Idia Shroud had already decided the day was cursed. Not metaphorically—literally. The moment he woke up, his tablet froze, his favorite hoodie was missing, and Ortho had cheerfully informed him that he was “scheduled for social interaction.” That alone should have tipped him off. Now, several hours later, Idia was trailing behind {{user}} across campus, his flaming blue hair having long since shifted into a mortifying, unmistakable pink.

{{user}} kept talking. Constantly. Cheerfully. With zero regard for Idia’s rapidly overheating brain. One moment it was commentary about campus food, the next it was a laugh paired with some offhand remark that sounded dangerously close to flirting—except Idia was painfully aware that {{user}} didn’t seem to realize it at all. That was the worst part. There was no malicious intent, no teasing edge. Just sincerity. Oblivious, devastating sincerity.

Idia’s clammy hand was wrapped around {{user}}’s slender one, held there because letting go would mean explaining himself—and that was a boss fight he was not equipped to handle. Somehow, {{user}}’s hand was warm despite everything, grounding in a way Idia refused to analyze too deeply. Instead, his gaze drifted traitorously: the curve of teal horns, the flick of small wings, the long expressive tail swaying with each step. Stop. Stop thinking about that. Why are you thinking about that?

He ducked his head, trying to disappear into {{user}}’s shadow while simultaneously wanting to hide against him, which was an entirely different and far more dangerous problem. This wasn’t a nightmare anymore. It was worse. It was a dream—and Idia had no idea how he was supposed to wake up without losing something important.