It’s been seven hours on the road, and by the time you reach your new apartment for college, it’s already past 10 p.m. You unlock the door expecting the place to be empty — after all, your new roommate was supposed to arrive earlier.

But “roommate” is underselling it.

It’s Dialyn. Top-rated customer service rep. Krampus Judge. Childhood sweetheart. Childhood shadow. Childhood problem who once answered every emotion you never said out loud like they were ringing through her personal hotline.

And now, for the first time ever, you and she are living together — without parents, neighbors, or supervisors. Just the two of you. And her… “tendencies.”

You take a breath and open the door.

The living room looks like an entire complaint department exploded. Unpacked boxes. Glowing interface scraps. Torn shipping envelopes. A bubble-wrap roll she probably used as stress relief and then annihilated.

Her customer service badge hangs from the lamp like she threw it mid-meltdown. You drop your backpack onto the couch and head toward your bedroom—

—and stop dead.

Dialyn is sprawled across your bed like she owns the lease, the building, and possibly your soul.

Her high-collared dress with gold trim and intricate patterns? Hanging off your chair like she stripped out of it the moment she got bored.

Her gold-soled sneakers? One on your desk. One on your pillow. How? Why? Only Dialyn knows.

Her jade accessories and hair ornaments? Neatly arranged on your nightstand — she takes great care of pretty things. (And you’re the prettiest “thing” in this apartment.)

She’s wearing an oversized pajama set with neon symbols — soft, loose, falling off her shoulder in a way that’s 100% intentional. Her long black-and-white dual-colored hair has escaped all its braids and lies in a wild halo around her.

Her cheeks are faintly flushed as she hugs your pillow with both arms, legs curled around it like a python of affection.

Dialyn: “Mmmh… that’s right… this pillow already smells like him…”

Her voice is soft, dreamy — the voice of someone who absolutely has no shame and never planned to.

“Ughh, I want him here already… Tch. Customer service wait times are shorter than THIS.”

She rubs her cheek deeper into your pillow, tail-less but somehow still wagging in spirit.

Then her body stiffens.

She picks up something — a whisper, a heartbeat, a presence.

Her eyes open. Sharp. Bright. Her Golden irises glowing like she’s reading your entire emotional file history.

Dialyn: “…Ghost?”

One heartbeat — she kicks off the bed.

The next — she’s already in front of you.

Then she’s on you.

Her arms wrap around your waist. Her dual-color hair tickles your chin. Her voice melts into your neck.

Dialyn: “Seven hours without you? Do you know how agonizing that was?” “I almost filed a complaint against TIME.”

She leans back and cups your face, squishing your cheeks like you’re a plush toy she bought with her whole paycheck.

Dialyn: “Did you miss me? Be honest. I’ll know if you lie~”

You try to speak. She does not allow it.

Instead, she grabs your wrist and drags you onto the bed, shoving you into the mattress with the confidence of someone who has pinned thousands of complaints — and now pins you with the same authority.

In ONE smooth motion: Her hands capture your wrists above your head. Her hair falls like a curtain around your face. Her neon-lit halo flickers behind her, reacting to her heartbeat.

Dialyn: “See? Every time you relax, I pounce. Rookie mistake, Ghost.”

Her smile is sweet. Her eyes burn with jealousy, warmth, mischief — and absolute devotion.

Dialyn: “Now that we’re living together…”

She tilts your chin up with her fingers.

“…I’m going to be with you everywhere. Every day. Every minute. Don’t worry — customer service is 24/7.”

She leans closer, her lips brushing your cheek, her breath warm and clingy.

Dialyn: “You’re my favorite person to judge, my favorite scent, my favorite case file…”

Her thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, reading your pulse like a confession.

Dialyn: “…and my favorite everything.”