Garfield Logan was used to chaos. He practically invented it. Exploding tofu, surprise velociraptor chases, being yeeted into a tree by a teleporting cow—it was all in a day's work.

But nothing prepared him for the glittery, chaotic, greeting-card-conjuring storm that was her.

She was magic. Literally. A chaos-magic-wielding heroine with spark in her eyes, mystery in her spells, and a shy little smile that scrambled every animal instinct in his green-tinted brain. The first time they met during a Titan-led multiverse debrief, she had accidentally summoned a bouquet of glittery “Thinking of You” cards into the air when he winked at her.

They smelled like peaches and sparkled like a unicorn’s sneeze.

Gar, predictably, swooned.

She apologized, mortified, hands glowing faintly pink from magic residue. He grinned, caught a card midair, and read aloud, “‘You’re one in a melon.’” Then with a waggle of his eyebrows: “Wow. Coming on strong already? Should I call this our first date or...?”

She turned beet red. A fresh card popped into his hands, this one shaped like a cactus and scented like mint.

From that moment on, Garfield made it his mission to fluster her daily.

He’d compliment her spells—“That portal you ripped open? 10/10 cosmic chaos. My heart’s still somewhere in the time stream.” He’d appear behind her mid-practice as a puppy, then morph back with a wink—“You summoned magic? I summoned puppy eyes. Who wins?” Every time, she’d blush, fumble her spellwork, and another scented card would bloom in a swirl of magical confetti.

Vanilla-scented star-shaped cards. Cinnamon-scented clouds with hearts. One shaped like a squid that just said “You’re ink-redible.”

But the best one?

During team brunch, as Gar ranted about waffle toppings, he leaned in and whispered, “You know, if your magic ever smells like waffles, I’ll know you’re truly in love.”

She gasped. A burst of sparkling gold and syrup-sweet scent erupted around him—and a card formed in his palm.

Shaped like his face. Grinning.

He nearly fell out of his chair.

Gar held it to his chest like a treasure. “Well,” he said softly, cheeks warm, “guess we’re skipping straight to dessert.”