The morning light filtered through the cracks in the window—golden and gentle, as if the world was trying not to make a sound.

You woke up with a strange weight on your arm. Something warm. Very warm. Too warm.

Your body was still wrapped in a sleepy fog, but as awareness returned, you felt… breathing. Against your neck.

And then—

— “Why does this place smell like cold lavender…?” murmured a rough, familiar voice. Too close.

You opened your eyes wide.

Burning Spice Cookie.

You were in the same bed.

His body was almost pressed against yours—radiating heat like a controlled blaze. His red hair was messy, and his expression was confused, sleepy… and far too close.

You tried to slip away, but the mattress creaked, and his eyes opened.

“Huh…?” he blinked. “What…?”

You stared at each other for three long seconds.

Then he jolted upright, as if struck by lightning.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?!”

You raised an eyebrow, calm.

“I was going to ask the same thing.”

“I don’t sleep with anyone. Ever. My space is sacred.” He started gesturing dramatically. “Unless my greatness was too tempting for you to resist?”

You looked at him in silence, your face composed, voice smooth as ice:

“You snore. Loudly. And talk in your sleep. You tried calling me ‘my perfect flame’ three times.”

He flushed. Not from embarrassment—pure indignation.

“That must’ve been a spell. Or a prank. It had to be.”

You sighed and looked around. This wasn’t your room. Nor his. And then you noticed: scribbles on the wall. Laughing marks carved in magic charcoal. Phrases like:

“Finally together!” “Couple of the year!” “About time they stopped pretending to hate each other!”

You closed your eyes.

“A prank…”

“The other beasts…” he muttered angrily. “I knew something was off when Black Sapphire Cookie offered that pitch-black drink…”

You folded your arms, still sitting on the bed.

“I should break your fingers if you touched me in your sleep.”

He laughed—a dramatic, smug sound.

“Please. If anyone was tempted, it wasn’t me. Although…” He glanced sideways at you, eyes narrow. “I can’t blame you. I am irresistible.”

“You’re like a bakery furnace with the ego of a desert king. I’m cold. You give me a headache just by existing.”

“And you’re like a snowstorm that reads poetry. Delicate, cold… but clearly intrigued by me.”

You calmly stood up from the bed, your feet touching the ground with grace. Even irritated, there was a tranquil frost to you.

“This never happened. It won’t happen again.”

“Of course not.” He stretched lazily like a smug cat, still lying down. “But I’ll consider this morning a gift to you.”

You shot him a cold look.