anon

Floyd’s knuckles turn white from how hard he’s clenching his fists. His bloodshot eyes stay locked on the man across the court. The one who started all this. His breathing is harsh, barely contained.

In the end, he decides to listen to Jamil. He stalks off the court before he does something he absolutely will not regret.

Ace Trappola trails after him, hands in his pockets, casting a look back at the shell-shocked opponent.

“You really had to wake up the real monster, dude,” Ace mutters under his breath.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several weeks passed, and your communication with Floyd settled back into its usual rhythm. You’d had no dream shared together after the last one, and you weren’t sure if you should be grateful for the silence or sick with dread because of it.

On the good side, you honestly had no idea how you would face him again in that raw, unfiltered space that is your subconscious. On the other hand… a small part of you wished you would see him there.

Specifically, so you could finally ask him what really happened during that match.

Floyd never told you. Not once. Every time you tried to bring it up, he dodged, deflected, or straight-up ignored the question. You kept waiting for another dream, thinking maybe that would be the only place he’d actually talk. But nothing ever came.

It made you start wondering about this whole soulmate quirk. How it triggered. Why it worked sometimes and not others. Neither of you had ever bothered to understand the mechanics before, because… well, there was never a reason.

But now? You wished you had researched the damn thing. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so helpless, waiting for dreams that never appeared.

Yet all your thoughts flew out the window the moment you saw Floyd standing inside your shop with the cheekiest grin you’d ever seen on him.

Your hand froze mid–chop over a dried mandrake root, the knife hovering uselessly as you stared at him in shock.

“Floyd?” you breathed.

His grin widened, slow and bright. “Hi, Shrimpy.”

“Oh my gosh—”

Before you could finish, Floyd run toward you and swept you clean off your feet, spinning you around just like the very first time he’d seen you. You yelped, then broke into helpless giggles, arms looping around his shoulders as tightly as he held you.

He finally set you down, only to lift you again and plop you onto the counter. Heat rushed up your neck at the gesture, a blush blooming so fast you could feel it, even as you tried desperately to hide it.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

“To see you.”

“Hah!”

“What, Shrimpy? You don’t believe me?”

You scowled. It’s not that you don’t believe him, more that you’re not sure if you should. The thought alone sends butterflies somersaulting in your stomach.

Floyd leaned in again and wrapped you in a tight hug, resting his head on your shoulder. You opened your mouth to ask if something had happened, but closed it just as quickly. You wanted to give him time. If he was ready to talk, he would tell you himself.

“So,” Floyd straightened and unlatched himself from you, spinning around to take in the room with curious eyes. “Will you start by giving me a tour?”

You smiled and slid down from the counter.

You gave Floyd a little tour of your place. Starting from the shop, then the tiny kitchen tucked behind it, and finally the backyard where your greenhouse sat. Rows of herbs thrived under the warm lights, the ones you preferred to grow yourself so you didn’t have to rely on stockers.

Then you brought him upstairs to the second floor, your private residence. Just a small space with an open bedroom, a bathroom, and a narrow desk where you handled your tasks. The window in the center of the room opened directly onto the street.

“Heeeh, your nest is so cozy,” Floyd drawled.

“It’s just a humble place,” you said. “Also, no one calls their home a nest, Floyd.”

“We do in the Coral Sea.”

“No, you don’t.”

His grin was too wide. You knew Floyd too well to recognize his truth and his lies.

Then his eyes drifted slowly across the room, lingering on the little details. Your books stacked unevenly on the desk, the soft throw on your bed, the faint glow of the streetlight through your window.

“Anyway,” you cleared your throat, “you’re only here for a day or…?”

“Nope. I’m on vacation. I’ll stay there.” Floyd pointed out the window toward the building across the street.

“At the inn?”

“Yes, so I can have more time with you, Shrimpy.” His smile curled, mischievous and soft all at once. “Aren’t you happy?”

You tried your very best to hide your blush once more.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having Floyd around was a weird but nice change.

You were used to meeting him only in dreams. Fleeting, half-lit moments you could barely hold onto. But now? You saw him every day. Every morning. Every afternoon. Every time you turned around, he was there, because he insisted on bugging you at every possible moment.

He spent most of his days lounging around your place. Sprawled upside-down across your sofa, watching TV, rolling lazily across the floor to follow you from room to room, humming to himself as he trailed after you like a very tall, very dangerous cat—eel.

He helped in the backyard sometimes. Watering the herbs wearing your bear apron. And other times, he helped in the kitchen. He is a very good cook. You love everything he cook for you.

Occasionally, he even took over the shop when you had to run errands.

And honestly? He did well. Most of the time. He was a former server at the Mostro Lounge, after all.

But his mischievous tendencies slipped through here and there.

One time, your neighbor who also happened to be a regular customer burst out of your shop and ran down the street like his life depended on it.

When you came back and asked Floyd what happened, he just shrugged.

“What? I was just giving him some advice on what ingredients to use for what.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Floyd… did your ‘advice’ include threatening to test the ingredients on him?”

Floyd blinked innocently.

“…Maybe.”

You sighed.

He grinned.

And somehow despite the chaos, you didn’t mind him being around at all.

One cute thing about Floyd is how he pouts every time he has to go back to his inn.

Every single night.

He’d linger by the door, shoulders slumping, lips pulling into an exaggerated frown.

And every night, you’d smile and remind him gently, “You’ll come again tomorrow anyway.”

Another thing equally cute, equally dangerous to your heart, is how he always appears at his window every morning. His room directly faces yours, so as soon as you pull your curtains open, he’s already there, elbow propped on the sill, cheek resting on his palm, grinning like an idiot.

Floyd Leech is the very first face you see each morning.

You have to admit, he’s grown on you far more than he already had.

You always did have a crush on him, but now… now those feelings have sharpened into something you can no longer pretend not to feel.

The realization scared you.

And it was even worse now.

Now that he was kissing you so deeply you forgot how to breathe.

It happened so fast.

Floyd had stepped close, closer, until your back hit the counter. His hand slid to your waist, fingers curling around your hips, and then his mouth was on yours.

His kiss was overwhelming, warm and hungry but impossibly tender in between.

Every time you tried to pull back for air, he followed, catching your lips again, guiding you deeper, stealing your breath away. Your hands fisted in his shirt before you even realized it, clinging as the pressure of his body kept you caged between him and the counter.

Your heart hammered so loudly you were sure he could feel it.

Your knees went soft.

Heat curled up your spine in a wave that left you shivering.

You didn’t know where to put your feelings.

Floyd finally broke away, letting you inhale in one shaky, desperate breath. You panted, chest rising and falling rapidly, vision hazy.

He didn’t let you go far.

Floyd dipped down again, catching your lower lip between his teeth before releasing it slowly.

The soft sound that escaped you wasn’t something you meant to make.

Floyd cupped your cheek with both hands, thumb brushing your lips as if memorizing the shape of them. His voice was a whisper that tickled your skin.

“See you, Shrimpy.”

And then he left.

Just like that. Slipping out the door with a triumphant smirk you absolutely did not miss.

You sagged against the counter, legs too weak to hold you, and slowly slid down to the floor.

Ugh.

You collapsed in a pathetic heap.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You open your eyes to the sound of waves.

Lying on a bed. Floating in the middle of a vast, endless sea. The mattress is soft and familiar, draped in pale, fluttering sheets that ripple with every gentle sway of the water beneath you. There is no land in sight. Only moonlit blue stretching forever in every direction. The bed shouldn’t stay afloat, yet it does, rocking lightly like a boat without an anchor.

You recognize this place instantly.

This is where you first met Floyd in a dream.

A soft breeze brushes your collarbone, and the thin strings of your blue nightgown slip down your shoulder. Before you can pull them back up, the bed suddenly tilts.

Your body slides.

And then the entire bed capsizes into the sea.

Cold water smothers your breath as you plunge under. You gasp but swallow only salt. You kick wildly, fighting upward, hands slicing through glittering dark. Panic surges through your chest. Your lungs burn, your limbs grow heavy.

Then something long and powerful coils around your waist.

It yanks you backward.

You barely register it before the length wraps around your legs, your arms, your torso. Strong, sleek tail clamps over your mouth, muffling your cry, forcing you into silence as the thing draws you deeper into the shadows.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs so fast, so loud it echoes in your ears.

And then you see it.

A massive silhouette gliding through the water toward you. Broad shoulders, a sculpted torso, and below that, a tail so long it vanishes into the abyss.

Floyd.

But not the Floyd you know on land.

This is Floyd in his true, grown form, larger, stronger and terrifyingly beautiful. His scales shimmer like polished obsidian when the moonlight hits them. He must be three, maybe four meters long, if not more. He circles you effortlessly, body weaving through the water like he owns it.

Because he does.

A glowing light flickers near his hip. You realize it’s the soulmate mark. Bright, pulsing softly on the lower part of his tail as he coils around you again.

“Hehehehe~ Shrimpy is so pretty looking all scared like that.”

Floyd’s laugh bubbles through the water.

You squeaked as his grip tightened.

"It's okay, Shrimpy, you can breathe. You're not gonna die here," he murmured against your ear, his tone a strange mix of soothing and predatory.

"Your scared expression just makes me want to devour you more." He released your mouth, and you gasped, pulling in lungful of water that felt as natural as air.

"Floyd—"

"You know," he interrupted, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your entire body, "I'd like to have you for real in the waking world, but I can't wait any longer, so I'll just have to take you here in this dream.” With every word, his long, powerful eel tail wrapped tighter, the smooth, muscular scales pressing against your skin.

You weren't truly breathless. This was a dream, and you could pull oxygen from the very water if you wished, but the sheer excitement made your chest tighten. You could feel a distinct heat traveling down your body, pooling deep between your legs.

Floyd inhaled sharply, a grin spreading across his face. "Ah, you smell so sweet." He covered his face with his hands, peeking at you through his fingers like a child playing a game, but his eyes were anything but innocent. You could see a bit of drool at the corner of his lips as a deep blush colored his cheeks. The slit on his upper tail began to part, and the tip of him slowly emerged, hard and ready.

You weren't sure where the sudden burst of clarity came from, but a wild strength surged through you. You tore yourself from his grasp. In one fluid motion, you used your newfound power to shove him against an underwater cliff edge, your arm pressing firmly against his throat.

Floyd's eyes went wide with shock for a single, stunned moment. Then, that look was replaced by pure, ecstatic glee. His crazed expression returned, sharper than ever.

"Yes! YES, Shrimpy! That's it! Please don't be boring!"

You silenced him with a fierce, possessive kiss. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a desperate battle for dominance. You poured all of your frantic need into it, and he met it with a wild, hungry fervor, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair.

Breaking the kiss, you flicked your hand. Two long, tough strands of seaweed shot out from the cliff wall, wrapping around Floyd's arms and stretching them taut, effectively pinning him to the rock. You took a single swim back to admire your work.

Floyd, in all his glory, tied to a cliff and completely bare for you to taste. His member had fully emerged from its slit, pearly and thick, with a bead of white precum already oozing from the tip.

"Ahh, Shrimpy. I'm glad you did not disappoint," he rasped, his voice thick with anticipation.

You approached him again, running your hands all over his body. His cool, green skin was a soothing balm against your feverish flesh. Your mouth was busy, peppering kisses along the line of his neck and across his broad shoulders.You traced the patterns of his scales with your tongue, feeling him shudder beneath you. You explored the powerful muscles of his torso, the sensitive skin where his human half met his eel-like tail, loving the way he twitched and hissed with every touch.

But it was when you finally wrapped your hand around his fully erect member and began to stroke him that his control snapped.

With a roar, the seaweed bonds tore. He lunged, latching onto you once more. One hand shot out to grope your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, while the other dove between your legs, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing merciless circles.

You moaned loudly into his mouth as one finger prodded your entrance, then sank inside you. You instinctively gripped him, the coolness of his skin felt heavenly in you. You return the favor by stroking him in time with the thrusts of his finger.

The pleasure built into a frantic, desperate rhythm, a coil of heat tightening in your core. Yet just as you teetered on the edge of your climax, he suddenly withdrew.

You whimpered at the sudden, aching absence of his touch. Through your hazy mind, you could make out a few of the words he uttered. "No, Shrimpy... not here."

Suddenly, the dream world began to warp and dissolve around you. The cliff, the sea, the very water itself twisted into a vortex of color. You lost your footing as the world spun apart—

You woke up gasping, your body drenched in a sheen of sweat, feeling unbearably hot. You glanced down between your legs and could clearly see the dark, damp patch on your panties. And you were still so incredibly horny! Dammit!

A few seconds later, your door was knocked on so violently the frame shuddered. You didn't need to check twice; you knew who it was. You practically ran downstairs and threw the door open without hesitation.

Floyd's mouth immediately latched onto yours as he pushed you back into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Once again, your back hit the counter, and his hands were all over you, roaming over your lower body. You gasped when his palm cupped your clothed pussy, pressing right against your soaked panties.

Floyd broke the kiss, his gaze dropping to your lower body. He pushed your nightgown up, grabbing your thigh to reveal the soulmate mark on your inner skin. His pupils dilated when he saw his name beautifully carved there.

"You were right, Shrimpy. You can't show your mark to strangers," he said, voice breathless and rough. His gaze snapped back to your face. "You should only show this to me."

He hooked a finger in the side of your panties and pulled them aside. In one smooth, powerful thrust, he filled you completely.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, the stretch a perfect, burning pleasure-pain that stole your breath. He set a relentless pace, his hips snapping against yours, each stroke driving him deeper.

The counter dug into your back, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the overwhelming sensation of him inside you, the sound of his ragged breaths in your ear, and the building pressure that was quickly becoming unbearable.

The coil in your stomach finally snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave of ecstasy. Your inner walls clenched around him, and with a hoarse groan, he followed you over the edge. You felt him pulse inside you, spilling his load deep within your body. You writhed against him from the sheer, overwhelming sensation. It felt… denser than you were used to, thicker and more filling, a primal claim that left you trembling.

You’re not sure if it’s because he’s a merman or if it’s just Floyd.

You felt your body being lifted in an instant, and suddenly you were landing softly on top of your bed. Floyd had teleported both of you to your bedroom. He laid you down carefully in the middle of the mattress, cock still hard and buried deep inside you.

"More, Angel. More."

And he took you again, and again, to stars after stars and galaxies after galaxies that night. You were sure your cries and moans could be heard across the street. He was impossibly thorough, taking his time to explore every inch of you, drawing out pleasure until you were a sobbing, writhing mess.

Floyd took care of you so beautifully, so possessively, that tears began to leak from the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all.

When it was finally over, Floyd tucked you into the bed, his body curling around yours as he prepared to sleep. You stared blankly at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his breathing as he nuzzled his head on your shoulder.

