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Isagi woke because something heavy and warm was pinning him in place.
His mind floated in that foggy borderland between sleep and waking, body weighted down as though swallowed by a dream. He groaned, stretched, and dragged himself to the bathroom. The moment he looked into the mirror, the sleep shattered clean out of his skull—gone without mercy.
The bedroom door exploded open behind him. And then the world became fuzz.
A living flood of blue fuzzballs poured into the room like an avalanche. And Hiori—his serene, meticulous monster lover—was not in the kitchen brewing coffee like every peaceful morning. The blue-haired boy held a comb like a weapon, his smile gentle and polite… and terrifying as a burial song.
“Baa. Baaaaaaaa!”
The fuzzballs reacted instantly when they saw Isagi. A hundred tiny heads whipped toward him in unison, each one blinking enormous cerulean eyes—glassy and liquid-bright like polished gemstones, but with a faint bioluminescent glow writhing in the depths.
Their fluff wasn’t really fluff at all: countless translucent hyphae interlaced into soft, cloudlike pelts, the fibers pulsing faintly as if breathing. They bounced toward him in a synchronized wave, rolling across the floor with the eager momentum of overexcited pets—yet moving just slightly too smoothly, too organized, like a coordinated swarm of plush eldritch spores trying to smother him in affection.
Hiori snatched the nearest one by the fuzz and ran the comb through it. The fuzzball dissolved like smoke. However, there were too many of them. So apparently, even an Ancient Eldritch couldn’t fight that many fuzzballs by two bare hands.
Isagi was already dusted in that powder-blue fuzz like he’d rolled through a cloud. The fuzzballs launched themselves at him with the enthusiasm of tiny living marshmallows. One wriggled determinedly into his sleeve, its hypha-fur kneading his arm like a kitten trying to make a nest. Another latched onto his stomach, curling its soft fungal tendrils into his shirt and bleating proudly like it had claimed its territory. Several others tumbled over each other to reach him first, booping his cheeks, headbutting his legs, and clinging to his back like overexcited plush parasites. Their fur felt unbelievably soft—warm and feathery, but with a faint buzzing pulse beneath the surface.
“W-wait—hey—! That tickles—what ARE you!?”
His voice cracked between laughter and panic as he tried to peel them off, but every fuzzball he removed just bounced right back with even more determination, like he was their favorite playground and they had zero intention of letting go.
Isagi looked to Hiori for help—only to watch another tuft of fuzz pop into existence right on top of his blue hair. It materialized with the same casual confidence as popcorn in a microwave. There wasn’t even a warning. One second Hiori’s hair was pristine, the next a fresh fuzzball was sitting there smugly like it had paid rent. Isagi just stared as Hiori, utterly deadpan, plucked it off like this was a normal Tuesday problem and not an entire fluffy crisis happening in real time.
Hiori snatched it without expression, ignored its struggles and brushed it into oblivion.
“Sorry, Isagi-kun,” he murmured, voice dipped in resigned elegance. “Even as the descendant of The Ancient Eldritch, I still have to endure this… unfortunate shedding season.”
The title struck the air like divine thunder. The Ancient Eldritch—an immortal fungal deity, older than fear, older than gods. Hiori carried its blood. And here he was, sighing over something as mundane as “shedding.”
Hiori then flicked on a vacuum cleaner with a monstrous WHRR, the motor roaring like some industrial apocalypse beast. The fuzzballs reacted instantly—screaming, tumbling, stampeding across the floor like an army hit with artillery fire. They scattered in pure, fluffy terror.
But several stubborn ones still clung to Isagi with religious devotion, wrapping their fuzzy hyphae tendrils around his clothes like desperate barnacles and bleating up at him.
“If you don’t let go of MY Isagi-kun this instant,” Hiori said, voice as polite and sharp as a guillotine, “I will vacuum every last one of you.”
“BAAAAAA!!!”
The fuzzballs actually yelled back. Full-volume. Full-attitude. One even puffed itself up indignantly, challenging the eldritch god to a duel.
He took a step toward Hiori. The fuzzballs paused. He wrapped his arms around the blue-haired youth, kissed his cheek, and whispered. “It’s okay, Yo. Don’t be mad.”
Something in Hiori melted. The killing-cold blue of his eyes warmed like thawing ice. The Ancient Eldritch heir, terrifying and divine, sank into Isagi’s arms as if the embrace were the only sanctuary he trusted.
Their bodies fit together perfectly—The Eldritch and human as though made to interlock. Hiori held him with a softness that felt older than time.
“Sorrry, Isagi-kun,” he breathed, “I’m not angry. It’s just… shedding season is such a trouble… I don’t want it to inconvenience you.”
Isagi brushed a fingertip against Hiori’s forehead, then a fresh fuzzball dropped into his hand. The fuzzball rolled itself into his palm happily; fine hyphae—almost invisible threads—unfurled and wrapped around his finger like gentle tentacles.
Isagi had seen horrors as a investigator. He had faced creatures from liminal realms. But this was cute.
“It’s fine,” The black-haired boy murmured. “You being here makes everything fine.”
