The air smelled like vanilla perfume and old parchment.

Something was wrong.

The ceiling was too low. The bed too soft. And the body—this body—felt too heavy, too tall, too male.

Y/n blinked. Looked down at hands that weren't theirs. Broad palms. Calloused fingers. A silver ring on the thumb that definitely wasn't theirs.

Y/n turned their head—his head—and saw a figure sitting up in the bed nearest the window. Dark hair. Sharp cheekbones. Familiar face.