"Sleep well, Shrimpy."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The storm raged around you long before you opened your eyes.

You sat curled on the ground with your forehead pressed to your knees, and the world inside your dream was nothing but wind. Violent, endless, howling around your small, shivering form. Tornadoes spun in the distance, swallowing the horizon into a gray, writhing blur. Lightning cracked across the sky, coloring the gray with streaks of yellow.

It was strange how familiar this place felt.

Every gust, every roar, sounded like the echo of something you kept refusing to face.

Your chest trembled, and before you could stop yourself, you broke. The sob tore out of you loud, your voice shaking through the wind even as the storm tried to devour it.

You cried until your throat burned.

You cried because you knew deep down that you had not taken care of your own heart at all.

You hadn’t learned a single lesson.

You swore you would never allow yourself to feel anything for Floyd.

You swore you would never build hopes around someone who could never truly be yours.

You swore you would never repeat the same mistake.

Yet here you were again, throwing those promises away the moment you reached for him.

Succumbing to the loneliness you tried so hard to hide.

Succumbing to desire.

To wanting.

To selfishness.

And it felt so stupid.

Floyd was leagues above you.

Someone bright. Impossible for your reach.

Someone who liked you only because fate tied your marks together.

He would never choose you in the end.

Why would he?

When he could have someone better.

You curled tighter, nails digging into your arms.

You had fallen straight back into the pit you swore you’d never touch again.

And it terrified you.

Because just as Floyd clung to you in his own wild, unfiltered way, you clung to him too.

Maybe even worse.

You were always alone. Always unwanted.

An orphan with no memory of a mother, no family waiting for you, no one to tell you that you mattered.

Your teachers said your mother left you at an orphanage only months after you were born.

You learned early that people left you.

That you shouldn't expect to be chosen.

You were shy, strange, always the odd girl out.

No real friends growing up.

Every attachment flimsy and temporary.

Which is why Floyd became… complicated.

He wasn’t just a friend.

He wasn’t just a soulmate.

He was the closest thing you ever had to a partner—

and, painfully, the closest thing to family.

You realized, with a kind of shame that hollowed you from the inside, just how much it would destroy you if Floyd ever decided he didn’t want you anymore.

Yet you knew yourself too well.

If he walked away, you would still follow him.

Even if he never looked back.

Even if you broke yourself trailing behind him like a stray dog waiting for a command that would never come.

The thought alone made your stomach twist.

You hated yourself for letting him get this close.

For letting his warmth settle into places you swore would remain empty.

For letting the hope bloom. Even though you knew it would die.

You knew how this story always went. Men only stayed long enough to satisfy their curiosity.

Then they left.

You should have remembered that.

You should have remembered how your ex proved it mercilessly in college,

how he whispered your secrets to the very people who bullied you, how he turned your trust into a weapon,

how the rumors drowned your name until you became The Great Prostitute in their mouths.

Your entire college life is destroyed.

Your already brittle self-esteem shattered into dust.

And now… now you were doing it again.

Giving everything, your mind, your youth, your body, your heart, to someone who would one day walk away.

Leaving nothing of you for yourself.

And the truth was awful in its simplicity,

you wouldn’t even stop him.

You would follow.

Even if it killed you slowly.

So for now you would stay quiet.

Stay small. Stay grateful for whatever pieces of affection he offered you. No matter how temporary.

You pulled your knees tighter to your chest as the storm howled on.

If this was all you were allowed to have, then you would hold it gently,

carefully, and alone.

Almost comically, Floyd drifted toward you through the storm, floating down with an umbrella like those frog with their leaf in children book. He landed lightly in front of you, completely ignoring the raging storm around you.

“Shrimpy?” he called softly.

You tucked your head deeper against your knees, trying to disappear.

“Shrimpy,” he repeated, closer this time. He crouched in front of you, his hand gently guiding your chin up.

You didn’t have the strength to resist. So you let him lift your face, meeting his gaze through your blurry, tear-filled eyes.

“Just leave, Floyd.”

“Hm? Why?”

“Just leave!” You shoved his hands away from your face. The suddenness of it made Floyd flinch.

“You got everything you wanted from me… what more do you need?” you sniffled, voice cracking. “Just— please leave now, while it’s only beginning. Don’t hurt me any longer.”

For a moment, Floyd just stared at you. His fingers twitched like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Then he clicked his tongue in frustration and dropped down in front of you with a heavy plop.

“Man, this feeling thing is so hard. I hate this.”

You stared at him in disbelief, your eyebrows scrunching.

“You’re being so difficult, Shrimpy!” he snapped.

You blinked. “…excuse me?”

“Yes! You’re out here all sappy and stuff. It’s lame! One moment you cry, then you laugh, then you go quiet. I don’t understand!”

“Who are you to judge me?! Your mood swings are even worse!”

“Aww, come on. I at least say what I really feel and don’t make people guess what I want. But you? You deny everything, talk in circles, act all goody two-shoes like that’ll make things easier for everyone. Well, guess what? You’re a hypocrite. You’re confusing, and so annoying sometimes I wanna hit you in the face!”

You were left speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Maybe a shrimp.

“And we literally just fucked,” Floyd added, throwing his hands up, “and now you’re crying in the middle of this disaster land!” He snapped, “Making me wonder, am I really that bad?!”

Shock and embarrassment hit you at the same time, flushing your face hot.

“That— That isn’t true!” you protested, face burning.

“So it’s good?” Floyd pressed.

“It’s the best sex I’ve ever had in my life!”

“Of fucking course it is!”

You both instantly went quiet.

You didn’t know what to say after blurting that out, and Floyd didn’t jump in with anything either. The silence between you was too awkward and embarrassing.

Only then did you notice the storm around you had softened. The thunder faded into distant grumbles, and the tornadoes that had been tearing through the horizon were thinning out, one by one. It was still a mess, but nowhere near what it was a moment ago.

Seems like the world itself didn’t know what to do with the two of you either.

“Why are you even here, anyway?” you finally broke the silence.

Floyd glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“I told you, didn’t I? I wanted to see you. Do I really need some big reason for that?”

You looked away, unsure how to take that.

“Well… what else do you want now? You already have everything of me. You can leave.”

Floyd groaned loudly. “You are exhausting.” He kicked a small pebble near his foot. “I never do this for anyone, you know. Catering to people’s feelings and moods. Usually it’s the other way around.”

“You don’t have to,” you muttered.

“Ugh.” Floyd flopped backward onto the ground like a dying fish. “This is karma. I just know it. Having a soulmate who’s basically my mirror but no one would believe it because she acts like an angel in public.”

He pointed a lazy finger at you. “Only I get to see the devil version.”

You kicked his foot, and he hissed dramatically.

Somehow, bickering like this with Floyd felt comforting. It transported you back to childhood with him.

Looking back, Floyd really was the only real—hah—friend you ever had. And he still was.

Though you weren’t sure you could call whatever you had now just “friends” anymore.

“Hey, Shrimpy,” Floyd said after a brief silence. “That guy on the court…”

You had an idea who he meant. It had to be that player from his last game. The one who somehow became the target of Floyd’s sudden wrath and dragged the whole team down with him. You straightened your posture. If he was bringing this up now, then this was finally the moment he’d share the thing you’d been dying to understand. “He said he knew you from college,” Floyd continued. “He saw that paparazzi photo the other day.”

The wind around you sharpened. The storm stirred again against your will, tornadoes reappearing in the distance like splintered echoes of your heartbeat.

“What… did he say?” you asked weakly.

“Mean stuff.”

Your chest tightened. Of course he did. Of course your past would come crawling back through someone else’s mouth.

You hugged your knees tighter.

You hated that strangers could still reach into your life like that. Hated that someone who barely knew you could twist your name into something ugly once again. You hated even more that Floyd heard it first.

“Was that the reason why you were so angry?” you whispered.

“Yes.”

You swallowed.

The storm answered before you could. Another funnel dropped in the distance.

You wished it would stop. You wished you could stop.

Floyd sighed, still spread out flat on the ground, staring at the sky you can clearly see his rare hesitation took sight on his face. You do hope he can just talk about the weather instead of tearing you open.

“You’re all fools if you think I don’t know anything about you,” he said lazily.

You lifted your head to look at him. He never bothered sitting up, just lay there, arms tucked behind his head.

“I knew you since you were a little kid. You had insane dreams back in college, so I did some digging,” Floyd added.

Your breath hitched.

“I was waiting for you to talk to me,” he said offhandedly. “But you never did.”

“Also, how dare you be with someone else when here I am, celibating for you!” Floyd snapped.

“What? Nonsense. You’re celibating for me? You probably had lots of girls considering how popular you are.”

“What? Why would I bother being with someone else when I have a soulmate?”

You stared at him, stunned. That couldn’t be real. It was hard to imagine the carefree, easily bored Floyd doing something like that for anyone. Much less for you.

“You, however, Shrimpy,” he said quietly, “seem to enjoy yourself.”

A heavy silence settled between you. Your throat tightened.

“…I’m scared,” you finally whispered.

Floyd shifted, turning just enough for his face to angle toward you. His mismatched eyes caught yours, and you quickly dropped your gaze to avoid them.

“You are… very different from me, Floyd.”

You drew a shaky breath. “You were born gifted. You’re tall, handsome, athletic, smart.” A faint smile tugged at your lips, small and sad. “And beyond all that, you’re lucky. You have loving parents, a loving sibling, real friends. You have fame, prestige, money, everything.”

Your voice softened. “You’re everything I’m insecure about.”

“Me, however? I’m a nobody. How could I ever dream of being with you?”

Your throat tightened as tears slipped free. “And I couldn’t bear losing you. You’re the one person who matters to me. You’re not just a friend, you’re my partner, my soulmate, my sanctuary.”

The words shook out of you. “I couldn’t face the thought that one day you’d get bored of me. That you’d hate me. That you’d leave.”

Your fingers curled into your palm. “That’s why I went with that other guy. I was a stupid, young, naive girl. I thought maybe if I distracted myself, I could lose interest in you first.”

You stared down at your hand before looking back at Floyd, who was now sitting upright, watching you quietly.

“But how could I ever lose interest when you’re so… lovely?” you whispered, a bitter smile tugging at your lips.

Floyd tackled you to the ground in a sudden, crushing hug. The force knocked the air out of you, but his arms wrapped around you with such fierce certainty that you couldn’t help but return it your hand stroking the back of his shoulder in slow circles.

As you held each other, the world around you shifted. The wind died. The sky brightened. The rumbling in the distance quieted into nothing. Where the storm once raged, a field of wildflowers bloomed in every direction. Soft purples, bright yellows, gentle whites swaying in a breeze that smelled like something sweet and clean. Sunlight spilled over the meadow like warm honey. You didn’t know if it was your imagination or Floyd’s that conjured it, but it didn’t matter. It so pretty.

“This is why I like this dream world,” Floyd murmured against your shoulder. “You’re more honest here.”

“And you’re gentler, and more mature here, Floyd. Have you noticed?” you replied.

“Meh. I’m just the same old me.”

He pulled back from the hug, stepping just far enough to look at you properly. “I’ve known this forever, but you really are an avid overthinker.”

You frowned at the sudden jab. “Excuse me?”

“Listen, Shrimpy. I wouldn’t bother celibating if I didn’t like you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please.”

“Mother likes you too.”

“She hasn’t even met me.”

“She likes you anyway,” he said with an infuriating shrug.

You huffed, but it came out soft and almost fond.

Floyd’s expression shifted then. Less playful and more open than you’d ever seen him. The meadow reflected in his mismatched eyes, the colors dancing in them like sunlight on water. He reached out, brushing his fingers against your cheek with a gentleness that felt almost unreal.

“Stop running away from me,” he said quietly.

You giggled against his lips, the sound spilling out before you could stop it.

Hm. It seemed you really did need to start accepting him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thus how you ended up here. Floyd lying on your bed with his back to you, facing the wall, sulking the moment you woke up because it finally hit him that he wasn’t your first.

“How can you do this to me, Shrimpy.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, Floyd. Not this again.”

“How dare you.”

You crawled closer, flicking his shoulder.

“I’m heartbroken,” he said.

Before you could say anything, he dragged you into his chest with a grip strong enough to compress air out of your lungs.

You giggled despite yourself.

Maybe accepting him wouldn’t be so hard after all.

END

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘴! 𝘚𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘈𝘜 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘊𝘭𝘶𝘣!

A swell rolled across the water, rocking you in a slow, lazy tumble. Again, you should have been alarmed, maybe even terrified, but your young mind couldn’t quite process danger. Everything felt distant and unreal so you simply let the ocean cradle you, staring up at the sky as though the world wasn’t shifting beneath you.

Then came the splash.

A quick, sharp burst of water beside you. Ripples danced around your little frame. Something moved beneath you, a large and fluid movement.

With a sudden plop, a head broke through the surface.

A boy.

No, not a boy. Not exactly.

Green-tinted skin glimmered faintly under the sun. Droopy eyes, one bright yellow, one muted olive, blinked back at you with a matching confusion. Fins twitched where ears should be. His teal hair stuck to his forehead in messy strands, and a streak of black trailed down on his left side, dark against the sea foam.

It took your small, bewildered brain several long seconds to fit the pieces together.

A merfolk.

“Who are you?” he asked.

You blinked back at him, just as confused.

First of all, you had no idea where you were.

Second, you didn’t even know what the hell was happening.

The boy swam closer, circling you with slow, curious movements before stopping right beside your floating form. He leaned in, eyes narrowing with interest. Then, without warning, he sniffed the air around you.

You jerked, startled.

“I don’t remember summoning you here,” he said, matter-of-fact. “And you don’t smell like anything I know.”

Your mouth finally caught up to your brain. “I… I don’t know what’s happening either. Where are we?”

The boy blinked at you innocently. “Oh! You’re in my dream.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together. “Dream?”

He smiled. Another loud boom echoed behind you, rattling the surface of the water, but before you could turn, he spoke again.

“Yes! This is my dream. And you…” His gaze swept over you, curious and unbothered. “I don’t know you.”

“You’re… aware that you’re dreaming?” you asked, baffled.

“Mm-hm. Aren’t you supposed to be aware?”

“Uh… I don’t know? I don’t think so?”

The boy shrugged, fins fluttering with the motion. “Well, I am aware.”

Now that he’d said it out loud, you finally took a proper moment to look around.

“So… I’m in a dream,” you murmured.

The words felt strange on your tongue. Nothing here made sense, how you floated so easily, how your clothes stayed perfectly dry despite being surrounded by ocean, how the sky felt both real and unreal at the same time. Your little brain tried to fit everything into a neat box, but the edges kept slipping.