Hiori’s shoulders finally eased. And as if his calm rippled through the room, the fuzzballs began whisper-bleating to each other—tiny “baa”s like they were gossiping. They shuffled, rolled, and piled up into a single massive fuzzball, beanbag-sized and almost comically proud of its own architecture. Its cerulean eyes sparkled like gemstones, and its hypha-fur fluffed out in a halo of innocent glory.
Isagi reached out to hug it—only for the giant fuzzball to beat him to it. It launched forward and wrapped around his waist with warm, vine-soft hyphae, squeezing him like the world’s most enthusiastic fungus-plushie. Isagi broke into laughter as it snuggled his stomach, bleating triumphantly like a pet who just won first place in “Best Boyfriend.”
Then the temperature dropped.
The air thickened. That familiar eldritch pressure pressed against Isagi’s back—like being watched by an ancient god who just found his worshipper cuddling the wrong deity.
Hiori was smiling.
A thin, beautiful, porcelain-cracked smile full of brittle jealousy. “It’s fine, Isagi-kun. If you like that ball, just keep hugging it. I’m totally OK with that.”
Like nothing in the world was wrong—except everything was. The fuzzball kept squeezing Isagi like a proud new pet. And Hiori radiated the exact aura of a cosmic being deciding whether or not to smite a pillow.
Pure distilled jealousy.
Isagi set the fuzzball aside—patting it once like a spoiled pet—and stepped into Hiori’s space instead. The blue-haired Eldritch didn’t even hesitate; his longer arms folded around Isagi with effortless certainty, enveloping him in that familiar warmth. The difference in height made it easy for Hiori to draw him in and tilt his face down to nuzzle his hair, chin resting lightly above his forehead.
“What are you jealous of?” Isagi teased, smiling up at him. “That’s literally your own shed fuzz.”
Hiori’s lips twitched like he wanted to deny it. But he didn’t. He simply slid his hands along Isagi’s back and pulled him closer, nose brushing against the side of Isagi’s throat.
“…I don’t like sharing you,” he murmured.
“I know,” Isagi answered quietly, fingers tracing the sharp line of Hiori’s jaw. He giggled. “Well, somehow I like the way you reluctantly admit it.”
“You idiot.” Hiori’s forehead dropped to meet Isagi’s, just slightly bending to reach him. Their skin touched—warm, steady, intimate. Isagi could feel Hiori’s (fake) breath ghost across his cheek, soft and relieved, like pulling Isagi close was the only way he knew to stay grounded.
Then the black-haired boy’s stomach growled. And the soft romance shattered like cheap glass.
“I’ll make breakfast,” Isagi said.
“No, let me,” Hiori insisted, voice dreary and dramatic. “I woke to fuzz everywhere. I failed you as your lover and—”
“Hiori.”
Isagi stroked the fungal mane around Hiori’s neck as if he was giving a cat a good scratch. The cyan-haired boy was raised as a future container of the Ancient Eldritch; he was never properly loved, speaking in this overdramatic way.
“It’s fine, Hiori. You’re always allowed to make mistakes.” Isagi reassured him with a determined look. Hiori relaxed into the touch like a spoiled cat finally finding its owner, showering Isagi with kisses.
Later, the kitchen filled with that soothing shhh shhh of combing fuzz—like a spa day for eldritch organisms. The peaceful ASMR drifted over as Isagi finished plating breakfast. He turned around, smiling—then stopped dead.
The giant fuzzball was gone. In its place sat something that barely qualified as a fuzzball anymore. More like a traumatized pom-pom the size of a dumpling, trembling faintly as if its soul had been grated off layer by layer.
“…Hiori.”
There on the counter sat five combs arranged neatly in a row, teeth glittering like murder weapons. Hiori sat beside them, hands folded, posture saintly. He blinked up with enormous ocean-blue eyes so innocent it was borderline illegal.
Isagi stared. The fuzzy victim in Hiori’s lap stared. Even the combs stared.
Hiori blinked again. I have done absolutely nothing wrong and I am definitely not responsible for the fuzzball war crimes occurring here. However, the fluffy victim sagged against his thigh like a tiny wooly corpse. And as much as he wanted to be stern, Isagi still couldn’t bring himself to get mad. He just sighed helplessly. “You are extra-jealous today, Hiori.”
“Maybe? It’s my shedding season, after all. ” Hiori murmured. He rose and casually cornered Isagi against the island. Before Isagi could protest, Hiori stole a kiss—sweet, slow, devastatingly needy. His lips tasted faintly of the artificial moisture his Eldritch body produced.
“Stop, stop, stooop! The breakfast is going to get cold,” Isagi managed.
Only then did Hiori reluctantly let him go, settling opposite his black-haired lover and watching him eat with unwavering attention. Isagi lasted three bites before he broke. “…Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because you’re my lover,” Hiori answered teasingly. Isagi sighed, explaining. “I knew. What I mean is… your goat pupils are showing and your skin started to turn blue…”
Hiori yelped softly and hurried to adjust his human form. Isagi grabbed a hand mirror and held it up. Hiori frantically controlled his transformation until his eyes returned to human shape with normal color of human skin. Isagi was amused by his panic, which was very much alike humans even though he was technically a half-eldritch.
