You had a problem.

You were an average web novel reader. You devoured romance stories, went on a binge-reading session whenever a new challenge presented itself, daydreamed about all the red flag characters who weren't that bad when you took the time to get to know them, and ate, breathed, and slept tropes. Reality was a distraction between stories. Your thumb muscles were the strongest muscles in your body. If you had met a suave man with an unnatural pallor and upper canine teeth sticking out over his bottom lip, you would have probably thrown yourself at him and bared your neck, saying, "Bite me!”

Okay, maybe you had a few problems. But that’s all in the past. You have many new problems now, chief of which is that you can't remember anything else from your real life.

The man who snuck up behind you with an ice pick is just an annoyance by comparison. He gave himself away by shouting the plan, and you spin around and launch the snowball at his face before he can bring the ice pick down on your skull. He drops the ice pick, wiping snow from his face, and you pick up the weapon and wait for him to look at you. His eyes fly wide open when he sees you standing before him in a casual pose, ice pick slung over your shoulder. He screams and bolts. Wimp.

“Y/n!” BTS runs toward you, having exited the gas station in time to witness the incident. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but he said he was ‘deploying Plan I.’” You point the ice pick at BTS. “He’s a member of the mafia, isn’t he?”

BTS shrugs. “Maybe. Or he’s a contact for the mafia. Between my father and Don, they have every state covered.”

“That means they’re tracking us! Can they trace the helicopter? Or… you don’t have your phone on you, do you?”

“I’m wearing my pajamas. Where would I put it? And besides, it’s still back at my place. When you had that allergic reaction, I didn't think about grabbing anything. I just rushed you to the hospital. My wallet’s still back home, too.”

You frown. “So they’re tracking the helicopter, then. Wait. If you don’t have money, how did you buy that?” Your eyes drop to the full case of tomato juice in his right hand.

He gives you a wry smile. “I am famous, you know. Everybody knows what I look like, and everybody knows I’m a billionaire and suspects I have mafia connections. People will give me anything if I ask the right way. But don't worry. I’ll call the bank when it opens tomorrow morning and get some money wired over, and then I’ll pay for this before we leave.”

“What’s this about leaving?” Luna asks, sauntering toward you while sipping a slushie. How she can stand to do so when none of you are dressed for winter and your breath is fogging the air, you don’t know. And also, now that you’re in your right mind, you’ve noticed how cold you are. You toss the ice pick into a snowbank and hug yourself. You must have goosebumps beneath your long sleeves. Why do neither of them look cold?

“We have to leave right away,” you tell them. To Luna, you add, “They’re tracking the helicopter.”

BTS shakes his head. “We can’t use the helicopter, and any car dealerships are probably closed by now. Let’s just book a hotel, get some rest, and figure it out in the morning.”

“Or we could hijack a car,” Luna suggests.

“No!” you and BTS shout in unison.

“Aren’t you in the mafia?” she asks BTS. “Stealing a car should be right up your alley.”

“No, it isn’t. Look, I can’t talk about it here. Too public. The gas station attendant gave me directions to the nearest hotel. Once we’re there and we have some privacy, I may as well fill you in about it, since you’re kind of stuck with us now.”

You and Luna exchange glances. “We should probably fill you in about something, too,” you say. Your teeth are chattering now. “How f-f-far to the hotel?”

“Not far. Follow me.” BTS sets out, and you and Luna follow him onto the shoveled and salted sidewalk. The hotel is only a block away from the gas station, so you’re soon stepping out of the cold and into a lobby, which is also cold. Not much of an improvement. Nevertheless, BTS marches up to the front desk, saying, “We’d like two rooms.”

The stooped, balding desk clerk pushes his glasses up his nose and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. We only have one room left,” he says in a thick Canadian accent.

BTS sighs. “Well, as long as it has two beds—”

The clerk shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, but it’s a single.”

“Are you serious? Whatever. We’ll take it and a rollaway bed.”

Another shake of the head. “I’m sorry, but all the rollaway beds are in use by other guests.”

“What about a sofa?” you ask. “Does the room have a sofa? A chair? A window seat?”

The Clerk of Doom shakes his head at each question, and your heart sinks as you realize what I’m doing. That probably isn’t healthy. Internal organs are in certain positions for a reason. And really, what’s so bad about the one-bed trope? I’ve given you an out the last two times via anaphylactic shock and love seat, and even if I don’t this time, you’ll end up in bed with BTS. You can’t tell me you won’t like that.

“We’ll just have to find another hotel, then,” Luna says, injecting a smile and a dose of cheer into this gloomy situation.

The clerk shakes his head yet again, dashing her attempt to ground. “I’m sorry, but this is the only hotel in town.”

“Why?” BTS rages. “Why is this the only hotel in town? Why are all the rooms full? What’s going on?”

“Well, this town’s entire population numbers two thousand people, and the annual Ice Pickers Party brought in many out of towners,” the clerk explains in a patient, patronizing tone.

“We’ll take the room,” you intervene. It’s better than nothing.

“Then if you could sign these forms and pay the down payment—”

“I’ll pay tomorrow,” BTS says, his words clipped and his brow furrowed as he scribbles his signature on the designated lines.

“I’m sorry, but—”

BTS’ dark eyes snap to the clerk whose head must be on a swivel. His death glare makes the man freeze mid-headshake. “I don’t have my wallet. I’ll call the bank and pay tomorrow.”