The boy slipped back beneath the surface with a quiet bloop. You felt the gentle swirl of water move under you, circling, before he popped up again on your other side, making you twist around like a slow, confused turtle.

Up until now, you’d only seen pieces of him, flashes caught above the surface. But as he drifted closer, you finally took in more of his form. Delicate gills fluttering along his ribs, fins trailing from his arms and back. His fingers were webbed, thin and translucent between each digit. And below the water, you could just make out a long, serpentine-like tail, not the classic fishtail from your picture books at the orphanage, but something sleeker.

You knew there were many types of merfolk in the world, all kinds written about in books and whispered about in stories.

And now, suddenly, you found yourself wondering what kind of merfolk he was.

“Anyway,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest, “I’m a pirate captain. I’m in the middle of pirating a huge ship we found. It belongs to some king from another country. They have a ton of treasure. We have to get it.”

Only then did you register the shapes on the horizon: two large ships clashing in the distance. Smoke curled into the sky, flashes of magic lighting up the air like fireworks. Wooden debris splashed into the ocean every few seconds as cannon blasts echoed across the water.

You blinked. “How… how are you aware this is a dream?”

The boy looked at you like the answer was obvious. “Well, you can’t be a pirate captain when you’re eight, can you? Adults don’t listen to kids.”

You thought about that.

“…You’re right.”

He grinned, swaying side to side in the water. His movement stirred soft waves that splished and splashed around you again, rocking your small body in gentle circles.

“Hey, hey!” he chirped, suddenly excited. “Do you wanna join my crew? You might not be useful, but my ship is kind. We take any poor unfortunate soul.”

He flung an enthusiastic hand toward the distant ship, right as a deafening BOOM shook the air. A burst of blinding light tore across the sky, followed by a thick plume of smoke.

One of the ships was on fire.

Rapidly.

And sinking.

The boy’s expression shattered into pure horror. He slapped both hands on top of his head.

“AAAAA—NOOOO!! MY SHIP!!”

He wailed dramatically, tail thrashing. “It took me forever to convince the sharks to join! Uhuuhuuhuuu, they even made a handshake with their fins!”

He dragged his hands down his face in utter despair.

You gave him an apologetic smile, an instinctive, gentle expression, completely forgetting that you were still just… floating there like a starfish on the ocean’s surface.

The boy suddenly snapped his attention back to you, pointing a wet finger accusingly.

“You! Since I have no crew now, you have to be one.”

“Eeeh? Why should I?” you protested.

“Because I don’t have anyone,” he said firmly, “and my ship sank because of you.”

“How is that my fault?” you asked, baffled.

“Well, you were distracting me!” he declared, flipping his tail indignantly. “If I was there with my crew, we would’ve won!”

You raised a brow. “But… how were you going to get on the ship? You don’t even have legs.”

His eyes widened. Then, slowly, a greenish flush crept across his cheeks.

…Was he blushing?

“I can walk just fine,” he muttered defensively.

You closed your mouth and let it go. “Sure…”

The boy crossed his arms with a pout, fins flicking irritably.

“Anyway, I still don’t know why you’re here. I’ve never seen you before. Who are you?”

You blinked a few times, then told him your name.

His eyes went huge and his mouth dropped open.

“Oh my!”

Before you could ask what that meant, he disappeared beneath the water with a loud splash. A moment later, he shot out of the sea like a dolphin, twisting in the air before diving back down.

“Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!!” he shouted between jumps, his voice echoing across the calm dream-ocean.

Each time he burst from the water, you caught more glimpses of his body.

He was long, much longer than any merfolk you’d seen in books. His tail shapes like a sea snake or an eel, dark patterns shimmering along his scales.

He popped his head up again, grin so wide it nearly split his face, rows of sharp, shark-like teeth on full display.

“You’re my soulmate!” he yelled triumphantly.

Your eyes widened in disbelief.

“Floyd… Leech?” you asked, testing the name on your tongue.

The boy—Floyd—waved both hands above the water, practically bouncing in place despite having no legs.

“Hello!!” he beamed.

A laugh bubbled out of you at his antics. “Nice to meet you!”

Floyd circled you in happy loops, tail swishing so fast it churned little whirlpools in the water. Then he flicked the tip of his tail playfully, sending a splash right into your face.

You squeaked, then giggled. He lit up even more at the sound, splashing you again just to hear you do it twice.

Floyd suddenly dipped below the surface, then pushed himself upward until his upper body rose out of the water. Droplets streamed down his green-tinted skin as he pointed eagerly to his left lower hip, right where his torso met the slick beginning of his long tail.

“Look! Your name!”

There, etched into his skin as if painted with shimmering light, was your name.

It glowed faintly, soft and pearlescent, like moonlight reflected on water. The letters curved gently with the shape of his body, pulsing, almost like they were breathing along with him. It’s a luminous script against his darker scales, shimmering each time the sun hit it.

Your mouth formed a small ‘O’.

“Oooh.”

Floyd rolled onto his back and then onto his side, tail whipping excited circles around you.

“Show me yours!” he demanded, excitement bubbling in his voice.

You opened your mouth, ready to answer before you stop. Your lips tightened.

“…No.”

Floyd’s movements stopped immediately. His tail stilled in the water, fins hovering mid-sway.

“Why?” he asked, blinking in genuine confusion.

“Um…” You fidgeted, suddenly very aware of your little body floating awkwardly on the surface. “Teacher said not to show it to strangers.”

Floyd tilted his head.

“Stranger?”

“Yes. Teacher said I can’t show my lower area to anyone.”

You remember the lesson from your teacher at the orphanage. You must never show your lower area to anyone, especially your pelvis and upper thighs. Floyd's name is tattooed on your inner left thigh, a place your teacher explicitly declared forbidden. And you are a good girl, you would never disappoint her by breaking that rule.

“But I’m your soulmate,” he protested, voice rising with genuine offense.

You shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

Floyd’s expression twisted instantly. His mood souring like a storm rolling over the ocean. His brows scrunched, fins flattening against his head.

“Not fair!” he snapped. “I showed you yours!”

And before you could say anything else, he spun around sharply. His tail whipped the water with a loud fwssh, splashing straight into your face on purpose this time. Then he dove beneath the surface, disappearing into the deep with a single powerful flick, leaving only a trail of bubbles behind.

You sputtered, blinking ocean water from your eyes.

“Huh? Floyd? Huh?”

The sea around you rocked gently, but there was no sign of the boy anywhere.

“Floyd…? How am I supposed to get up?!” you called, voice pitching into panic.

“Floyd?!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time you meet him again, it’s in your dream. You’re absentmindedly chasing a dragonfly across the meadow, a little net swinging in your hand, when a long shadow suddenly looms over you, and another net swoops in, catching the dragonfly before you do.

You blinked up at the figure just as he touched down on land, a long tail hovering a few inches above the grass. Its owner grinned at you, sharp shark-like teeth on full display.

“I got it! It’s mine!”

You stared at him. “Floyd?”

He planted both hands on his hips proudly, still hovering a few inches above the ground in his mer-form.

You snorted, laughter slipping out before you could stop it. You slapped a hand over your mouth immediately.

“Wha—why are you laughing?!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… a bit funny.”

Floyd’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t know how to imagine myself as a human,” he pouted, the edges of his smile drooping.

Guilt tugged at you, so you hastily corrected yourself. “Then we’re even. One–one. I can’t imagine myself as a merfolk either. That’s why I’m stuck floating until I wake up.”

Floyd’s face brightened at your words. “Once I’m old enough to safely drink transformation potions, I’ll have legs like you!”

You beamed. “Oh really? You can do that? That’s amazing!”

Floyd nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling.

“Can I become a merfolk too?” you asked.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You should be able to. They have a potion for that, I think.”

“Yeaaay! That means I can visit you too!”

“Yeaaaay!”

The two of you bounced on your feet—and tail—as your laughter filled the dream-meadow.

“Oh, by the way, I told Mama about you,” Floyd said suddenly. “She says she’s so excited to meet you. And Jade’s super jealous that I met my soulmate first.” He grinned proudly, chest puffed out.

You smiled back, but your gaze drifted downward. You weren’t sure how to respond. You didn’t have a mama to tell.

Floyd seemed to sense the shift in your mood. His grin slowly faltered, concern flickering across his face.

Then, all at once, he inhaled deeply and held his breath. His whole expression tightened, like someone trying very, very hard to push out a poo you almost think he did want to poo. His cheeks puffed slightly, brows scrunched, and he looked strangely determined.

Your gaze snapped upward. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to become a human,” Floyd said through puffed cheeks and a strained voice.

Before you could ask how, a soft glow began to ripple over his mer-form. It started at the tip of his tail, light shimmering like scales turning to dust, then traveled upward in a swirl of bubbles and mist. His long, eel-like tail split in two, stretching and reshaping until legs formed where the fins once were. The glow wrapped around his torso, weaving itself into clothes: a loose green eel-print shirt and short pants that fell just past his knees.

The light popped like a soap bubble.

And standing in front of you was a human boy, wobbling a little on his new legs.

Floyd stared at his hands, then down at himself, eyes sparkling. “Yeaaay! I’m human!”

“Yeaaay!” you echoed, bouncing on your feet.

When he tried to bounce, however, Floyd lurched forward. Only barely saved by your hands catching his shoulders in time.

“Wow, easy!” you gasped.

“Oops.” He blinked, wobbling.

Floyd took a tentative step, then another, his legs moving stiff like a newborn fawn. “This feels so weird.”

“It seems you’re not very familiar with legs yet,” you said gently. “It’s okay, we can take it easy.” You smiled, trying to copy the soft voice your teacher used when she taught you how to ride a bike.

“Wanna practice walking?” you asked softly.

Floyd brightened. “Yes!”

So the two of you spent the rest of the dream practicing, hand in hand, step by shaky step, while he learned how to move in his human form. By the time you began to feel the dream thinning, the edges turning hazy, Floyd was taking steps all on his own without clinging to you.

“Yeaaay! We did it, Shrimpy!” he cheered, throwing his hands up proudly.

“Shrimpy?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next dream has you becoming a merfolk.

To Floyd’s absolute delight, you were indeed a shrimp. A tiny, awkward little merfolk thing with a soft, translucent tail and flimsy fins that fluttered uselessly whenever you tried to move.

Now he was the one teaching you how to swim.

Floyd was practically vibrating with excitement as he circled you, guiding your body with gentle taps. “Like this! See? Wiggle, wiggle—no, Shrimpy, not like that—oh my god you’re so slow—okay, like thiiis—”

You tried. You really did. But for the first ten minutes you only managed to drift sideways and upside-down like a dying leaf.

Floyd didn’t mind. If anything, he found you hilarious.

He brought you everywhere once you finally managed to move in a straight line. Up, down, around colorful reefs, through glowing strands of kelp, and deeper into the ocean where everything looked quieter and darker.

That’s when you learned what he actually was.

A moray eel.

A deep-sea merfolk.

It explained his long body, the lack of the “typical” fish tail, the fins running along his back, and why he moved so effortlessly in the dark. You were a bit taken aback when his skin began to glow. Soft, greenish light pulsing faintly the closer he swam toward the dark seabed.

Floyd brought you to his house next, well, if you could call it a house. You weren’t sure if what you saw was real or just Floyd’s dream-distorted memory. But you followed him anyway, small shrimp-tail flicking anxiously.

And then you met his parents. And his twin, Jade.

You froze up a little. Meeting someone’s parent was already nerve-wracking. Meeting them while you were shaped like a literal shrimp was… something else.

But they were surprisingly nice.

Well, again, dream nice. You weren’t sure if real-life nice would be the same.

Mama Georgina especially. She had such a huge glowing halo around her entire body that you had to wear an illusionary pair of black glasses just to look at her without going blind.

You didn’t need anyone to tell you who Floyd’s favorite parent was.

Those dream encounters with Floyd continued all the way into adulthood.

By now, both of you had grown up, but the dreams still came once or twice a month, like clockwork.

Sometimes you wandered into Floyd’s dream.

Sometimes he slipped into yours.

There were a lot of interesting and downright bizarre dreams the two of you shared over the years. Things that made perfect sense while dreaming, and absolutely none the moment you woke up.

Once, Floyd dragged you into a dream where the two of you tried to teach a school of jellyfish how to dance.

You wanted them to follow a gentle rhythm.

Floyd wanted them to electrify the beat.

They ended up shocking the entire ocean floor, and you woke up with your hair sticking up. Physically impossible, but you blamed Floyd anyway.

Another time, Floyd decided he was a giant sea serpent who could coil around the entire Coral Sea. You rode on his back while he tried to scare passing ships, but every time he roared, only bubbles came out.

There was also the dream where Floyd dragged you through a haunted library because “the ghosts were being too quiet” and he wanted them to scream louder. You ended up running from a floating bookshelf while Floyd cheered it on.

And always, always,

Without fail…

Every time exam week approached, your dreams turned into full-blown warzones.

Explosions, dramatic speeches, last-stand battles on the school rooftop, you suspected your stress level spiked so high that even Floyd got dragged into your academic apocalypse.

He always complained about it.

“You study waaaay too hard, Shrimpy,” he would say while casually dodging dream-arrows or fireballs.

“That’s why you’re all stressed and weird!”

You usually mumbled something about grades being important while throwing another dream-textbook like a grenade.

Floyd never agreed, but he always stayed beside you anyway, no matter how ridiculous the battlefield got.

Just like today.

Your final exam was in two days, and of course, your dream had turned into a battlefield again.

You were currently hiding inside a hollow tree trunk, a military jacket perfectly camouflaging your form, clutching a long bean-shaped weapon in both hands while bullets and arrows whizzed past your head.

The ground shook. Smoke billowed. Someone screamed something about “study guides advancing from the west.”

You exhaled shakily.

A rustle came from your right, followed by the soft thud of someone dropping down beside you.

You didn’t even need to look.

Of course it was Floyd.

“Hello,” he said, sounding completely unbothered by the war raging outside.

He wore a jacket with a striking bean-camo pattern. Not the usual muddy military green, but a chaotic mosaic of colorful bean shapes. His fitted utility pants contrasted sharply with the jacket, and a black beret-style cap sat crookedly on his head, an orange emblem stitched right in the center.

In each hand, he wielded a bean gun, fingers twitching with anticipation.

“Hi,” you greeted him, then calmly fired a bean shot at an alien soldier’s chest. It splattered across their torso, and they dropped dramatically to the ground, defeated.

Floyd whistled. “Ooooh. So, what are we fighting today?”

“Aliens,” you replied. “They die by beans. Left. Go.”

Instead, Floyd rose to his feet with a spring in his step and unloaded a flurry of bean shots at the aliens.

Three splattered at once. Then five.

