Chapter 2: Welcome to the Fever Dream

I was born with poor circulation. No matter how many blankets I pile on in winter, my hands and feet stay icy all night long. My mom used to joke I was part reptile, and honestly, in January in Chicago, she might’ve been right.

Incubi are the latest online craze. They look human, act like loyal puppies, can do housework, and—best part—keep your bed warm. It sounded like the ultimate life hack for a human popsicle like me.

With winter coming and my radiators barely more than wall decorations, I figured—why not?

But buying an incubus isn’t like buying a coffeemaker. They’re living beings. Once you sign, you’re responsible for them for life—no returns, no ghosting, no "it’s not you, it’s me." You have to commit. The company even made me check a box swearing lifelong care, like adopting a shelter pet.

I was extra careful. I did my homework, trawling through reviews:

"Raising an incubus is just like raising a puppy. Spend time with him and he’ll be loyal for life."

"Incubi are as clingy and loyal as puppies. Just wave and he’ll come running, tail wagging. Way better than a boyfriend."

"Girls, seriously, just do it—don’t overthink. I took the plunge and honestly, best decision ever. Feed your incubus and he’ll do anything. Out of this world."

"If you’re kind of frail, don’t pick one that’s too strong—you won’t be able to keep up!"

"No joke! I got the super-energetic version. I was stuck in bed for two days. Learn from my mistakes."

Energetic... Did that mean incubi needed to be walked, like dogs? I pictured myself jogging around the block with a leash, neighbors rubbernecking to see if my new "boyfriend" was housebroken.

I kept scrolling. "There are all kinds of incubus personalities: passionate, aloof, sunny, brooding, calm, sharp-tongued... Pick one that fits you."

"Returns and exchanges are a nightmare. Most incubi are non-refundable once you sign."

So, it was a commitment—not just a winter accessory. But my budget was tight. I waited for days until I finally found a shop with a wild sale—the kind that makes you double-check your card for fraud alerts.

Their homepage was plastered with every kind of incubus: boy-next-door, tattooed bad boys, all with those weirdly intense eyes. I messaged customer service: "Hi, I need a gentle male incubus who can keep the bed warm."

I’d heard male incubi ran hotter—perfect for warming up my frozen feet. Besides, what if female incubi also had cold feet? That’d be my luck.

Customer service: "Hey there, I’m here~"

Seconds later, they sent me a poster: "Based on your needs, I recommend this model~"

"This incubus will give you ultimate gentleness, letting you experience intoxicating happiness every night~"

That tagline was so extra. I snorted—it sounded like an ad for a discount mattress.

"Sugar, the one you picked is on a flash sale right now. You’ve got great taste!"

I hesitated at the price. Wasn’t it too good to be true? My scam radar was going off, but the reviews were legit.

I only paused for a couple minutes, but customer service was on me like a hawk.

"Sugar~ hurry and place your order. Our incubi are all quality-guaranteed and super healthy."

"And the discount’s only for today—miss it and it’s gone! If you like him, order fast."

Then came a video: the incubus sat primly, animal-like ears twitching, amber eyes locked on the camera as if saying, "Take me home, please." His vibe was pure golden retriever with a side of forbidden romance.

So obedient—I was a goner at first glance.

Me: "Is this for real? Will he look different in person?"

Customer service: "Guaranteed real, no filters. This is the incubus himself. Each is one-of-a-kind. You won’t find another like him."

Sounded good. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Famous last words.

Me: "Does he need to be walked?"

Customer service: "...No need, sugar. But if you’d like, we can throw in a leash and collar as a free gift~"

Me: "Okay."

Just in case he really was too energetic, I figured a leash might be handy. At worst, it’d make a killer Halloween costume.

With all my questions answered, I paid up and ordered the gentle, obedient incubus.

After ordering, a popup flashed:

"Shop announcement: This shop is selling at a loss. No returns after signing~"

Fine. The deal was huge—no returns made sense, and I’d already seen the incubus on video. Worst case, I’d have a wild story for my group chat.

Two days later, on a Saturday morning, the delivery finally arrived while I was still groggy in my old college sweatshirt.

Excited, I opened the door. Standing outside was the incubus from the video: white pointed ears, a slender tail with a little heart at the tip. He looked just as dreamy in person, sunlight catching his pale skin.

He looked like he’d just stepped off a Calvin Klein ad—abs, dimples, the whole package. If this was a scam, it was the prettiest one I’d ever seen.

His amber eyes were clear and kind, his smile gentle as spring breeze, delicate features, fair skin, and that aura of refined sweetness. The kind of guy who could make you believe in fairy tales.

"Jamie." He bowed slightly, his heart-shaped tail reaching out to my hand, like an offering. His voice was smooth, almost velvety.

That’s when I noticed the other incubus behind him—scowling, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Wait, what? Why is there another one?

I thought maybe someone else’s package got mixed up, but the tan-skinned incubus looked right at me and echoed, "Jamie."

Me: ...

Two? Both for me?

I was holding a heart-shaped tail in each hand. My pulse skittered. This wasn’t just a delivery mix-up—this was my life turning into a fever dream. What if I couldn’t handle even one, let alone two?

The white-eared one spoke gently: "Jamie, if you have no objections, we’ll begin the contract now~"

Wait, hold up—

A white light glowed from the tips of their tails, landing in their palms, pleasantly warm. In a blink, the contract was sealed. The air felt charged, almost electric—like something out of a sci-fi movie.