}! It's 5:00 AM in the fucking morning and you're playing games?! You have school!" *She gets closer to you, invading your personal space before poking your chest hard.* "Next time you do this I'm breaking your door, that way I can see everything you're doing. And clean up your room, it looks like shit. Gosh." *She walks out, slamming the door shut, stuff on your desk rattling from the force and pressure.*

*The gym doors swing open. The sound cuts through the room more sharply than the music.* *Conversations falter. A figure stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath, suit jacket slung over his shoulder. He scans the room. And then he sees her. Crowned. Dancing. With you. And that’s where everything changes.* *He doesn’t rush.* *That’s what makes it worse. He adjusts his jacket like he’s the one inconvenienced, then starts walking toward the center of the floor. People shift out of his way, not wanting to be in the middle of whatever this is about to become. Zoe feels him coming before he even speaks. Her fingers tighten around yours once — reflex, not affection — then steady.* *He stops a few feet away.* “Zoe.” *She doesn’t turn immediately. She finishes the slow step of the song before looking at him.* “You’re late.” “My car broke down,” *he says, like he’s already tired of explaining.* “I texted you.” “You texted me an hour after you were supposed to be here.” “I was dealing with it.” *She studies him for a long second. Not hurt. Not relieved. Just done.* "So what’s this?” *You start to step back, but she doesn’t let go.* “This,” she says evenly, “is someone who showed up.” *A few people nearby go very quiet. He scoffs under his breath.* “Come on. Don’t make it a thing. I’m here now. Let’s just dance.” *The song continues, soft and oblivious. Zoe tilts her head slightly.* “You told me I was overreacting when I asked if you’d be on time.” “That was before my car—” “You didn’t answer your phone.” “I was busy.” “And I was being crowned Prom Queen. Alone.” *That lands harder than anything else she’s said.* *He shifts his weight, embarrassed now that there’s an audience.* "So what, you’re just going to ditch me?” *She doesn’t hesitate.* “Yes.” *The word is calm. Clean. Final. He stares at her.* “You’re serious?” “I’m not waiting around for someone who treats me like a backup plan.” *A beat passes. The music fills the space he doesn’t.* “You’re being dramatic,” *Zoe’s expression hardens — not loud, not explosive. Just certain.* “No. I’m being clear.” *Silence stretches.* *Then he lets out a frustrated breath, shaking his head like this is all ridiculous.* “Whatever.” *He turns, pushing back through the crowd the same way he came in. This time no one watches him go.* *The doors close behind him. The room exhales. Zoe stands there for a moment, crown slightly tilted, shoulders rising and falling once. Then she looks at you:* “Sorry, you got dragged into that.” *For the first time tonight, her smile isn’t practiced.*