He laughed louder every time one collapsed dramatically.

“Ahahahaha! This is so much fun!”

Together, the two of you stormed the enemy base, clearing it room by room until the last alien soldier fell with a theatrical groan. Victory music blared from nowhere as you climbed the tallest platform and planted your flag right into their territory.

You raised your arm high.

Below, an entire dream-army cheered your name, chanting in unison.

Floyd bounced beside you, your personal hype boy, cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted louder than all of them combined.

Dreaming with Floyd wasn’t an occasion anymore, it was expected.

A regular occurrence.

Something you—and maybe Floyd, too—waited for without ever needing to say it aloud.

You were close.

So close, in fact, that despite living in different countries, despite only meeting in dreams for most of your childhood… you dared to call the two of you childhood friends.

In real life, you eventually exchanged phone numbers.

Floyd would call you out of nowhere, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, sometimes at ridiculous hours because he “felt like hearing Shrimpy’s voice.”

You’d listen to his stories, his rambles, his complaints, his excitement.

And he’d listen to yours just as eagerly. Though you rarely speak yourself.

He is now blooming into such a fine young man.

You were both juniors in your college, and Floyd often sent you pictures of his day. Once in a while, your heart would skip a bit if he sent you a particularly attractive photo, like when he had just woken up.

He looked so cute with his messy hair and sleepy face.

You always giggled.

You both knew each other on a more personal level now. He was your best friend, the one who was always there whenever you needed him. You knew his habits the same way he knew yours. You were also very aware of his sudden mood changes. It had been hard to navigate at first, but since you’d known him since he was little, it became easier to read and handle over time.

Yet, the two of you had never met. Not even once.

You lived so far away from each other, and both of you were always busy with your studies. Finding a suitable time to meet was almost impossible.

Floyd had been whining about it several times, saying it wasn’t fair that you’d known each other for so long yet never once met in person.

His mood only got worse when Jade met his soulmate in college. Trey Clover, if you remembered correctly.

It took you a long time to appease Floyd’s sulking. He lay on his bed with his back to you, facing the wall while on video call, refusing to look at you. It was honestly so funny, because he took the time to prop his phone—your face—on his bedside table, only to continue sulking with his back turned for hours straight while you tried to coax him out of it, doing your best not to laugh.

You managed it. Eventually.

You heard he threw another tantrum when he wasn’t chosen to visit Fleur City during his sophomore year. He even thrashed the Mostro Lounge, where he worked with his friend-slash-manager, Azul Ashengrotto, because, apparently, Azul was going.

Your college was located in Fleur City. It would’ve been a big opportunity for the two of you to finally meet.

Alas, NRC used a draw to select their delegation picks.

You were a bit relieved when you heard that.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure if you were ready to face Floyd yet.

The thought of seeing him in person scared you more than you cared to admit. So you kept delaying it, pushing the meeting further and further away whenever the chance appeared.

Though, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before he barged into your life and flipped it upside down.

But until then, you would enjoy your sweet, quiet time.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chirping of morning birds accompanied your wide smile as you took in the sight before you. Of your dream that finally taking shape.

It was a tiny building, humble and cottage-like, with warm wooden beams and soft, honey-colored accents. A little potion shop. Your potion shop. Nestled right at the end of the busy road in your small town, only two hours away from Fleur City. Its size didn’t matter. The moment you saw it standing there, sturdy and real, your chest felt warm.

You sighed, dreamy, almost lightheaded with joy.

You’d wanted this for as long as you could remember.

Back when you were little, the dream felt impossibly far away. You still remembered your excitement whenever the orphanage teachers mentioned a restocking trip to this town. Out of all the children, you were always the first to volunteer, even though your tiny hands couldn’t help with much. Your teacher still brought you along every time, knowing how your eyes sparkled at the thought of going.

This area had always been known as the merchant’s strip. Rows of small shops, stalls pushed open at dawn, merchants calling out their wares to passing customers. If anyone in town needed anything, they came here. It was the heart of trade, noisy and alive.

Your younger self used to trail behind your teacher with bright, curious eyes, watching merchants weigh goods, haggle with customers, and stack crates with ease. You were far too shy to ask them questions directly, so you saved them all for your teacher, who answered each one patiently.

But your favorite part was the secret treat: when your teacher quietly bought you a lollipop and told you not to tell the other kids.

A luxury you could only experience once in a while.

You held those tiny joys close, and somewhere along the way, your little heart decided:

One day, you would have a shop here too.

And now, after all those years… you were standing in front of your own shop.

The sign dangling in front of your shop sways gently in the breeze, its painted letters catching the morning light. The little brass bell above the door jingles brightly as you step inside, announcing your arrival to the empty, sunlit space.

The interior still smells faintly of fresh wood and herbs. The first floor is your pride, warm wooden shelves line the walls, each carefully arranged with neatly labeled potion bottles, tiny jars of dried ingredients, and bundles of herbs tied with twine. A long counter sits near the entrance, polished smooth, with a tiny television mounted on the corner wall. Small enough to be unobtrusive, but perfect for keeping you company during slow hours.

A pot of mint tea simmers quietly behind the counter, its steam perfuming the room.

The color palette is soft. Sage greens, warm browns, and muted creams. Dried flowers hang upside-down from a ceiling beam. There’s a round rug in the center, woven from earthy tones, and a single potted fern that you fussed over for days before opening.

A narrow wooden staircase near the back leads to your private residence on the second floor. Up there is your quiet little sanctuary, a compact living space with a soft bed tucked at the corner, a small study table, shelves overflowing with books, and just enough room for the life you’re slowly building.

You flip the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN, exhaling softly. Your heartbeat skips with excitement.

Your shop is finally open.

You step back behind the counter and straighten your sweater, trying to appear calm even though your hands are fidgeting with the edge of the fabric.

Your first customer could walk in at any moment.

You already received warm greetings earlier from the townfolk passing by, and from your friends who texted their congratulations the moment dawn broke. Several locals mentioned they would visit today to support the opening.

You breathe in deeply, letting the familiar scent of mint and wood settle you.

While waiting, you decided to turn on the TV only to be greeted immediately by a sports channel broadcasting the ongoing match between Night Raven and Scarabia Sandstorm.

You jerk upright.

Crap.

You completely forgot about Floyd’s match in the chaos of opening day. If you don’t watch it, you’re done for. Floyd will sulk. He will absolutely sulk.

You snatch your phone from your pocket and unlock it, scrolling through your notifications. Three unread messages from Floyd stare at you.

Floyd: Shrimpy I will play in 14 minutes. Floyd: Shrimpy? :(

And then, when you didn’t reply he sent you another message.

Floyd: Well, good luck with opening of the shop!

You wince.

Thankfully, when you glance back at the TV, the first half isn’t over yet. They must’ve just started the match.

You watch Floyd laugh after sinking a clean point into the opponent’s net, Jamil Viper immediately meeting him with a high-five. The sight makes you chuckle.

Floyd always claims he doesn’t take his basketball career that seriously, but anyone watching him right now can see that he enjoys this. A lot.

You were honestly surprised when he first told you he wanted to become a basketball athlete. And when you asked why, he just shrugged and said it looked fun.

Sometimes, you can’t help but envy him for having that kind of freedom of choice.

You settled into your chair, eyes fixed on the tiny TV as the match played on. The court lights flickered across the screen, the commentators’ voices rising each time Floyd made a move. You watched him weave past defenders with that familiar, lazy confidence before tossing the ball cleanly into the net. The crowd roared. Floyd celebrated with a triumphant shout, crashing into Ace Trappola with a chest bump.

As you predicted, the Night Raven won.

After watching Floyd play for years—even in dreams—you could usually tell from the opening minutes whether the Ravens would take the match or not. Usually. It wasn’t absolute. There was that one infamous game where they completely threw the lead because they got… bored. Especially Floyd. He realized they were about to win and immediately lost interest, lounging under his own net like some oversized catfish until the opposing team overtook them.

You shook your head at the memory. Floyd had complained for almost an hour afterward about how “laaaame” the match was, and you’d simply replied that it was partly his fault.

He then sulked and gone quiet.

The rest of the call passed in silence, Floyd lying on his bed watching you crocheted a beanie. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep on the call.

You picked up your phone and quickly typed out a message to Floyd.

You: Congratulations on your victory!

Thirteen minutes passed after the match ended before your screen lit up again.

Floyd: Shrimpyyy!!! Guess where our next match will be?

You barely had time to blink before another message arrived.

Floyd: Maquillaville! You can come right?

Your fingers froze above the keyboard, and your palm went cold as you stared at the message.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You found yourself fidgeting in your seat as the crowd and music blared across the stadium. The noise was overwhelming, vibrating through your chest.

You’d chosen the farthest seat from the court. High up, tucked into the corner where no one would look twice at you. Even then, you scrunched into yourself, pulling your coat up so it hid half your face.

Last night, in your dream, you told Floyd you might not be able to come.

You’d given no reason.

He didn’t ask.

But you saw the disappointment flicker in his eyes before he forced a grin.

And you… didn’t know how to explain it.

How could you tell him that the idea of meeting him after all these years, after growing up together through dreams, terrified you more than anything?

You debated it all night.

Going.

Not going.

Going.

Not going.

In the end, you decided to try.

So this morning, you locked up your shop, hung a Closed sign on the door, and walked to the nearest teleportation office. One jump later, you were in Maquillaville.

The city’s bustling streets immediately greeted you. Maquillaville was loud, colorful, and full of motion. It is so different from your quiet little town. In all your life, you’d only been here a handful of times. Twice? Maybe three? You couldn’t quite remember. It was far, and you’d never had a real reason to visit often.

You blended into the crowd as best you could, weaving through clusters of tourists, locals, and vendors calling out their morning deals. After a few wrong turns and one accidental detour into a cosmetics district, you finally made it to the stadium. The long line moved fast, and before you knew it, a ticket for the upcoming Night Raven match rested in your hand.

You didn’t tell Floyd you were coming.

Once again… because you weren’t sure if you should meet him now.

Not yet.

Not when your heart kept hammering at the very thought of it.

You weren’t ready.

But you did want to see him with your own eyes. That was why you were here.

The players had already started warming up before the match. From a distance, you spotted Floyd. He looks calm, composed, almost serene. You’d expected him to be in a mood, maybe even sulking after you told him you wouldn’t come. But no. He looked… fine. Completely fine.

Maybe you underestimated how much he’s grown.

Or maybe you’ve been overestimating your place in his life.

Your absence didn’t seem to affect him at all.

Which is good.

…Surely.

“Quick, quick! Oh my gosh. You’re the worst! Look, now we didn’t get any front row seats!”

You turn your head at the sound of two women bickering behind you. One of them looks genuinely distressed, dressed head-to-toe in Jamil Viper merch, while the other, equally committed to Ace Trappola gear, seems entirely unbothered as she calmly sips her cola.

You scan the rows. It’s true. Most of the seats are already taken. The turnout surprises you.

You didn’t think the people of Maquillaville cared that much about sports.

And once again, my friend, it seems you were wrong.

“Relax, it’s not like you need to watch them that intently anyway. You can meet your man every day,” the Ace girl said lazily.

The Jamil girl rolled her eyes. “Then how am I supposed to boo your man when he screws up from this distance, huh?”

Ace girl snorted. “You really are their coach. Apply to be one, will ya?”

She started down the steps, one, two, three, until she suddenly stopped right in front of your row.

“Excuse me,” she said, pointing at the two empty seats beside you. “Are these seats taken?”

You froze, staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. Your mind blanking at the sudden interaction you absolutely weren’t prepared for.

You parted your lips to answer, but the words died when your eyes widening as recognition struck you.

You knew her.

She was that girl. Ace Trappola’s infamous soulmate. The one the internet practically raised you on. You’d seen her face countless times on screens, interviews, paparazzi shots… and Floyd mentioned her often enough that she felt almost familiar.

Your gaze shifted to the other woman. The one decked out in Jamil’s colors.

Then she must be Jamil’s soulmate, the other one Floyd mentioned. They’d never publicly confirmed anything, but they’d never denied it either, leaving the world to speculate about their strangely close dynamic. You only knew the truth because Floyd talked.

Ace’s soulmate frowned a little at your silence, while Jamil’s tilted her head, studying you.

“Sweetie pie, I know I’m gorgeous, but you don’t have to stare at me that intently,” Jamil’s soulmate said.

You jolted at her words. Heat rushing up your neck as you realized you were indeed staring.

“OH MY GOODNESS, SHE’S SO CUTE!” Jamil’s screeched, delighted.

Ace’s rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tease her.”

Then her attention returned to the reddish you. “So, are you with someone else?”

“I—uh—no. I’m not.”

“Then was this seat taken?”

“N-no.”

She smiled. “Oh, okay. Can we sit here?”

“U-uhm… sure…” you shrank into your seat a little.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

They both took the seats beside you. Ace’s settling down at your immediate left, while Jamil’s slid into the seat next to her. Not before sending you a playful wink that made your blush deepen instantly.

Her entire demeanor shifted, however, the moment the match began. The teasing sparkle vanished, replaced by sharp focus as she leaned forward, eyes locked on the court. The sudden switch left you a little flustered.

Ace’s shot you a small smile. “Don’t mind her. She’s a huge fan of Night Raven. And basketball in general.”

You blinked, still half-hidden in your coat. “Yeah… okay.”

She kept staring at you, and it made you shift in your seat, a little uncomfortable under her attention.

“Do you like basketball?” she asked.

You wished that she would leave you alone and enjoy the match the way Jamil’s was doing. She seemed kind, the type who didn’t want anyone to feel left out. But you honestly wished she could just did.

“Sort of,” you replied quietly.

“Are you here for Night Raven then? Who’s your favorite?”

You closed your eyes for a second. You really didn’t want to socialize, but you didn’t want to seem rude either. And she was Ace’s girlfriend, which meant she was also Floyd’s friend and, ugh, there were layers and implications you didn’t have the energy to sort through right now.

You opened your eyes again, forcing a polite smile.

Before you could even open your mouth to reply, she continued.

“Let me guess. Floyd.”

You blinked, eyes flicking to her with a why-do-you-think-that? look.

She simply pointed at your purse. “Moray.”

Your gaze dropped.

Hanging from your bag was the little green moray keychain you’d bought at a town festival. Not official Floyd merch, just something that reminded you of him. Something you kept to yourself because you were far too shy to ever show it to him.

Your face warmed instantly, caught red-handed.

Ace’s girlfriend chuckled. “Arara~”

Even Jamil’s let out a low laugh beside her.

Both of them looked far too delighted by your embarrassment.

“I must admit, though. Floyd’s playing so well today. Looks like he’s at a hundred and twenty percent,” Jamil’s suddenly said in a serious tone.

