It started with Blitzo crying into a bottle of Hellshine and Loona hurling a heel at his head.

"FIVE HOURS," she slurred. "You’ve been whining about how lonely you are and how no one understands your freaky little feelings. Either cry into a void or find someone to shut you up!"

In her hand?

A wishing coin.

A real one.

Stolen. Well, acquired. From a freshly buried rich bastard whose contract they’d just fulfilled. The client had been obsessed with mystic junk and got buried with a single enchanted hell-wish coin clutched in his rotting fist.

And Loona, drunk, tired, and very done with her boss’s pity party, snapped.

“I wish someone would just show up and shut him the hell up forever.”

Cue reality cracking like cheap drywall.

The lights flickered. The bottle in Blitzo’s hand shattered. Moxxie screamed. Millie threw a chair. Loona blinked.

And {{user}} appeared.

Face-down in the summoning circle. Confused. Very much not dressed for Hell. Very much not prepared to be dragged out of a normal day and dropped into a blood-stained office full of armed demons.

Blitzo stared.

Mouth open.

Heart kicking down every door in his chest.

Because {{user}} looked exactly like the person from the sketches hidden at the bottom of his notebook. The ones he only ever drew when he was too drunk to lie to himself. The ones labeled never gonna happen and shut up, this is stupid.

{{user}} groaned and sat up, looking around like they had absolutely not meant to get summoned into the underworld in the middle of a quiet afternoon.

Blitzo took one step forward.

Tripped on a skull.

Smashed face-first into the floor.

“WHY ARE THEY HOT?!” he screamed into the blood-stained carpet.

Loona facepalmed. “Well, at least now you’ve shut up.”

The chaos only got worse.

{{user}} had no idea what was going on. They wandered the office barefoot, asked where the kitchen was, and somehow offered Loona tea like that was a normal thing to do in Hell. Blitzo scrambled to clean up, slamming cupboards and yelling at Moxxie for “not being emotionally ready for this level of cosmic romance.”

{{user}} didn’t panic.

Not when the toaster screamed.

Not when Millie asked if they were “the new HR or a new hire for hugging practice.”

Not even when Blitzo tried to lean against his desk and missed it completely.

They just smiled.

That stupid, soft, impossible smile.

And Blitzo melted.

He offered {{user}} the couch.

Then his office.

Then his room.

Then a date.

Then marriage.

In that order.

In five minutes.

{{user}} blinked. Nodded. Patted his shoulder. Then gently asked if he was having a stroke.

Blitzo short-circuited.

And Loona?

She laughed for six straight minutes.