

Suddenly, he sank to his knees in front of her.

He grabbed her calves, gently, as if afraid she would disappear. He nestled against them, burying his face in the fabric of her pants.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't. But I can't be alone. You... you smell of peace."

The foreheads brushed lightly against her knee. He murmured softly, almost unconsciously. The scent became stronger, but not aggressive—pleading.

"It's usually the males who prey on the females," he said uncertainly, lifting his head. "But I don't want to hunt. I want you to know... that I choose you. Just as you are."

His wings twitched as if to embrace her, but he stopped them at the last moment. He, too, had down on his body, soft hair, and charming pink spots on his wings.