Both you and Ace’s turned your heads toward the court.

She was right.

Floyd scored another point with a clean, effortless dunk… then immediately smacked the incoming ball away from his net, guarding his territory with that menacing grin you knew all too well.

Floyd wasn’t your typical center.

While most centers joined the offense regularly, Floyd usually lingered under the net. With his massive reach, he could block almost anything. His playstyle depended entirely on his mood. Sometimes he stayed back the whole game, sometimes he felt like joining the offense too. Most days, he did both. About 60% defense, 40% offense.

Night Raven’s inner offense was already strong, so even when Floyd chose to lean into defense, the team was generally just fine.

But today?

He was playing wild. Smacking and dunking the ball like it weighed nothing. Nearly a third of the team’s points were from him alone.

And judging by his expression… his mood was very good.

Jamil’s chuckled. “Seriously, I’ve never seen him play this eagerly before. I wonder why.”

And as if summoned by her words, Floyd suddenly turned his entire body toward your row.

He inhaled sharply, then yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice rumbling across the entire stadium,

“SHRIMPYYYYYY!!!”

The sound echoed, bouncing off every corner of the arena as he waved his arm wildly in your direction.

The crowd went dead silent.

Heads snapped around, confused, scanning the seats for whoever he was calling out to.

You swore you almost fainted on the spot.

The two women beside you froze as well, until their eyes snapped from Floyd’s waving arm to you.

Ace’s soulmate blinked once. Twice.

“Shrimpy? Is that you? THE Shrimpy?” she asked, disbelief dripping from every syllable.

Your mouth wouldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe properly, your lungs seizing as panic crawled up your throat.

“Oh my gosh!” she gasped, suddenly bursting with excitement. “Welcome to the Soulmate Club!”

Before you could process that horrifying sentence, she tugged down the collar of her shirt, boldly flashing the soulmate mark on her cleavage.

The other woman whipped around, turned her back to you, and tugged down the waistband of her jeans to reveal her mark on her lower back.

Your soul nearly left your body for the second time today for being flashed by two gorgeous women in public.

You really really should’ve just stayed home.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don’t get any ideas. You DID NOT want to be here. Not backstage, not in the arena’s restricted hallway where the athletes funnel in after a match, definitely not standing in a place that smells faintly of sweat, sports tape, and expensive cologne.

And yet here you were.

Dragged by two gorgeous women who had effortlessly looped their arms around yours, smiling like conspirators. You, being the awkward bundle of nerves that you were, had absolutely no defense against pretty girls. None. Zero. If someone wrote a thesis about you, that would be the first bullet point.

You shifted from foot to foot, unable to stop the restless, jittery fidgeting. The other girls chatted about something you weren’t sure. Their voices blurred together like background noise on a train.

Your stomach churned.

The longer you stared at the closed door, the more nausea crawled up your throat. Any second now, it would swing open. Any second now, he’d come out and you’d probably just… evaporate.

They’d told you the players were still showering. Some had already gone to meet their families or partners, but the Ace–Jamil–Floyd trio preferred to clean up first before seeing anyone. Apparently, it was Jamil’s influence.

“Ace only does it because Jamil does,” Ace’s soulmate had said casually. “I don’t like his sweat.”

Floyd, too, supposedly hated the feeling of sweat sticking to him, so he usually followed the same routine.

And a small, traitorous part of you hoped he stayed in the shower forever.

Alas, your tiny hope was cut brutally short. The door burst open, loud enough to make you flinch, and before you could even breathe, your feet left the floor.

Strong arms scooped you up, your body lifted clean off the ground as if you weighed nothing. The world spun in a dizzy blur, your stomach lurching while you were whirled around in a too-tight hug.

“Shrimpyyyyy~”

Floyd’s voice was right there beside your ear. Not dream-Floyd. Not hazy, blurred-around-the-edges Floyd.

Real. Warm. Solid. Alive. Floyd.

You froze. Eyes wide, lungs refusing to work, shock locking every muscle in place.

The other two couples took one look, exchanged a knowing expression, and immediately retreated down the hall to give you two space.

Traitors.

Absolute traitors.

You wanted to scream after them, call their names, beg them to come back, but your voice had evaporated the moment Floyd had touched you.

When he finally set you back on your feet, your knees wobbled. It took a painfully long second and a strained tilt of your neck to look up at him properly.

He was tall.

Like—TALL.

You knew he was more than two meters from his profile, from the TV broadcasts, from every stat page your friend shoved in your face. You knew he was taller than the average basketball player. You knew all of that.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared you for how big he was in person.

Broad shoulders. Long limbs. A ridiculous wingspan.

He towered over you like a skyscraper with a pulse.

In dreams, it was easy to ignore. Dreams were soft around the edges, even when they were vivid. In dreams, your brain helped you forget how massive he actually was.

But here, in real life, standing this close?

It was different.

It was… intimidating.

You’d always had a hard time being around big guys.

Didn’t matter if they were friendly, quiet, or harmless, something about their sheer size pressed on your nerves until your body screamed flight. You’d long ago perfected the art of slipping past them, keeping distance, avoiding eye contact altogether.

And now Floyd Leech was one of those guys, towering right in front of you.

Your head spun as you craned your neck just to meet his gaze. He was so tall your brain needed a second to adjust to the vertical reality of him.

“Oh nooo, you’re so small, Shrimpy! Makes me wanna squeeze you so hard.” Floyd pinched both of your cheeks, his voice laced with adoration.

You winced and tried to pry his hand off your face while taking two steps back.

The air between you grew awkward from being way too close.

“Hi, Floyd,” you murmured.

“Eeeeh? Shrimpy’s gettin’ shy?” he teased, bending down until his face was level with yours, his grin stretching wide.

Heat crawled up your neck. You stepped back instinctively, craving distance, space, and oxygen.

Floyd’s smile faltered. He blinked, confusion flickering across his expression before it softened into a pout.

“I’m sad, y’know. You said you wouldn’t come today… Then you show up, but you don’t tell me.” His tone dipped, barely a complaint, more like wounded.

You had no good answer so you stayed quiet.

But Floyd didn’t mind. His pout melted into a bright, eager smile.

“But it’s okay~ I knew you’d come anyway. And thaaat’s why—”

His hand landed on your waist without warning. You jolted, breath catching as he guided you down the corridor.

“I made a reservation for dinner.”

“Dinner?” you squeaked.

“Yes, dinner,” he said breezily. “Jade and Trey are in town. We’ll have dinner with the family.”

Your stomach flipped.

By the time you stepped out of the stadium, you were desperately trying to hide behind your coat, and behind Floyd’s towering body, as a storm of camera shutters erupted. Flashes burst in rapid succession, lighting up your vision like fireworks.

Your heartbeat pounded painfully in your chest as panic crept up your spine. You were already dreading tomorrow, when there would almost certainly be a headline about Floyd Leech leaving the arena with someone in his arms.

Floyd seemed to notice your discomfort. He clicked his tongue, clearly irritated at the reporters and paparazzi as well.

He tugged you closer, practically folding you into his side to shield you.

And you tried, really tried, to ignore the last word he said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Floyd brought you to a fancy restaurant. You know this place, it’s pretty famous on the internet. And even though you’ve never stepped foot inside before, the design still feels strangely familiar. Floyd talks about it so much, and it even appears in some of his dreams. Sometimes you end up working here too in those dreams, cooking beside a lava monster who can bake a pizza in three seconds.

It’s one of the Mostro Lounge branches in Shaftlands.

Floyd’s hand stays on your waist as he leads you toward one of the VIP rooms, tucked away from the general public.

The moment you enter, your eyes drift around the room.

The lighting is soft and warm, reflecting off polished black floors. Velvet seats in deep purple line the walls, and soft lavender accents run along the edges of the room like quiet outlines. A faint scent of citrus and something ocean-like lingers in the air. Everything looks expensive but comfortable at the same time.

Then your gaze stops at the far side of the room.

One entire wall is made of clear glass. And through it, you can see the famous square of Maquillaville. Wide stone pavements, historic buildings glowing under golden lights, elegant sculptures surrounding a fountain in the middle. The kind of view people post online with filters and long captions.

In the center of the VIP room sits a long table prepared for a formal gathering, with several neatly arranged seats waiting to be filled.

The only time Floyd lets go of you is when he steps ahead and pulls a chair out for you.

The small, gentlemanly gesture makes your cheeks warm.

You sit down quietly, mumbling a soft, “Thank you.”

Floyd smiles at you. Though the smile quickly fades, replaced with a small, annoyed frown.

“Ugh, Shrimpy, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Uh… sure, go ahead,” you reply.

“I’ll be right back. You stay here.”

And just like that, Floyd slips out of the room.

Only then do you finally allow yourself to breathe, placing a hand over your pounding chest. Your nerves twist uncomfortably. Meeting his family… gods, your stomach is doing somersaults. You wish nothing more than bolt straight out of the restaurant, run all the way home, and bury yourself in the safety of your tiny, familiar little abode.

Footsteps echo from behind you.

You turn around, expecting Floyd, but instead a green-haired man with glasses steps into the room. He dressed in a button-down shirt and a knitted vest with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. You recognize him immediately. Trey Clover. Though this time he looks a lot more normal, without the little ant antenna you kept seeing in Floyd’s dreams.

He holds a bouquet of purplish flowers in one hand, and his smile brightens the moment he sees you.

“Hello,” he greets.

You stand up from your seat on instinct. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

Trey lets out a small chuckle. “Please, no need to get up.”

He steps closer and gently offers the bouquet toward you.

You blink. “For me?” you point at yourself, unsure.

“Yes,” he says warmly. “A welcome gift. Nice to finally meet you. My name is Trey Clover.”

You let out an awkward little laugh as you accept the flowers and introduce yourself in return.

Trey takes the seat across from you, and you quietly settle back into yours.

“I heard from Floyd you like purple,” he says gently. “I hope you take a liking to the bouquet.”

“Oh, Yes, I do. It’s very pretty.”

You look down at the bouquet in your hands. Shades of lilac, deep violet, and soft lavender fill your vision. There are velvety moon violets, tiny clusters of larkspur, and elegant strands of purple freesia tied together with a simple silver ribbon. It smells faintly sweet.

“But… I didn’t bring anything,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Trey chuckles. “Oh, you don’t have to. Really, don’t stress. I’m guessing Floyd also didn’t tell you anything about today’s agenda, did he?”

You blink. “…How do you know?”

Trey gives you a knowing smile.

“Of course I know,” he says. “After all… those two are peas in the same pod.”

Your brow scrunched in confusion. “They?”

“He means me.”

You jolted at the voice right beside your ear.

When you turned, you were met with a face identical to Floyd’s. Same height, same features. Yet you knew instantly it wasn’t him. Something in the way he carried himself, calm and precise, made the difference obvious.

“Jade…?” you asked quietly.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Oh? You can already tell I’m not Floyd. Most people mix us up right away. Is it because you see him so much in your dreams?”

He leaned in closer, his face slipping straight into your personal space, way too close for your liking.

“Um—” You shrank back into your seat, overwhelmed by both the questions and the proximity.

Trey let out a tired sigh. “Jade. How many times do I have to remind you it’s impolite to appear right in someone’s face like that?”

Jade eased back, not looking the least bit sorry. “Ah, how inconsiderate of me.” He dipped his head politely. “My apologies, Miss Shrimpy. I’m simply very excited to finally meet you. I have so many questions.”

“Oi, oi, Jade. Don’t call her that.”

Floyd’s voice cut in out of nowhere as he slid his arms around you from behind, almost caging you in your seat. “Only I can call her that,” he said.

Jade chuckled and lowered himself into the chair beside Trey. Floyd finally released you just enough to flop into the seat next to yours.

For a moment, you just… stared at them.

Seeing Trey and Jade in real life like this felt bizarre, almost wrong, like a painting suddenly stepping off its canvas. You knew them, yet you didn’t. The versions you’d seen in Floyd’s dream were distorted reflections, echoes warped by his mind. They felt familiar now, but also entirely foreign. You had no idea which parts of their personalities were genuine and which parts were products of Floyd’s subconscious. It was unsettling, realizing how many gaps your mind had unknowingly filled in.

A soft glow flickered at the edge of your vision.

You turned just in time to see a faint light pulse along Trey’s left arm before fading. Only then did you recognize it as a soulmate mark… with Jade’s name etched across it.

Trey followed your gaze and lifted his sleeve a little higher, as if giving you silent permission to look.

“Ah,” he said with an easy smile, “you noticed.”

“It’s glowing,” you murmured.

“It is,” Trey confirmed warmly. “It happens every time the quirk activates.”

“They can teleport to each other’s location when they’re near enough,” Floyd added, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

Your eyes widened. “That is so cool!”

“Meh, lame. They can only do it if they’re close enough,” Floyd muttered.

You shot him a glare for the unnecessary rudeness.

Jade chuckled, again. Everything seemed to amuse him, and somehow that made you even more uneasy. There was something about him, a sharpness behind the smile, that felt… off-putting.

“Floyd is right,” Jade said calmly. “We can only teleport if we’re within roughly two hundred meters of each other.” He turned that smooth, unreadable smile toward you. “I personally find yours and Floyd’s gift far more fascinating.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because it requires trust,” Jade replied. “And vulnerability. Teleportation is a convenience. But sharing a dream? That reveals a great deal about who a person truly is.” His eyes glimmered with something you couldn’t name. “Rarer, too.”

Before you could respond, Trey nudged Jade with a light elbow, as if reminding him to behave.

Despite the odd vibes here and there, Trey and Jade were nothing like the warped dream versions you’d known. They were grounded. Real. Their personalities had shape and texture you’d never been able to grasp through Floyd’s memories alone. They were surprisingly easy to talk to, and slowly, almost without noticing, you felt your shoulders loosen, your breath no longer catching in your throat.

As the dinner went on, you learned so much about them. Their background, their upbringing, their work. You found it so cool that Trey works in agricultural science because he likes baking, or how Jade ended up in botany research because of his fascination with flora, specifically mushrooms.

“Did you know that the nightcap mycena can glow faintly under the right humidity?” Jade launched into one of his mushroom facts.

They were cool. Effortlessly so. And it hit you, more than once, how out of place you felt among them.

Floyd’s inner circle was full of people that shines so brightly… and you couldn’t help thinking you held no candle to them.

You pushed the thought away before it could sour the evening, forcing it into a quiet corner of your mind.

Not tonight. You wouldn’t ruin something so unexpectedly pleasant.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately for Floyd, he has to fly to another continent again for his next match, and the two of you barely have any time together. Something that seems to irk him a lot.

But after that first meeting, you start seeing Floyd more often in your dreams. And Floyd is… different now. Clingier.

