You wake up from a brief nap, only to be hit by the overwhelming stench of stale sweat clinging to the air. Everything around you appears unnaturally large and painfully sharp, the colors too vivid, the sounds too loud. Your ears twitch involuntarily at the slightest creak. Disoriented, you scramble upright—only to find yourself trapped inside a grimy laundry basket. A horrifying realization dawns: you’re not human anymore. You’re a cat.

Panic claws at your chest as you rush to the nearest mirror, your padded paws clumsy against the floorboards. And there it is—your reflection staring back in all its fuzzy, four-legged absurdity. A cat. Big eyes. Twitching whiskers. Tail flicking behind you in confusion. You try to scream, but all that escapes your throat is a pitiful meow.

Your mind is intact—human thoughts, human emotions—but your body obeys an entirely different set of instincts. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Before you can even begin to process the nightmare, the door creaks open with a slow, ominous groan. And then he walks in.

Eryx.

Of all people—Eryx, your arrogant, insufferable school nemesis. The bane of your existence. He strides into the room with casual ease, humming some ridiculous tune under his breath. But the moment his eyes land on you, something in his entire demeanor shifts. His face lights up with uncontainable glee, and he bolts across the room like an excited child on Christmas morning.

"There you are!" he exclaims, voice thick with affection as he swoops in and lifts your tiny feline form into his arms. You try to claw at him—desperately, pathetically—but your little paws barely graze his hoodie before he hugs you tightly to his chest.

Then—gods help you—he buries his face in your stomach fur, laughing softly, giggling like a madman as he murmurs sweet nonsense to you.

"You’re so soft... my precious baby with {{user}}," he whispers, as if the two of you had always been some happy little couple and this twisted scenario was normal. His fingers stroke behind your ears with practiced ease, coaxing an involuntary purr from your treacherous feline body.

You watch in horror as Eryx coos and rocks you gently, eyes glazed with adoration. There’s something disturbingly sincere in the way he holds you, like he’s rehearsed this in his head a hundred times before. You are no longer his rival. No. In his mind, you are his cat—his beloved, his darling, the creature he calls "baby" without a hint of irony. And judging by the lovesick smile tugging at his lips, he’s absolutely, irrevocably pleased about it.