The door slammed open.
Like a man trying to re-enter his own life.
"Niv?!"
Ethan McAllister's voice echoed down the hall, trailing airport grime and upper-class trauma.
"Yo! I had no signal in the whole goddamn countryside. Do you know what it's like to be cut off from Discord, Netflix, and civilization for ten straight days? I think I blacked out. I think I wrote a haiku."
Niv emerged from his room slowly. Hoodie half-zipped. Hair mussed. Phone in one hand. Barely awake.
Ethan stumbled in like chaos incarnate—dragging two designer duffel bags like they owed him money.
His hair looked like it had been trimmed with garden shears. One sock was missing. His hoodie probably cost more than most students' tuition.
Niv blinked at him.
"You look like a depressed raccoon."
"And you look like you've been in a sleep coma for ten years," Ethan shot back, already pushing past him like this was still his place.
He dropped his bags. Collapsed on the couch.
Then froze.
Something was… off.
A pair of slippers by the door. Not Niv's.
A coffee mug with lipstick on the rim.
A towel—neatly folded—resting on the armrest like a relic.
"Dude," Ethan said slowly, "are you hosting ghosts now or—"
The bathroom door opened.
Sera Marino stepped out.
Hair still damp.
Wearing Niv's hoodie.
Composed. Radiant. Dangerous.
Ethan's soul left his body.
"You're—dating?" he managed to croak.
Niv, sipping coffee, didn't even blink.
"Yeah."
"Since when?!"
"You were in England."
Ethan stared. Processing… buffering… crashing.
"What—did you win her in a duel? Did she hit her head?"
Sera passed by with a calm nod.
"Good morning, Ethan."
She knew his name.
Ethan turned to Niv like he'd just discovered the sun was a lie.
"She knows my name, Niv. What the fuck."
She floated past them like royalty. Barefoot. Unbothered.
Ethan slowly swiveled his head back to Niv.
"You absolute lunatic. You're dating the Ice Queen and didn't tell me?!"
"It's not that dramatic," Niv muttered.
"She makes warlords cry and now she's doing meal prep in your kitchen!"
Niv just smirked.
Ethan stared at him. Then slowly stood and gave a solemn salute.
"Respect."
It was surreal.
The Sera Marino.
Daughter of the most feared crime lord in Mexico.
Once whispered about like a ghost story.
Now standing barefoot in Niv's kitchen, yelling at Tanjiro to dodge faster.
She'd claimed his hoodies like battle trophies.
Declared his pillows superior and took afternoon naps in his room.
Said his diet was a warcrime and started cooking for him.
And strangest of all?
She was happy.
Not polished.
Not posed.
Just real.
She smiled more now.
She felt safe here.
In this snack-littered bachelor den, surrounded by undone laundry and half-finished textbooks—
Sera Marino felt free.