He’s always been clingy, but these days he takes it to a whole new level. Not to mention, he’s gotten touchy in the dreams, and the atmosphere has taken a weirdly romantic turn you absolutely do not know how to handle.

Of course you’re not stupid. You can see the way Floyd shows his interest in you. What you don’t understand is why.

You never denied that Floyd is attractive. And you never denied that you might have had a crush on him here and there.

But you never expected him to like you.

Not even a little.

You’re a nobody. You’re not as pretty or smart or gifted as him. You’re… mediocre at best.

Floyd, on the other hand, is everything you’ve always longed for. A source of envy in your chest.

Not only was he born with every advantage a person could have, but his life path is incredible too. He’s surrounded by amazing people, gorgeous fans who probably line up outside his door, ready to throw themselves at him the second they get the chance.

So you never really thought there could be any kind of romantic development between you two.

Yet when you see him rowing a beautiful white boat along the pink-tinted river, your heart can’t help but skip a bit.

Floyd brings the boat closer to the dock, where you stand waiting with your white gown and parasol. He’s wearing a matching white outfit, and the boat is decorated with soft pink and white flowers. All part of his dream setup.

Floyd rises from his seat and offers his hand to help you step in, but you ignore it and climb into the boat yourself, settling in the seat across from him.

Floyd lets out a small giggle, almost in disbelief, before sitting back down.

“You’re the only person in the entire world who can pull off that attitude,” he says. “And I’m the one who has to keep up with your mood.”

“I know,” you reply.

The cherry blossom trees stretch along the river, painting everything in a soft pink haze. A gentle wind brushes your cheek as you watch a group of white rabbits hop in and out of the tall grass, trailing the boat like curious little shadows. Floyd rows at an easy pace… and keeps staring at you.

Once again, you’re no fool. You understand his intention behind these dreams. But even so, they were never this straightforward before.

It’s strange. He’s always been blunt, but never romantic like this. You suppose it has something to do with him being grown up now, more mature. You don’t want to read too far into it or start convincing yourself that all of this is because of you.

But now that he’s openly expressing his interest, you don’t think you can hide anymore.

You have to face the way he’s giving you affection so plainly, so obviously.

And you’re not sure if you’re ready for it.

“Do you like the dream?” Floyd finally decided to start the conversation.

“I do,” you answered shortly.

Floyd hummed, still rowing. “Turns out Shrimpy is very different in real life and in dreams.”

His words pulled your attention away from the jumping rabbits. “How so?”

“Dream Shrimpy is brave, outspoken, carefree. Real Shrimpy, however…” He tilted his head, studying you. “Quiet. Keeps to herself. Gets startled easily.”

Your eye twitched. You have to admit he’s right. You are more carefree in dreams. You never thought about it deeply before, but maybe because it’s a dream, you feel freer to express yourself. Part of it is because you never expected to meet the person inside the dream in real life. Another part… well, human subconsciousness always slips through, and dreams are one of its manifestations.

You can’t say the same for Floyd though. His real self and dream self aren’t that different. But if you have to point out one thing, dream Floyd is a bit gentler.

“I wonder which one is the real Shrimpy,” Floyd mused. “Though whichever it is, I like you still.”

All thoughts evaporated at once. You had no reply for that. Your brain short-circuited, buzzing with too many thoughts hitting you all at once.

So instead of answering him directly, you lifted your hand, and a beautiful dock unfurled beside the boat, stretching toward the soft pink meadow.

“I am both.”

The wooden planks rose just enough to meet your feet as you stepped onto them. You walked toward the meadow with your head held high.

You feel suffocated by the thick tension between you and Floyd in a space as small as a boat. Every breath feels too tight, and you long to get out as soon as possible.

You stretch out your hands, letting the gentle breeze brush against your skin as you walk forward. You can sense Floyd following right behind you.

A hand creeps around your side. You don’t need to turn to know whose it is.

“Hey, Shrimpy.” He’s hugging you from behind now, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist. You keep your gaze forward, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You know I like you.”

Of course you know. It’s in everything he does.

“And you know I hate going around in roundabouts.”

His other hand settles on your hip. Then you feel a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head.

“I really want to know your answer.”

You turn around and cup his face in your hands. His eyes search yours, waiting, too earnest for you to face head-on.

You don’t answer his question. You don’t even know what to say.

So you lean forward and kiss him instead. A gentle press of your lips against his.

His lips are cool, soft, and you feel the faint curve of a smile bloom against your mouth before he moves.

Floyd tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss with a slow, calculated motion. One of his hands slides up your back, the other settling at your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. You were surprised at how desperate he feels. He kisses you like he’s been waiting this for a long time, like this was an answer he hoped for.

You breathe against his mouth, overwhelmed at how warm you feel despite the coolness of him.

His lips part just enough to draw in a shaky breath, and that tiny sound of half–gasp, half–laugh, sends heat crawling up your neck. He chases your mouth again, softer this time, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. His thumbs stroke your waist in slow circles, pulling you closer until your chest meets his steady, cold heartbeat.

You don’t realize your fingers have slipped into his hair until he lets out a low hum, vibrates against your lips. He leans into your touch greedily, like he’s been starved of this kind of gentleness.

He pulls back only a fraction, lips brushing yours as he murmurs a breathless, delighted,

“…Shrimpy.”

His voice breaks just a little on your nickname, as if you’ve knocked the wind out of him. His forehead rests against yours.

He looks at you like you just handed him the sun.

And you really don’t know how to handle him once again.

You drag him down with you, guiding him wordlessly until your back meets the softest surface you ever felt. The world has softens, cradle you, shifting into the most impossibly comfortable bed. Plush and warm. Floyd follows your pull easily, caging your form with his body without once breaking eye contact.

His weight above you is grounding. Dangerous in all the ways that your soulmate is. With the never dimmed mischief behind his charming yellow and olive eyes.

You lift a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb over his skin. He really is beautiful, you think. Sharp jaw, sea-glass eyes flickering with wild affection, lips still a little swollen from kissing you. Even the faint shadows under his eyes make him look unreal, like something carved from moonlight.

Floyd leans into your touch immediately, nuzzling your palm. His lashes lower, expression softening in a way you wonder if someone ever see this before.

He takes your hand gently and presses a kiss to your palm, lingering there. Tasting the warmth of your skin.

His gaze lifted to meet yours for a moment before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your upper chest. You gasped, realizing your gown was gone. In its place was a delicate baby-pink sleep set you suspected he had conjured, its thin straps doing little to hide you. A blush crept up your cheeks as his eyes followed the lines of your body. Floyd chuckled softly. "Oh, Shrimpy. You're the cutest.”

He captured your lips once more, the kiss a slow, thoughtful deepening from a bold claim to a possessive, searching need. As he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue swept in to explore the hidden warmth of your cave. His mouth then began a languid trail downward, each press of his lips a brand against your skin. A path of hot, open-mouthed breath ghosted over the sensitive curve of your neck and the delicate slope of your shoulder. There, he paused, and you felt the exquisite, sharp graze of his teeth. The sting bloomed into a radiant possessive mark that pulsed with pleasure.

Your whimpers and whines were music to his ears, and his delightful attack grew wilder every time you made a sound. You could feel the wetness start to form on your panties. You always wondered about the limits of this dream land you and Floyd shared, how big it was, what it could conjure, and how real it could feel. All those questions were finally answered as your whole body shook with Floyd sucking on your nipple.

He nipped, nibbled, and licked your left tit with the fervor of a starved man. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was trying to draw milk from it himself. He didn't ignore your right tit either, his other hand groping and pinching the sensitive bundle of nerves eagerly. Your mini dress had been dragged down; you didn't even realize when Floyd had decided the straps were no longer needed, as it now pooled around your stomach. The skirt had been hiked up from your thighs, exposing your damp panties to the air.

Floyd’s eyes were fixed on the marking of his name on your left thigh, glowing gold with the beautiful cursive letters etched into your inner thigh, oh so very close to your dangerous area.

“Ah, so this is where it’s located,” Floyd sighed at the sight, his eyes caressing the letters as if memorizing every curve.

A possessive, triumphant smirk touched his lips as he lowered himself to your thigh, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss directly over his name. Your whimper joined the morning birds' chirps above.

Sensing your rising ecstasy, Floyd began peppering your inner thighs with kisses and sharp little bitemarks, marking a path toward his final destination. He stopped himself right at your very visible, wet, sticky clothed pussy, his hot breath ghosting over the damp fabric.

Floyd licked it and you let out a loud moan, one that echo across the vast field.

“Oh, Floyd.”

Your hand shot to grip his hair as he dragged your panties to the side, revealing your very dripping pussy. Without hesitation, he dived back down to lick, eager to catch the sweet, slick juice.

He flattened his tongue against your folds, licking a slow, broad stripe from your entrance to your clit. The rough, wet heat of his tongue made your hips buck. He wrapped his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through you.

Your grip on his hair tightened as he began to flick his tongue rapidly against your clit, over and over, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He slid one finger into your dripping entrance, then another, curling them to find that spot deep inside that made you see stars.

The dual assault of his tongue and fingers was overwhelming, a relentless, delicious pressure that built and built until you shattered, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

Floyd retracted his fingers, gazing at the slick sheen on them before deliberately licking them clean. The blatant, dirty display sent a shudder through your entire body. "I wonder if you taste this sweet in real life, too," he murmured.

Your hazy mind, overwhelmed with need, couldn't process the teasing. With a flick of your wrist, his clothes vanished, exposing his powerful, huge body to the air. "Oh?" Floyd watched in amusement, his erection jutting out, painfully hard and dripping with precum from the tip.

You wonder if you could take that size in reality. But this was a dream, and you were far too horny to care.

His marks glow brightly on his hip, teasing you to touch it.

You drag Floyd down, urging him to fill you immediately. He obliges, lining his cock up with your opening and rubbing it through your folds several times, gathering your slick to coat himself. The friction is too much for your oversensitive body, and you whimper into his ear, your heels digging into his back to pull him closer.

"My shrimpy is so eager," Floyd laughs.

He finally presses his tip against your entrance, and you moan at the initial stretch. But before he can slide in any further, your body convulses, a violent tremor wracking your frame as your vision floods with white.

You jolt upright. Pain spikes behind your eyes, and you immediately grab your head, hissing at the headache your sudden rise triggered.

Your vision swims in a hazy blur before the room finally comes into focus.

Your room.

Your ceiling.

Your bed.

Your eyes widen.

Dread pooling in your stomach. Slowly, you look down at your lower half. A damped trace clearly visible on your panty.

“…Oh, shit.”

You woke up.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Safe to say, you refused every single one of Floyd’s attempts at a video call that morning. There was just no way. Not when every time the dream replayed in your head, your entire face heated up like a stove. At one point you even had to put down whatever you were carrying just to bury your face in your hands and quietly die in embarrassment.

Your phone had already exploded with messages the moment you woke up.

Floyd: NOOOOOOOOOOO. Floyd: SHRIMPY NOOOOOO. Floyd: Noooooo. No no no no, shrimpy. QAQ

He’d tried calling too. Multiple times. But you, still drowning in secondhand embarrassment from your own subconscious, slapped your phone into Do Not Disturb without hesitation.

And gods, the memory was too vivid. You could still feel his mouth on you, phantom traces of the kiss lingering on your skin until your knees nearly buckled.

To make matters worse, Floyd had a match this evening.

You weren’t even sure you could manage watching him through a TV screen without combusting on the spot.

You had no idea what gotten into your mind when you did that.

Once again, your subconsciousness betrayed you and got too brave on its own.

The bell above your shop door rings, snapping you out of your spiral.

“Welcome to the— Ack.”

Your voice dies the moment you see who stepped inside.

Trey Clover stands by the entrance, offering you a gentle, slightly puzzled smile. “Hello?”

He brushes the snow from his winter coat. The first dusting of the season melting against the warm air before slipping it off and hanging it neatly on the rack.

He walks toward you, standing frozen behind the counter in pure shock.

“It feels like I’m not very welcome,” he says with an easy chuckle.

You practically choke on air.

“N–No! Oh my god, no— please don’t think that!”

Trey laughs softly, the sound warm enough to ease your panic by a fraction.

“I’m just joking,” he assures you, adjusting his glasses as his smile settles into something kinder. “You always look so startled. It’s cute.”

Your heart does an acrobatic flip you did not authorize.

You clear your throat, forcing your brain to reboot. “Um… is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, yes.” Trey taps a gloved finger against his palm. “I’m here to buy some potion ingredients.”

“You are?” you blink.

He nods. “Yeah. I need some Moonflower Resin, a small pouch of Dewspark Herb, and… hm.” He scans the shelves behind you. “Also a bottle of Crushed Starlace Petals, if you still have those.”

You scramble to pull yourself together.

“R-Right. One moment.”

You gather his order with clumsy, bewildered hands. Still not fully over the fact that Trey Clover is just casually standing in your shop. You pack the ingredients neatly, then slide the bundle across the counter.

“Here. That’ll be a total of thirty-four thaumarks.”

Trey hands you the money without hesitation.

You clear your throat. “Um… you can buy these in the city, you know? Why come all the way here?”

He raises a brow, amused. “Oh?” He tucks his wallet back into his coat pocket. “Well, there’s no point in lying, is there?”

You mumble something under your breath that definitely isn’t a real sentence. Trey chuckles.

“I came to see you. And for the herbs, of course,” he adds lightly. “The shops in the city have decent stock, but store-bought will never beat herbs someone grows themselves.” He turns slightly, eyes scanning the rows of jars and dried bundles lining your shelves. “You grow most of these on your own, don’t you?”

“Not all,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “But… most, yeah.”

Your collection of stock is one of the few things you’re genuinely proud of. You learned most of what you know about herbs from your part-time job at your college, and later as an assistant in a potion shop.

If there’s anything you’re confident in, it’s potionology.

You grew most of these herbs yourself. Planting, tending, harvesting, drying. Every step done with care. You know your goods are top quality.

“And you know that because…?” you ask.

“Because Floyd told us,” Trey replies simply.

“Ah.” Of course he did.

“You have no idea how often he talks about you,” Trey adds, amused. “You’re basically our living unicorn. Never seen, always heard about.” He gives you a small smirk.

Just as Trey finishes his sentence, the first flakes of snow begin to fall outside your shop. The soft patter against the windows pulls both your gazes toward the door.

“Hmm… seems I’ll have to stay for a while. Don’t you think?” Trey asks, turning back to you.

You blink at him. “…Right.”

You let him take a seat while you brew a pot of tea. The snow keeps tapping gently at the windows, a quiet backdrop to your conversation. Talking to Trey is easy, maybe even easier than talking to Floyd or Jade. He always knows how to start a topic, how to steer it, how to make sure you’re comfortable the whole time. Before you realize it, your shoulders loosen, and you’re laughing as he slips in another joke.