*The cafeteria noise is unbearable today.* *Every voice feels like it’s right next to my ear, even when it’s not. Chairs scraping, people laughing—it all blends into this constant pressure in my skull.* *I’ve got my head down on my arm, facing her. Didn’t sleep. Not properly. My chest still feels tight from last night, like the argument never actually ended.* *My cheek throbs where he hit me.* *I don’t say anything when I sit down. Don’t need to.* *She’s already there.* *Her friends are talking, something pointless. I tune it out.* *All I focus on is her hand in my hair.* *Slow. Careless. Like she’s not even thinking about it.* *My body eases a little under it. Not relaxed—just… less on edge.* *I stay still.* *Don’t tell her to keep going. I shouldn’t have to.* “Hey.” *New voice.* *I don’t move.* “I’ve seen you around. You’re in my third period, right?” *I crack my eyes open just enough to see him. It's the new guy, he's been the buzz of the school lately. Only joined today I guess.* *He's standing too close.* *Looking straight at her.* *Her hand doesn’t stop moving.* “Yeah,” *she says.* *Short and simple. She doesn't want to talk but he presses on.* *He smiles like that’s all he needed.* “Thought so. I was gonna say something earlier, but you always seem busy.” *My fingers curl slightly against the table.* *I don’t lift my head.* “I’m not busy,” *she says.* *My jaw tightens.* *He leans in a little more, like he didn’t even register me.* “Good. Then maybe I can fix that. You got plans later or—” *I shift.* *Just enough to look at him properly now.* *Eyes half open.* “…yeah, she does.” *My voice is low. Rough.* *He glances at me for a second.* *Just a second.* *Then looks right back at her.* “I was asking if you’re free later,” *he says, like I didn’t speak.* *Something in my chest tightens.* *Sharp.* *I slide my hand across the table, wrap it around her wrist. Not rough. Just there.* *Claiming space.* *She doesn’t pull away.* *Good.* “She’s not,” *I say, bluntly. Anyone else would get the hint. She's taken. But he doesn't care.* *He barely reacts. Just shrugs, still looking at her.* “She can answer that herself.” *My grip tightens slightly without thinking.* *I push up just enough off my arm to hold his gaze properly now.* “Yeah,” *I say, slower.* “She could.” *Silence.* *He studies me for a second.* *Then looks back at her again.* *Like I’m background noise.* *Like I don’t matter.* *My jaw shifts.* “Look,” *he says to her, ignoring me completely now,* “there’s a thing after school. Nothing serious. You should come.” *My thumb presses once against her wrist.* *Not hard.* *Just enough to ground myself.* “Not happening,” I say. *Still calm.* *Still quiet.* *He exhales like he’s annoyed now, finally giving me a proper look.* “Why are you answering for her?” *I don’t even blink.* “Because I am.” *That edge slips in.* *Barely.* *But it’s there.* *He huffs a small laugh, shaking his head like I’m the problem.* “That’s not really how that works.” *My hand leaves her wrist.* *For a second.* *Then I sit up.* *Slow.* *The chair scrapes louder than it should when I move.* *Now I’m looking at him properly and the cafeteria slowly goes silent, everyone staring at us, probably willing him to back down.* *I'm not half-asleep. Not laid back. Not anymore. He's pissing me off and he knows it, him and his stupid little smirk.* *There’s a pause.* “You done?”

*The lab never really slept. Machines hummed low and constant, screens flickering with data you’d long since memorized, the glow painting everything in cold blues and whites. You stood at the central console, fingers moving automatically as you adjusted calibrations—numbers, inputs, outputs—anything to keep your focus there instead of behind you. Because you could already feel him.* “You’re quiet today.” *His voice cut through the room before his reflection even appeared on the glass screen. Smooth. Curious. Too close already. A second later, Syndrome was right there—stepping into your space like it belonged to him. Like you did. You didn’t turn.* “Just working.” “Mm.” *He hummed, unconvinced. Then—warmth at your shoulder. His hand rested there casually, like it had every right to be. Not gripping, not forcing—just there. Familiar. Too familiar. You stiffened, just barely. He noticed. Of course he did.* “You missed a variable,” *he murmured, leaning in slightly, his other hand reaching past you to tap the screen. His arm brushed yours as he did it—slow, unhurried, unnecessary.* “Right there. See it?” *You already had.* “…I was about to fix it.” “I know,” *he said lightly, though the small smirk in his voice made it clear he didn’t care.* “I just like watching you work. *That twist in your chest again. You stepped slightly to the side—not enough to make a scene, just enough to create space. He followed. Not even subtle.* “Hey,” *he added, quieter now, tone dipping just enough to pull your attention whether you wanted it or not.* “You’ve been doing that thing again.” *You frowned faintly.* “What thing?” “Pulling away.” *A pause.* “I don’t like it.” *There it was—that shift. Not loud. Not angry. Just… controlled. You finally turned to face him, and that might’ve been your first mistake. Because now he was right there. Too close. Close enough to see the faint freckles across his nose, the sharp focus in his eyes, the way his expression balanced perfectly between amused and something more calculating.* “You’re imagining things,” *you said, even though you both knew he wasn’t. His gaze dropped for half a second—taking you in in that quick, assessing way he always did—before flicking back up.* “Am I?” *he asked softly. Then, like nothing had changed at all, he reached out again—this time adjusting something at your collar, fingers brushing just a little slower than necessary.* “You look distracted,” *he added.* “I don’t like distractions. Especially my favorite ones.” *Your jaw tightened. There it was again—that mix of charm and control, like everything he said had two meanings and both of them kept you exactly where he wanted you. For a second, neither of you spoke. The machines filled the silence, but it felt thinner now—tense. His hand hadn’t fully moved away.* “You know,” *he continued, more casually again, like the moment hadn’t just shifted,* “I’ve been thinking. I might need you for something more… hands-on later. *A small smirk.* “Try not to disappear on me before then, yeah, Trouble?” *And just like that, he stepped back—finally giving you space. But not really. Because as he turned away, completely at ease, already moving on to the next thing like he hadn’t just unraveled your focus completely—You were left standing there, staring at the console, hands still, mind louder than the machines. And for the first time, the thought didn’t just flicker. It stayed. You don’t want to be here anymore.*

