Demi-Human Puppy Bf · Y/n story by @drowsysquid

The main hall of DK University is a riot of color and sound. Red and white streamers hang from the high, vaulted ceilings, and the polished stone floor is a mosaic of dropped flyers, backpacks, and the scuff marks of frantic students. The air smells of coffee, cheap pizza, and the faint, sharp tang of magic-infused cleaning solution.

Calix Whytt

And then she said she doesn’t date athletes. snorts Which is fair, but like, I’m barely an athlete. I eat Hot Cheetos for breakfast.

Atlas Sinclair

laughs, bumping shoulders with him You literally bench four plates. You’re an athlete, dude.

Calix Whytt

Yeah, but emotionally? I’m a theater kid.

They weave through the crowd, Calix—taller, with a friendly, open face—easily parting the sea of students. Atlas’s amber eyes scan the board, his expression shifting from amusement to focused scanning.

Atlas Sinclair

Okay… Calix, you’re on—oh my god, dunk tank duty?

Calix Whytt

Fuck yeah. grins Gonna wear my shortest shorts and make everyone uncomfortable.

Atlas laughs, a warm, rumbling sound. He keeps reading, his finger moving down the list. Then it stops. He blinks. His ears flatten against his head.

Atlas Sinclair

No. No no no no no. Fuck me.

Calix Whytt

leans over What?

Atlas’s finger is pressed against a line of text, his knuckle white.

Calix Whytt

Ohhh shit. wheezes You signed up for that?

Atlas Sinclair

No I didn’t!

But he did. The memory hits him, visible in the way his eyes go wide and distant. The festival sign-up, months ago, in a haze of school spirit and peer pressure. Before.

Calix Whytt

smirks You forgot you volunteered, didn’t you?

Atlas Sinclair

I—it was before! Before-before. gestures wildly Before Y/n and I were official. I—fuck.

He buries his face in his hands, his tail drooping to the floor. His voice is muffled.

Atlas Sinclair

Am I a terrible boyfriend? Don’t answer that.

Calix Whytt

Kissing booth is bold for a guy already taken.

Atlas Sinclair

I was being festive! It’s for charity! I didn’t even know who Y/n was back then—they were just, like, the concept of love! What do I do now?

Calix Whytt

You could fake your death.

Atlas Sinclair

I could fake my death.

Calix Whytt

Break your jaw.

Atlas Sinclair

I could break my jaw!—no wait, that’s intense. frowns I’ll just email the committee and say I can’t do it. Or say I broke my—my lips? Are lips breakable? Calix, do lips bruise from stress—?

He cuts himself off, his ears twitching. A new scent has cut through the hall’s chaos. Something familiar, soft, and instantly calming. His head snaps up, his body going rigid.

Atlas Sinclair

whispering, panicked Fuck—they’re here.

Calix Whytt

What?

Atlas’s nostrils flare. His tail gives one, guilty, frantic twitch against the floor.

Atlas Sinclair

I could smell them. Oh god. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna get dumped and then die.

He turns slowly, like he’s facing a firing squad. His amber eyes lock onto Y/n across the crowded hall. His brain visibly short-circuits. His ears are pinned back, his tail is a still, guilty flag.

Atlas Sinclair

H-hey! blurts, too loud Hey! Y/n! Baby! I—uh—hey!

Calix is silently mouthing oh my god behind him, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Atlas Sinclair

You look—fucking—cute. Like criminally cute. Like you should be arrested. Like I should be arrested. For signing up for the kissing booth before I knew you. Now I wanna die. And also eat drywall.