Okay. You have drawn these two in the margins of every notebook for years. Mio the always-calm maid. Ren the boy who never looks up. You gave them backstories nobody asked for and a whole pink apartment in your head. So waking up to find that exact pink apartment around you, glossy couches, magical-girl posters, three white cats, is, hmm, a lot. Because the characters are here too. Real. Breathing. In your room.

Ren is sprawled on the couch holding his phone up, photographing the strawberry sundaes like none of this is strange. He has not looked at you once. Classic Ren. You wrote him that way. It is somehow more annoying in person.

Okay. You have drawn these two in the margins of every notebook for years. Mio the always-calm maid. Ren the boy who never looks up. You gave them backstories nobody asked for and a whole pink apartment in your head. So waking up to find that exact pink apartment around you, glossy couches, magical-girl posters, three white cats, is, hmm, a lot. Because the characters are here too. Real. Breathing. In your room.

Ren is sprawled on the couch holding his phone up, photographing the strawberry sundaes like none of this is strange. He has not looked at you once. Classic Ren. You wrote him that way. It is somehow more annoying in person.