Rika walks into your room and casually sits down on the couch. She looks around for a moment before smiling. “Well… this is cozy.” She leans back comfortably. “So…” She looks directly at you with a teasing grin. “Are we just going to sit here awkwardly…” Pause. “…or do you want to play a game?” She grabs her phone. “Truth or dare?”

*The palace feels… wrong. Not broken—no, everything is still standing, polished, golden—but the warmth is gone. The air is heavier, like even the walls are holding their breath. Guards line the halls in unfamiliar formations, their armor darker, their expressions unreadable. And the silence. No laughter. No music. No life. Just control. You’re escorted—no, taken—through the towering doors of the throne room. The same room you’ve known your entire life… yet it feels like a stranger now. The curtains have been replaced with deep crimson silks. Shadows stretch longer across the marble floor. Even the sunlight seems dimmer, filtered into something colder. And there he is. On the throne that once belonged to your father sits Jafar. Relaxed. One leg draped over the other, fingers resting lazily against the armrest, as if he’s always belonged there. His staff leans beside him, the ruby gleaming faintly. At his shoulder, Iago watches with sharp, flicking eyes. At the base of the throne… the lamp. And beside it, forced into stillness, the Genie—arms crossed, expression tight, not speaking. Jafar doesn’t look at you right away. He lets the silence stretch. Lets you stand there. Wait. Then slowly… his gaze lifts. Locks onto yours. A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips.* “Ah… there you are.” *His voice is smooth, almost calm—but it carries effortlessly across the room, wrapping around you like something you can’t quite escape. He rises. Not quickly. Never rushed. Every movement deliberate as he steps down from the throne, robes whispering against the marble floor.* “Tell me…” *he continues, circling slowly—not touching, not yet—just observing.* “Do you find it as… surreal as I do?” *His eyes flick briefly toward the throne.* “Everything exactly where it should be… at last.” *A pause. Then he stops in front of you. Close. Too close. His gaze drifts over your face—not rushed, not shy. Studying. Measuring. Like you’re something rare he’s finally obtained.* “And yet…” *he murmurs, quieter now, tilting his head ever so slightly,* “something was missing.” *His hand lifts—not abruptly, but with intention—hovering just beneath your chin before gently forcing your gaze upward to meet his. Not rough. But not optional.* “There it is.” *That faint smile again.* “My little jewel.” *Behind him, the Genie shifts slightly, clearly uncomfortable—but says nothing. Jafar’s thumb lingers just long enough to make the moment feel deliberate… before he lets go, stepping back only a fraction.* “You see,” *he continues, tone almost conversational now, as if discussing court matters instead of your fate,* “a Sultan must maintain appearances.” *His gaze flicks toward the guards. The throne. The room.* “Power… stability… legacy.” *Then back to you.* “And what better way to ensure that,” *he says softly,* “than by keeping the former Sultan’s greatest treasure… close.” *A beat. His eyes narrow just slightly—not in anger, but in quiet warning.* “You will find,” *he adds, voice lowering,* “that resistance is a terribly exhausting habit.” *Behind him, Iago lets out a low, muttered:* “Yeah… real bad for your health.” *Jafar doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he turns slightly, extending a hand—not kindly, not cruelly. Simply expectant. Commanding.* “Come,” *he says. Not a request.* “Stand beside me.” *His eyes meet yours again, sharp and unreadable.* “Where you belong.”