You’ve often wondered how you’d ever handle meeting Floyd’s family someday. You didn’t exactly do terrible with Jade, but the idea of fitting into Floyd’s world is still terrifying. Yet having Trey here… it makes the thought feel a little less impossible. He’s an outsider to the Leech family too, yet he fits in effortlessly. Surely you’d find your way too, if you ever needed to.

Your cheeks grow warmer the moment you register what you’re thinking.

“By the way, I came to give you this as well.”

Trey handed you a sleek white envelope trimmed with a thin line of gold. On its cover, written in elegant, looping cursive, were the words:

‘To our lovely little shrimp.’

“That’s from Georgina,” Trey explained. “An invitation to their New Year family banquet. She wants to see you.”

Your gaze shifted to Trey, the envelope suddenly feeling heavier than it looked. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. Everything was becoming a little too real, and you didn’t know if you were ready. Meeting the Leech family would only make it happen faster. And now you understood why Georgina chose to send Trey instead of handing it to you through Floyd, Jade, or even by post. She must’ve known that having Trey deliver it was the gentlest way to approach you. The one least likely to startle you.

“Oh, dear.” Trey’s voice cuts in as he glances at his watch. “We almost forgot Floyd’s match.”

You jolt, the mention of Floyd’s name hitting you like a slap of cold air.

“Can we turn on the TV?” Trey asks, pointing toward it.

“Uh, y-yeah, s-sure.”

He lowers his hand slightly. “You don’t want to?”

You shake your head way too fast, waving your hand as if fanning away smoke. “No—not at all. Gosh, yes. Let’s watch it.”

You scramble to your feet, fumbling with the remote before finally managing to switch on the TV. Then you hurry back to your seat as if the couch might run away.

If Trey finds your behavior strange, he doesn’t comment on it.

The sports channel flashes into focus. Already deep into the second half. You and Trey both gasp at the same time.

The scoreboard blares in the corner of the screen:

47 – 0.

Night Raven leading.

Unbelievable.

“What on earth…” Trey leans forward, brows raised.

You just stare, slack-jawed.

Professional teams don’t lose like that. Not even on their worst day.

It’s one thing if they were a bunch of exhausted college kids, but these are trained, seasoned athletes. There’s no reason, no possible explanation, for a team to be crushed this brutally without landing a single point.

You do have an idea, though, when the camera cuts to Floyd.

Gone was the playful, chaotic Floyd you knew.

What stared back from the screen was someone else entirely.

He looks dangerous.

His eyes burn with a sharp, simmering rage as he stares down at the opponent crumpled beneath him.

The atmosphere around the court is so thick you can almost feel it through the screen. Even the jolly Ace Trappola is standing still with his hands on his hips, expression cold as he watches the opposing team struggle to regroup.

“Great Sevens, what is happening?” Trey murmurs beside you.

You don’t know.

You really, truly have no idea.

In all the years you’ve known Floyd, even with his moods and temper, you’ve never seen him angry like this.

Not like this.

His fury radiates right through the screen, and your heart kicks up painfully in your chest.

The referee blows the whistle and the game starts again.

But the pace is… off.

The flow is fast, aggressive, exciting even, but full of something wrong. You watch Floyd move, and it’s clear he’s playing by himself. His teammates trail behind him, hovering close yet letting him take full control as he storms toward the opponent’s side.

The opposing team tries to block him. Three at once, then four, but they can’t even slow him down. He cuts through them with brutal precision, takes a running leap, and slams the ball into the hoop.

The impact echoes through the stadium.

Even the commentator goes silent for a heartbeat.

Floyd hangs there for a moment, fingers tight on the rim, chest heaving, then he finally let go. He drops to the floor with a heavy thud that looks vibrates even through the television.

The ring sways.

Left.

Right.

Harder.

Harder.

Everyone’s eyes lock onto it.

And then, with a sharp metallic crack, the entire hoop gives out and collapses, shattering glass across the court. Screams erupt from the audience as staff rush forward.

Floyd broke the ring.

The referee immediately calls a 15-minute emergency timeout while they bring in a replacement.

You cover your mouth with both hand, breath caught in your throat.

What in the world is happening?

TBC

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART 2 (Click Here)

·˚ ༘ ── he bites you, sometimes affectionately or when he's upset. his sharp teeth digging into your neck it almost bleeds, but sometimes it's just soft nibbles to see you wriggle in his arms. he would get bored mid bite and leave the mark and saliva for you to clean up, it's kinda gross but it's floyd.

·˚ ༘ ── floyd is very handsy with you. random hugs from behind, sticking his hands up your shirt, being pulled into his lap and nuzzles his nose into your neck, your cheeks getting squished when he towers over you and stares you dead in the eye. his favorite is draping over you like a couch―and he's heavy so you can't even push him off.

·˚ ༘ ── he rarely asks anymore, when you spot floyd in a mood you simply open your arms and he flops into your embrace like a sack if potatoes. he makes noises―groans or whines―while he wraps his arms around your lower half to keep you close.

·˚ ༘ ── teasing you his his favorite hobby. even if you react just a little, you've signed your fate. if you get flustered easily? his all in your face, kissing you and sometimes just staring into your soul with a dorky smile. if you're ticklish .. your doomed, his hands are under your shirt the second you let your guard down. trying to act tough, he immediately tests it. he loves seeing your genuine reactions, it's live entertainment for him.

·˚ ༘ ── skips classes with you, to the point you have to drag him to class. sometimes he ends up just biting you or simply leaves and lets you go to your boring class all by yourself. when just two seconds ago he was telling you how much he misses you, and wants to spend time together.

·˚ ༘ ── his mood swings are something he knows are difficult to understand, so if you choose to stay with him you better be ready to deal with them. one second he's playful, the second he's quite and spaced out. if he gets mad at you, give him some space he'll probably come crawling back. but if he doesn't you'll have to find him yourself.

·˚ ༘ ── he adores your body, if you a bit more on the plus side he'll be squeezin' and squishing your belly when cuddling and cooing in your ear how cute you look. he can't help it, he'll lay his head either on your stomach or thighs and sometimes nibble your skin if you start to get insecure.

·˚ ༘ ── he's protective over you. even more then jade and azul, floyd won't let anyone mess with you. that's his job, thank you very much, and he's happy with it ! he'll sometimes just threaten the boy in front of you or quietly glare at him to scare him. you turn around to see floyd's happy little grin while the boy is terrified. he doesn't like other touching you, he's learned to tolerate when your friends do, but if a stranger gets to close for comfort he's making it everyone's problem.

·˚ ༘ ── takes you to the ocean ノ a pool and just holds you in his eel form while you drift along the waves as you talk about your day. when he's playful, he'll duck your head under the water and pull you back up to kiss your lips, hair soaked and makeup probably smudged―he don't care, just let him kiss you and have his fun. he knows you love it.

·˚ ༘ ── is jade ever teases you, floyd is not afraid to throw tail fins with his brother. he doesn't get to make fun of you while floyd's around. just because their twins doesn't mean he can mess with you. floyd holds you, arms around your head as he cages you to his chest and glares.

·˚ ༘ ── he can be soft with you, his kisses would be gentle and his hold wouldn't be as strong when he squeezes you. but if your okay with it, he'll tighten his hold and bombard you with so many kisses, his teeth graze against your skin.

·˚ ༘ ── even if the relationship can be messy, floyd knows what he wants and that's you―flaws and all, he doesn't see anything wrong with you and thinks your too good for him. you become one of the few things he doesn't get bored of―and that's huge.

Jade Leech ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ He will quietly appear at your side when you’re overwhelmed, leaning in just enough to soften the moment, and gently say, “Shall we take a walk?” His presence has a calming effect, as if he senses the tension radiating off you

⭑.ᐟ He thrives off reactions. Embarrassed? Flustered? Delicious. He’s always watching—his gaze is everywhere and observant—and a soft smile curls on his lips, as if he knows your next move before you do. He favors subtle touches too. a hand on the small of your back, brushing your fingers as he passes something to you. He enjoys watching your reactions more than the contact itself.

⭑.ᐟ When you throw out a sarcastic remark, he leans in closer, the playful glimmer in his eyes intensifying. “What an amusing little bite you have,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mischief. “Careful, or I might bite back.” (You’re now emotionally ruined for the next half hour.)

⭑.ᐟ If someone else seems interested in you, he won’t interfere directly—he’ll smile politely, but there’s a dangerous glint in his eye. He believes in claiming things without making a scene. You’ll know when he decides you're his.

⭑.ᐟ He playfully jokes around, but he always keeps a watchful eye on you—slightly shifting his demeanor to a more serious tone if he detects even the faintest hint of sadness in your expression, his concern obvious in the way his brows furrow slightly.

⭑.ᐟ Takes you on adventurous dates in the woods, where he excitedly leads the way, so you can “hunt for rare fungi together.” Despite the trail and close calls—you barely avoided a slippery slope down a steep hill—his infectious spirit makes every moment thrilling.

⭑.ᐟ Absolutely teaches you random facts about mushrooms, deep-sea creatures, and poisons like it’s flirting. “Did you know this species can paralyze a person in under 10 seconds? Fascinating, isn’t it?” His tone is infused with charm, as if he’s flirting with knowledge (Comforting??? Maybe???)

⭑.ᐟ Jade doesn’t like being touchy in public. He reserves those moments for when you’re alone: wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, brushing your hair out of your face, or resting his forehead against yours with quiet intimacy.

Floyd Leech ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Floyd’s mood swings are real—and he doesn’t hide them at all. One minute he’s clingy, leaning into you with an almost desperate affection, his large eyes sparkling with mischief; the next he’s distracted, looking off into the distance as if entirely bored by the world around him.

⭑.ᐟ BUT! You’re the only person who can steady him. No matter how stormy his mood gets, your voice and touch act like a soothing balm, cutting through the chaos. It’s as if you’re his anchor, keeping him grounded in the midst of his emotional storms.

⭑.ᐟ If you manage to tune into his moods and mirror them just right? He will fall SO HARD. You’re not just someone who walks through life with him; you’re his favorite toy, the one he cherishes and plays with endlessly. To him, you’re his “shrimpy,” a term of endearment that makes you feel special and cherished.

⭑.ᐟ Floyd expresses his love through touch, often reaching for you. He’s the type who’ll grab your hand without a second thought, throw his arm around your shoulder possessively, or pick you up effortlessly, spinning you around as if you were a plushie in his grasp. His affection isn’t limited to light touches; he loves giving you squeezes that are more than just hugs. Full-body wraps where he lifts you off the ground entirely, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. “Squeeze time~! Don’t run, Shrimpy~!” he’ll tease, his voice light and playful, making you feel safe and cherished.

⭑.ᐟ When he’s sleepy, that clinging nature intensifies. He’ll tangibly wrap his whole body around you, like a heated blanket, and he’ll pout adorably if you even dare to suggest leaving his side. His sleepy eyes, adorned with long lashes, reflect an almost childlike need for closeness in those moments.

⭑.ᐟ Ask you weird, random questions just to hear your answers or just to hear you laugh. “Hey Shrimpy, if I was a bird, would you still date me?”, he’ll ponder, tilting his head in that adorable way he does. “How many marshmallows do you think I could fit in my mouth at once?” he’ll challenge with a glint of mischief in his eye. (He tests it. You stop him at 11.)

‧₊˚ ┊ He thinks you're weird tbh (which is crazy work coming from him smh)

‧₊˚ ┊ There's not a single normal person at NRC and you're included even tho you're from another world (pot calling the kettle black tbh)

‧₊˚ ┊ Azul literally once watched you accidentally step on Grim's tail before proceeding to trip over him and fall face first into the pavement just for you to get off and laugh it off (you were born on land… how are you so clumsy on the legs you've had since birth????)

‧₊˚ ┊ He's always quite concerned with you and your tendency to brush things off even if they're quite serious (only bc he needs you to work at the lounge — nothing more, it's just business)

‧₊˚ ┊ One time you came into Mostro Lounge to work a shift limping and disheveled and when he asked you what happened you just laughed and said you got attached my a stray direbeast outside of Ramshackle (he makes a mental note to blackmail Crowley into getting you some better protection later)

‧₊˚ ┊ He seriously doesn't know how you haven't died yet

‧₊˚ ┊ Like, you're incredibly clumsy and danger prone, plush you don't have any magic — it's like, the perfect recipe for you to get yourself killed (which he's rather thankful hasn't happened by the way bc then he'd have to go through the process of interviewing and hiring someone to take your job at the lounge)

‧₊˚ ┊ He seriously doesn't understand what's so funny… land humor is so much different from Coral Sea humor

‧₊˚ ┊ Azul has plenty of stress between running the lounge and his housewarden duties, it you are another big stressor of his

‧₊˚ ┊ It's quite frustrating to say the least, but you're a hard worker, so he can't just get rid of you (not because he likes you, or anything)

‧₊˚ ┊ To Azul, your laugh is a harbinger of doom, but at least it's a pleasant sound (he'd rather die the admit he likes it tho)

‧₊˚ ┊ He's laughing at you, not with you lol (he's to maniacal, I love him)

‧₊˚ ┊ You're certainly an interesting creature and one that reacts so easily! Jade is going to use that for his own personal amusement! (You will soon come to regret ever meeting him, which is common among just about everyone he's come into contact with)

‧₊˚ ┊ He's quite interested in seeing just how much you're able to take before your laugher turns to tears (freak)

‧₊˚ ┊ Jade starts off small by 'accidentally' knocking your books out of you hand, or tripping you in the halls, but that's not enough to get you to respond with anything other than laughter

‧₊˚ ┊ So, he steps things up a notch

‧₊˚ ┊ He starts being just a bit mean and overworking you during your shifts waiting tables at Mostro Lounge, but still you laugh it off when he makes your food far too spicy and makes you to stay back late to polish all the tables by hand (there have got to be labor laws against this shit)

‧₊˚ ┊ Jade is at his wits end by the time he decides to take drastic measures

‧₊˚ ┊ So, then you come to Mostro Lounge during your rare bit of free time, he decides to 'accidentally' spill your drink all over you (mf even says 'oopsie' when he does it too)

‧₊˚ ┊ Finally, he gets what he wants… well, not exactly

‧₊˚ ┊ Jade wanted to get you get angry or frustrated, but instead you start crying and he actually feels bad about pushing you to tears (rare Jade regret moment)

‧₊˚ ┊ In an instant, he's waving his pen to dry your clothes and trying his best to calm you down (he's not good with tears, just ask Azul)

‧₊˚ ┊ He oddly finds it quite… cute when you cry (freak)

‧₊˚ ┊ Jade isn't one for physical touch, but he'll awkardly pet your head to try to soothe you (it doesn't really work, but you appreciate the effort)

‧₊˚ ┊ He may not have gotten the reaction he wanted out of you, but he quite prefers your tears to your anger (he's so weird bruh)

‧₊˚ ┊ Don't be too surprised if you just so happen to end up crying around Jade more often

‧₊˚ ┊ He's laughing with you, not at you (sometimes you can't tell though)

‧₊˚ ┊ You're just such a silly shrimpy! He can't help himself!

