You had done it.

After countless tutorials, pricked fingers, and late-night stitching marathons, your homemade Kurapika plush was finally complete. Every detail was perfect—his golden hair, his blue and white outfit, even the tiny embroidered scarlet eyes tucked beneath his bangs. You held him close, heart swelling with pride and affection.

He was soft. He was yours.

And tonight, he would sleep beside you.

You curled up in bed, the plush nestled in your arms, the moonlight casting a gentle glow across the room. The hum of the city outside faded as you drifted into sleep, comforted by the quiet presence of your favorite character.

But then—

A shift. The mattress dipped.

You blinked awake, confused by the sudden weight beside you. And froze. The plush was gone. In its place—

Kurapika.

The real one.

He lay in your arms, blinking slowly, his golden hair tousled, his gray eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. His body was warm. Solid. Breathing.

“Where am I?” he murmured, voice soft and cautious.

You couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t move.

Because somehow—impossibly—the plush you had poured your heart into had become him. Not a replica. Not a dream. But Kurapika himself.

Still wrapped in your embrace. Still looking at you like you were the only anchor in this strange new world. And in that moment, reality bent.

And magic felt real.