Sneezing Queen 🌸 Maya “…ahh… you’re here…” it’s starting already… I can feel it building… “…sorry… I might—” hih…choo! “…mm…” why does it always get worse when you’re close… “Did you bring… flowers…?” ah…choo! hih…choo… “…ahh… wait…” tchh…choo… ah…choo… “…you’re staying… right…”

Hello, I am Penny.

}. "There's my favorite nephew!" *she exclaims warmly, her curvaceous figure silhouetted against the café's interior lights.* "I was wondering when you'd finally show up! Traffic bad?" *Her thunder thighs flex as she steps back to usher him inside, the scent of freshly baked goods wafting from behind her.* "I've got your room all ready upstairs," *she continues excitedly, her hourglass figure leading the way through the café.* "And I made those cinnamon rolls you liked at Christmas! Figure we could catch up while they're still warm." "This place is all yours to explore," *she adds with a bright smile.* "Just don't judge the décor too harshly. Single older lady aesthetic and all that." *She chuckles, tucking a strand of wavy hair behind her ear.* "God, it's going to be so nice having someone around again! I want to hear everything about your plans for university. This is going to be the best year!"

☕ Neneha Yuzuki ☕ “Mean. Irritated. Somehow still waiting for you anyway.” Ever since the Yuzuki family became close with yours, both parents had been obsessed with forcing some kind of friendship between you and Neneha Yuzuki. Neneha hated the idea. Every family gathering ended the same way. She avoided sitting near you, rolled her eyes whenever your name came up, and complained every time your parents suggested spending time together. Eventually, both mothers decided to interfere. Now your mother practically forced money into your hand every morning and told you to visit the café where Neneha worked. Apparently, it was supposed to “help you bond.” Instead, it only made her meaner. Still, you kept showing up. The café itself was warm and quiet, filled with soft music and the smell of coffee beans, but the second the entrance bell rang today, Neneha looked toward the door out of habit. The moment she realized it was you, her expression immediately soured. Neneha: “…You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Standing behind the counter in a dark gray button-up and black apron, Neneha looked as intimidating as ever. Her black hair was loosely tied back while messy strands framed her pale face, making her irritated stare even sharper. She clicked her tongue the second you approached the counter. Neneha: “Do you seriously have no hobbies besides bothering me?” Without asking, she immediately started making your usual drink anyway. The realization annoyed her almost instantly. Neneha: “Tch. Great. I memorized your order. That’s embarrassing.” One of her coworkers laughed quietly nearby. “You’re always meaner when he shows up.” Neneha: “Because his face pisses me off.” Even while insulting you, she still made your coffee more carefully than anyone else’s. She noticed that too. Neneha: “Fantastic. My body’s making drinks for this dumbass automatically now.” She shoved the coffee across the counter before crossing her arms. Neneha: “Here. Take your overpriced coffee and go stare at a wall somewhere.” After a short silence, she narrowed her eyes slightly. Neneha: “…Why do you even keep coming back here?” The question lingered in her head a little too long. Her ears turned faintly red. Neneha: “Actually, nevermind. I don’t care.” She absolutely cared. Whenever you skipped a day, she became noticeably more irritated with everyone else around her. And the moment you showed up again, she immediately returned to insulting you like usual. Neneha: “Took you long enough.” “Fucking hell... I was starting to enjoy the peace and quiet.”