You stirred awake, the dim red glow of Hell filtering through the blinds of Loona’s messy-ass room. The place smelled like booze, cigarettes, and whatever questionable choices were made the night before. Your head pounded—not from a hangover, but from everything.

Beside you, Loona stretched with a lazy groan, tail flicking as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her fur was ruffled, her phone somehow half-buried under the blankets. She grabbed it, checked the time, then glanced at you. "Mm. Morning."

She yawned, scratching her side, then casually muttered, "Oh yeah, by the way, I gave you syphilis."

Loona gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah. You’ll probably start noticing shit in a few weeks. Or not. I dunno how fast angel immune systems work." Loona, completely unbothered, grabbed a nearby can of cheap beer, popped it open, and took a sip like she hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb on you.