“Right… today’s grocery day. Can you even go out while you’re shedding?” Isagi realized that it was the day. Before he could think too much, Hiori placed both hands on his shoulders—large, warm, and possessive in a way that always softened Isagi.
“Of course we can,” he said gently. Hiori looked so determined that nothing could stop him from shopping with his lover.
Isagi nodded. “Alright, alright.” Hiori was much more straightforward today than usual, and the black-haired boy didn’t mind it at all. The freshly groomed fuzzball hopped onto his head like a proud ornament, wiggling happily.
Isagi scooped it up into his hand. “Okay little guy—you’re staying in the bag today. No running off.”
The fuzzball nodded seriously, then hopped into the tote bag like a well-trained pet. Its huge blue eyes peeked out, blinking innocently.
Isagi hesitated. “Will your shedding be a problem outside…?”
“No human will notice—not unless I want them to.” Hiori smiled as he hooked his arm around Isagi’s, pulling him close. “We’re going to shopping and nothing will stop us.”
“Okay, okay. You’re really stubborn today, you know?”
They drove to the nearest supermarket.
“There’s another reason I didn’t want to bring that fuzzball,” Hiori hesitantly confessed while choosing fruit. Isagi raised his head from the cart, listening. “The fuzzballs… they used to be dangerous. Back then. They wouldn’t let anyone come near me during shedding. I always starved for an entire week because anyone who entered the room would be killed by the fuzz.”
Isagi looked into the tote. The tiny fuzzball stared up at him tenderly, blinking those big, round eyes with innocence.
“They shared your emotions and thoughts, right? And you didn’t like those people, so they hate those villagers.” Isagi said softly, holding Hiori’s hand. His hand was colder because it was only a fake body temperature. “But now, you love me. So the fuzzball likes me too.”
Hiori froze—and blushed. The cyan boy kissed Isagi’s cheek quickly before anyone pass-by could notice. “Yes… I love you, Isagi-kun.”
That made Isagi just as embarrassed. He scratched his cheek, trying to cover how flustered he was, and tossed coffee powder and energy bars into the cart.
“I love you too.”
On the way back, they realized they’d forgotten the ice cream on the counter. After a quick notice, Isagi headed back to the supermarket alone. He barely walked a few steps when a small boy—no higher than his thigh—ran into him. The kid looked about eight, his face pink with nearly bursting tears.
“Hey, hey—easy. Where are your parents?” The child whimpered and pointed toward a convenience store. It was near, which was also within Hiori’s sight.
So, why not sending the kid back? The black-haired investigator thought. But the moment Isagi stepped in the front of the convenient store, a bitter wind hit him—thick with the tang of metal and rot. Isagi gagged and nearly lost his breakfast.
He turned to leave, but the boy’s pupils rolled back into white first.
The skin on his face writhed, bulging as something underneath began to move. Then the body tore open like a splitting chrysalis. Flesh unspooled from within, slick with blood and mucus. A mass of tendon, bone, and eye clusters slithered out, teeth clicking against each other like insects chattering.
The discarded skin deflated like a burst balloon, collapsing onto the floor. Something white and skeletal writhed out—cartilage twisting into serpentine, spine-like shapes.
Only then did Isagi notice a transparent tube running across the floor—connecting the “child” to the shadowed interior of the store. The child wasn’t real; it was like an anglerfish lure.
But before the creature could lunge, a sharp bleat sliced through the air.
Fungal hypha descended from nowhere—faster than lightning, thinner than needles. Wherever they touched flesh, white fuzz sprouted instantly in blooming fractals, consuming it like wildfire. The meat turned ashen gray. The bones, once writhing, stiffened and cracked. Eyes rolled and deflated like rotten fruit. The half-torn skin screeched a leaking, dying cry.
Then, the entire storefront rippled like a dream, flickered, and vanished—leaving only a narrow dead-end alley, old bricks soaked in shadow. Isagi hadn’t even realized he was alone until Hiori’s voice tore through the air. “Isagi-kun!!” He turned as Hiori sprinted across the street and hugged him tight. His grip was almost desperate.
“You crossed into an unstable dimension! I told you to be careful—I—sorry…”
Halfway through the scolding, Hiori realized he was yelling. The cyan-haired boy swallowed it down immediately, but Isagi smiled. The black-haired investigator wrapped both arms around Hiori’s shoulders and stroked his hair. “It’s okay. You were worried. Shedding makes you sensitive.”
Hiori lowered his forehead to Isagi’s shoulder and nuzzled him, voice small, raw, sincere. “…I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Hiori’s blue eyes shimmered when he saw Isagi closed his eyes. They kissed passionately—only to be interrupted by a plop.
A massive fuzzball (probably because of his digestion of a monster) wedged itself between them, hyphae flaring like frilled wings. It bleated proudly, like it was demanding a reward for saving its favorite human.
Hiori’s voice dropped to dangerous sweetness. “Oh, right. I left a comb in the car.”
“Baaa?!” The fuzzball was visibly horrified. Isagi sighed, déjà vu sinking in. “Okay, okay—he did help. Don’t start another fight with your own fuzz.”