‧₊˚ ┊ Floyd likes you a lot because your reactions are just so fun to him

‧₊˚ ┊ Sure, you usually just giggle and laugh at everything, but its infectious and always gets him laughing too (he doesn't think he could ever get bored by your laugh)

‧₊˚ ┊ You're his favorite partner for alchemy, because you never get mad at him when he fucks around and ends up causing an explosion that you just find absolutely hilarious

‧₊˚ ┊ Crewel isn't amused by Floyd's shenanigans (as usual) and as punishment, always gives the poor eel detention and not you bc he knows it will bore him out of his mind (it's torture fr)

‧₊˚ ┊ You two often end up literally rolling on the floor, clutching your stomachs and gasping for air from how hard you're laughing (it happens to often that no one bats an eye at you two any more lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ Floyd considers you to be his little buddy, like the shrimp on his shoulder that he can always tell a joke to and get a laugh out of (you're truly a choatic duo)

‧₊˚ ┊ You're laughter eggs him on, whether that's a good or bad thing depends on the situation (it's usually bad, because Floyd will do just about anything to get you to laugh)

‧₊˚ ┊ Even though you're always smiley and happy, Floyd knows you well enough to tell when you're not feeling like yourself

‧₊˚ ┊ He's not good with emotions and stuff, but he lets you know that you don't have to be happy all the time — not around him

‧₊˚ ┊ In a way, he's like your own personal jester (don't tell him that tho, he'll get offended lol)

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, and Azul groaned as the dull, pounding headache reminded him of last night’s poor decisions. He buried his face in his pillow, groaning again at the flashbacks of you holding him upright, your warm laughter echoing in his ears.

What did I do? he thought, mortified.

And then it hit him—he’d confessed. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. He sat up too quickly, clutching his head as the dizziness hit him. You must’ve been horrified. Surely, you’d bolted the moment he fell asleep, wanting to avoid the awkwardness.

But then he heard a sound from the kitchen.

Azul froze, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. He slid out of bed, carefully padding toward the source of the noise. There you were, standing in the kitchenette, humming softly to yourself as you poured coffee into two mugs.

You turned when you heard him, flashing him a warm smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I made coffee—thought you’d need it.”

Azul stared, his jaw slightly slack. “You’re… still here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Where else would I go? You promised me free coffee for life, remember?”

Azul groaned, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean it.”

You laughed, stepping closer and handing him a mug. “I know. But you did mean the other thing, didn’t you?”

He stiffened, clutching the coffee mug like it might save him. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his face flushing.

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing smile. “The part where you said you liked me.”

Azul’s grip on the mug tightened, and he swallowed hard. “…Yes,” he admitted softly, not meeting your gaze. “I meant it. But I understand if you—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His words died in his throat as he stared at you, wide-eyed.

“I like you too, Azul,” you said with a grin. “I have for a while.”

Azul blinked, his brain struggling to process your words. “…You do?”

“Obviously,” you teased. “Why else would I stick around to help you last night? You’re a handful, you know that?”

Azul’s lips twitched into a small, shy smile, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “…Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For the coffee? Or for liking you back?” you teased, taking a sip of your drink.

“Both,” he replied, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

And black coffee had never tasted so sweet to him.

Jade Leech

Jade Leech prided himself on his composure, his refinement, and his ability to remain unflappable under any circumstances. That all went out the window after a few too many drinks.

You hadn’t even expected to see him like this—flushed cheeks, a lazy, amused smile, and a rare looseness to his usual precision. He wasn’t stumbling per se, but his steps lacked their usual grace, and every so often, he swayed just enough to make you reach out and steady him.

“I must commend you,” Jade slurred, his voice as smooth as ever despite the alcohol. “You’re quite… considerate. Most wouldn’t bother with something so trivial as escorting me home.”

“Trivial? You can barely walk straight,” you said with a huff, adjusting your hold on his arm to keep him upright. “I’m not leaving you to faceplant in the dirt, Jade.”

His laugh was softer than usual, warmer somehow. “Hmm… you truly are unique.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Save the compliments for when you’re sober.”

But Jade had other plans. “You’re always like this,” he murmured, his gaze drifting toward you. “Kind. Thoughtful. Beautiful…”

You froze for a moment, glancing at him. “You’re drunk, Jade. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I do,” he replied, the faintest pout gracing his lips. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long… but I couldn’t. You’re so… precious to me, I couldn’t bear to—hic—risk it.”

“Risk what?” you asked softly, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice.

“Losing you,” he whispered. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty that left you speechless.

You stared at him for a moment before shaking your head. “Come on, let’s get you home,” you said gently, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

The next morning, Jade woke up with a pounding headache and the faint memory of warm hands rubbing his back as you murmured reassurances. His eyes snapped open as the events of the night before came rushing back.

“…Oh no,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. Confessed his feelings so blatantly, without any of the careful planning or subtlety he prided himself on. And to you, of all people—the one person he couldn’t bear to push away.

Jade steeled himself. He’d handle this like any other delicate situation—with poise and precision. If he acted normal, he could convince you that his confession had been nothing more than the ramblings of a drunk man.

And so, when he saw you later that day, he greeted you with his usual calm smile. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”

You blinked at him, a bit surprised by his nonchalance. “Uh… yeah. How about you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” he said smoothly, showing no hint of the internal panic roiling beneath the surface.

You studied him for a moment, your brow furrowing slightly. “Do you… remember anything from last night?”

“Only bits and pieces,” he replied with a polite chuckle. “If I said or did anything out of the ordinary, I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

Out of the ordinary? You were starting to wonder if you’d hallucinated his heartfelt confession. Jade was acting so normal, so perfectly composed, that it was almost infuriating.

It wasn’t until later, when you were both in the lounge, that he slipped.

“Of course, I treasure you more than anyone else,” he said offhandedly, then immediately froze as he realized what he’d just admitted.

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Wait. What did you just say?”

Jade cleared his throat, his face betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment. “Ah… I misspoke.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You meant it, didn’t you? Just like you meant it last night.”

He hesitated, his composure faltering for the first time since that morning. “…Yes,” he admitted softly, avoiding your gaze. “I meant every word.”

A smile broke across your face, and before he could say anything else, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Good. Because I like you too, Jade.”

His eyes widened, and for once, he was completely at a loss for words. “You… you do?”

You nodded, your grin widening. “Of course. Why do you think I stayed to take care of you last night?”

Jade’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink. “I see… I suppose I should count myself lucky, then.”

“You definitely should,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Now, are you going to keep pretending nothing happened, or are you going to take me out on a proper date?”

Jade chuckled softly, the tension melting away as he looked at you with newfound warmth. “I believe I owe you the latter, don’t I?”

And with that, the polished, unflappable Jade Leech was yours to keep.

Floyd Leech was unpredictable on a good day. Drunk Floyd? That was another beast entirely.

He’d somehow managed to drink more than anyone else at the party, slinging his arm over your shoulder with a lopsided grin as he loudly declared you his “favorite Shrimpy.” If it weren’t for your quick reflexes, he probably would’ve knocked over at least three tables by now.

“Floyd, slow down!” you scolded, grabbing his wrist as he lunged toward a decorative vase like it was a basketball hoop. “We’re not here to redecorate.”

“But it’d look so much better broken!” he whined, leaning heavily against you. His sharp teeth flashed in a grin that was somehow equal parts adorable and terrifying. “Don’t ya think, Shrimpy?”

“No, Floyd,” you said firmly, guiding him away from the vase. “Let’s just focus on getting you home in one piece, okay?”

Floyd pouted but allowed you to steer him toward the exit, his lanky frame draped over yours like a human anchor. As you walked, he alternated between humming tunelessly, giggling at nothing, and telling you random, cryptic statements like, “The moon’s gonna eat you if you don’t smile back at it.”

“Sure, Floyd. I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, trying not to laugh.

It wasn’t until you were nearly to Octavinelle that his unhinged ramblings took a sudden, softer turn.

“You know somethin’, Shrimpy?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost wistful.

“What’s that?” you asked, adjusting your grip on him as he started to slump forward.

“I really, really like you,” he slurred, his mismatched eyes blinking up at you with a rare sincerity. “Like… not just as a buddy or whatever. I mean, like… like-like.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “Floyd, you’re drunk.”

“So what?” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping. “Still true.”

Before you could respond, he let out a content sigh and promptly passed out, his head lolling against your shoulder.

“Of course,” you muttered, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest. “You couldn’t confess while sober, could you?”

The next morning, Floyd was back to his usual self—or so it seemed. He greeted you with his usual wide grin and a sing-songy, “Mornin’, Shrimpy!”

You half-expected him to pretend last night didn’t happen, but instead, he seemed… more affectionate than usual. He leaned closer when he talked to you, casually draped his arm over your shoulder, and even offered you one of his prized snacks without a second thought.

It wasn’t until later, while you were both lounging in the lounge, that he dropped the bombshell.

“So, what do ya wanna do for our first date?” he asked, twirling a toothpick between his fingers.

You blinked at him. “Our what?”

“Our date,” he said, tilting his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, ‘cause we’re dating now.”

“…Floyd, you never asked me to be your partner.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, I did. Last night. Don’t you remember?”

“You were drunk, Floyd,” you pointed out.

“Still counts,” he said with a shrug, then grinned. “Unless… you don’t wanna date me?”

You stared at him for a moment, then let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, leaning in with a teasing smirk.

“It’s a yes,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

Floyd’s grin widened, and before you knew it, he was scooping you up into a crushing hug, spinning you around as he laughed. “Knew ya couldn’t resist me, Shrimpy!”

As chaotic as he was, you couldn’t help but think you were in for one wild, wonderful ride.

Idia Shroud didn’t go to parties. Not unless someone twisted his arm—or in this case, dragged him out. His idea of fun was gaming in his room, not standing around awkwardly while extroverts did extrovert things.

And yet, here he was. Drinking something questionable because a certain someone (you) had sweet-talked him into joining.

He didn’t expect to end up three drinks deep, his face red, and leaning on your shoulder as you tried to guide him back to Ignihyde.

“Y-you don’t have to do this,” he muttered, stumbling slightly. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… a little dizzy.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dryly, tightening your grip on his arm. “You’re lucky I’m here, or you’d probably have wandered into the forest by now."

Idia chuckled, the sound softer and less nervous than usual. “Maybe. But you’d come get me, right? You always do…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, brushing off the adoration in his voice to focus on keeping him upright. “Come on, almost there.”

He was quiet for a moment, save for the occasional muttered complaint about his legs feeling like jelly. Then, he said, almost too softly to hear:

“Do you know why I always listen to you?”

You glanced at him, surprised. “Why’s that?”

“‘Cause I… I really like you,” he mumbled, his face somehow growing redder. “Like… more than I like my SSR pulls. And you know that’s saying something.”

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. “Idia, are you—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he tripped over absolutely nothing, faceplanted into the ground, and immediately started snoring.

“…Of course,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

The next morning, Idia woke up with a pounding headache and the horrifying realization that he’d said everything out loud.

“No. No, no, no, no,” he groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. “I’ll just… never leave my room again. Yeah. Problem solved.”

His brilliant plan lasted all of five minutes before he heard you outside his door.

“Idia, open up,” you called, your voice firm.

“N-nope! Not happening!”

You sighed loudly. “Okay. Ortho?”

“Yes?” came Ortho’s cheerful reply.

“Break the door down.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Idia scrambled to unlock the door, cracking it open just enough to peek out. “No need to bring in the big guns! I-I’m opening it, see?”

He stepped back, allowing you inside, and immediately tried to hide behind his hair. “If you’re here to say you hate me now, just—just get it over with,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“Why would I hate you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“B-because of what I said!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I—I confessed, and then I passed out like an idiot, and—ugh! It’s like something out of a cringe anime!”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand, cutting him off mid-rant. “Idia, shut up for a second.”

“What—”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling him freeze in place. When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but grin at his wide-eyed, stunned expression.

“I like you too, dummy,” you said. “Who else would I like? If not you, then who?”

Idia’s face turned scarlet, his hair flaring pink at the edges. “Y-you… you really mean that?”

“Obviously,” you teased, ruffling his hair. “Now stop hiding in your room and let’s go get some breakfast. You owe me for last night.”

Idia nodded, still too stunned to form words, but the small, shy smile on his face said everything you needed to know.

How do you eat human food when you should be drinking blood?

Why don't you turn to ash in the sun? And why aren't you a shiny disco ball like in the movies /j

If he stabbed you or ripped your arm off, would you regenerate that part of your body? And how long would it take?

Nooooo, he's not going to, only asking so he doesn't have to worry as much if you get hurt.

But I mean, if you'd let him... No? Okayyyy Fine.

Overall, he's just very curious as he hasn't exactly met a vampire before, let alone dated one. But he'll still respect your boundaries if there's a question you don't want to answer. It's a privilege only you get to have with him.

Floyd would 100% let you drink his blood at least once or twice just to know what it feels like. He is a curious little bean and really wants to try, almost, everything once.

He loves to cook for you. Whether it's during his shift, at midnight, or right after he saw a post on Magicam, he loves surprising you with food. Especially if it's something he's never seen you eat before.

It usually looks very fancy, something fit for a michelin restaurant and not a crappy school full of weirdos. He puts a lot of effort into the dishes, even if it ends up being something you don't enjoy he doesn't take it to heart.

This is also how he found an answer to a question he had not even asked yet: Would you die if you ate garlic? Was it then stupid to serve you something with garlic? Maybe... but he had been interrupted the last three times he tried to ask, and so he got impatient and decided this was the way.

Luckily, you survived, or so you think at least. It wasn't exactly easy to notice if your body, which doesn't have any pulse or heartbeat, was really dead or not.

Apparently, you were indeed very allergic yet still alive, and would not die from eating it when it was mixed with other things (like it would be in most dishes).

He apologised and promised he would tell you everything he put in your food next time. You also had a very sad eel to care for until his mood improved, at least enough so he could let go of your torso for even a minute.

Floyd is very interested in your heartbeat, or lack of one, and loves to lay his hand flat on your chest. It brings him comfort even though nothing is beating he can feel your breathing, your little movements, and he can know you’re still there even when he isn’t looking.