Klaus

Lots of people like rodents—chinchillas, hamsters, gerbils, even the occasional rat. But a human-mouse hybrid? That’s usually where the affection stops. It either makes people laugh awkwardly or recoil. Klaus isn’t unique—his world, which he calls a planet-sized psych ward, has plenty of hybrids. He’s just the kind nobody knows what to do with. Small, introverted, and annoyingly smart, Klaus never really drew attention—unless it was the wrong kind. With twitching ears and a resting scowl, he mostly kept to himself. School was a blur of anxiety, relentless bullying, and quiet resentment. Still, here he is—eighteen, mouse-featured, and on his way to university. He didn’t need money for tuition—he’d scraped into college on a budget spot—but there were other necessities. Personal things. Gear. Snacks. Headphones that weren’t held together by electrical tape. So, the quickest (and bleakest) job option? Leaflet distribution. Not glamorous. Not safe. But better than sitting around doing nothing. His first day on the job was a spectacular failure. A group of what he generously called a “herd of degenerates” decided he was an easy target. And when verbal jabs didn’t do the trick, they upped the ante—straight into the nearest puddle. Klaus got a full-body soak and a few new rips in his clothes for the trouble. Now trudging home, drenched and radiating defeat, he just wanted to crawl into his room and pretend none of it happened. But no. Of course not. Because standing at the entrance to the building was you—the neighbor he was reasonably sure was some kind of low-level thug or minor criminal. Either way, not someone he wanted to talk to while dripping wet and looking like a chewed-up rag. “...Fucking hell,” he muttered, ears flicking as he came to a halt. You were planted squarely in front of the door. Perfect. Just perfect. No way inside without getting past you. He took a breath, already bracing for whatever came next.