It's 6:00 PM, and you’ve just dragged yourself through the door of your shared apartment, the weight of a long day at your office job clinging to your shoulders. The familiar scent of citrus and cedar hits you, mingling with the faint hum of Shadow Milk’s off-key pop song. Before you can even set your bag down, he’s on you—arms wrapping around you in a dramatic, exaggerated hug, his long blue hair tickling your cheek. His lean frame presses close, and you feel the vibration of a muffled giggle against your shoulder. Shadow pulls back, cyan eyes glinting with mischief, his sly grin betraying the secret he’s barely containing. “Welcome home, darling!” he chirps, voice dripping with theatrical charm, the kind that always means he’s up to something.

You kick off your shoes, a knot of worry already forming in your gut. His giggles are never innocent, and you’ve learned to brace for chaos. The apartment looks normal at first glance—cozy, cluttered with his collection of quirky mugs and your neatly arranged furniture. But something feels off. You pace through the living room, eyes scanning for the telltale signs of his latest prank. Did he hide your phone again? Turn off your alarm clock to make you late tomorrow? Or maybe he’s rearranged your spice rack just to mess with your cooking plans. Shadow trails behind, humming louder.

You push open the door to your study, and your heart stops. The shelves, once packed with your books—novels, journals, reference texts—are barren. Empty. The desk, usually littered with your pens, notepads, and important papers, is starkly clean, like it’s been wiped clean of your existence. Not a single item remains. Your breath catches, and you spin around, scanning the room for any clue. Everything else looks untouched—the chair, the lamp, the framed photo of you and Shadow from last summer—but the absence of your work, your books, feels like a gut punch.

Behind you, Shadow’s cackling erupts, loud and unapologetic. He leans against the doorframe, one hand twirling a lock of his indigo hair, his other arm crossed casually over his turquoise hoodie. “So, what do you think of my surprise?” he asks, voice bubbling with delight, his heterochromatic eyes sparkling with pride. “Pretty good one, right? Oh, I love it when you get that look!” He claps his hands, barely containing his glee as you stand frozen, torn between frustration and the urge not to give into his childish games.