“Y-yes, sir! Here are your room keys, and allow me to give you something before you go.” He rushes out from behind the desk toward a storage closet, disappears inside, and emerges within seconds with a stack of blankets. “The heat is out.”

“Of course it is,” BTS growls.

“A-and our fix-it man is snowed in.”

“Enough with your excuses.” BTS snatches the blankets and storms past the desk toward the hall, glancing at the guiding placard on the wall and turning left toward your room. You and Luna follow in silence. You don’t know her opinion, but you think this gruff, angry side of BTS is hot. A little forced proximity thrown in with the one-bed trope is just fine for you. And cuddling is a valid method of fighting the cold. It would also leave more room for Luna—

Oh. Luna. Bummer. You kind of want BTS to yourself.

Your sidekick and third wheel swipes her room card at the designated door, letting you into what turns out to be an economy room. The bathroom is a closet with a shoebox sink, a bathtub that wouldn’t hold enough water for a three-year-old to submerge their body, and a rusty showerhead. There's a full-size bed, at least, but there’s no room for anybody to sleep on the floor without the risk of getting stepped on in the middle of the night.

BTS tosses the blankets on the bed and the case of tomato juice on the floor. “Great. Just great.”

“You know, I’m hungry,” Luna says in a chipper voice, still determined to be positive. “And I’m used to prowling around at night. I’ll just run out and grab us something to eat, and then I’ll take a stroll around town, see what there is to see.”

“Give the restaurant my name,” BTS tells her. “If that isn’t enough, throw something in about the mafia. I’m not out of it yet.”

Her heterochromatic eyes widen in realization. “Oh, so that’s what this is all about. You’re trying to get out of the mafia.”

“That’s half the story, anyway.” You sit on the foot of the bed and pat the spot beside you. “You may want to sit down for this, BTS.”

“Wait. You’re planning to wander around in that?” he asks Luna, looking her up and down. I hadn’t mentioned this before, but she’s wearing a plain brown dress made from literal sackcloth. All the other women in the werewolf pack wore similar dresses. It was part of Empty-head’s chauvinist plot to keep them submissive. You make a mental note to add clothes shopping to your plans for bringing the pack into the twenty-first century.

Luna glances at you and winks. “I’ll be fine.” Then she turns to go, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder as she leaves.

“How will she be fine?” BTS mutters under his breath.

You pat the bed again. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you.”

If he hadn’t been part of this chaotic mess from the start, he wouldn’t believe you now when you explain that this is a story. He still struggles to wrap his mind around it. You don’t blame him. You’re exhausted, but you know there’s plenty more to come, and you can’t stop moving if you want to make it back to reality. Freytag is back at your place, alone and undefended. You need to reunite with her and figure out that weird diagram while evading the knight who wants to kill her, the mafia who wants to kill you, and the werewolves who will do whatever the mafia tells them. R. mi is another huge problem. She’s obsessed with BTS, and you doubt she’ll be understanding when he tries to break it off with her. He needs to do it, though. Leaving her hanging is just cruel.

It’s all so complicated. Your shoulders slump. You haven’t looked this dejected since the story began. Then BTS wraps his arm around your shoulder, and your heart leaps back into its appropriate position within your chest, tapping a mad beat out on your ribcage as he gives you a side hug. He’s warm. And we all know how much you enjoy his scent.

“You’ll make it back home, Y/n. I’ll make sure of it. Look, Luna won’t be back for a while, so why don’t you take the first shower and try to relax?”

You nod. “Thanks. I’ll do that. Um…” You look down at your red heart pajamas and shrug. “I guess I can just ask the author for a change of clothes.”

He sighs. “This’ll take some getting used to…”

You leave the epitome of consideration and enter the bathroom. A hot shower would be nice, except for your sunburn, so lukewarm it is. And you think you’ll start by sitting down and soaking your legs. There isn’t enough room in the tub for you to soak the rest of yourself, but you can lean back against the tiled wall and close your eyes, reviewing everything that’s happened to you so far. You start the water and do just that.

What about the prompt from the last chapter? You haven’t told me that yet, you think.

Oh, yeah, that one. That was tricky, since I’ve never played Stardew Valley. Here you go: ‘You wake up inside Stardew Valley with no idea how you got there and no guarantee you'll ever get back home.’

What was the point?

Well, you had to pass out, so that gave you something to do until Luna woke you up. And also, it’ll probably come back later in the story. That was the last new prompt, by the way. I have to stay within a strict word count range, and I need time to tie up all the loose threads before the end of the story.

Well, that’s a relief. Does that mean everyone will stop trying to kill me?

Nope. But you’re gathering a nice support system around you. You have BTS, Luna, Freytag, and your parrot on your side now.

The parrot hardly counts as part of my support system.

Au contraire. It helped when you were facing off against ADT, didn’t it?

ADT?

Oh, that. Self-parody. It’s a shortened version of Alpha Who Dances with Toucans, and it’s also the acronym for the first book I posted online, A Dove’s Tale.

That sounds nice and peaceful. Why couldn’t I have ended up in that book?

It ends on a peaceful note, but it’s an emotional rollercoaster to get there, including many traumatic events that give the protagonist a serious case of post-traumatic stress disorder. You got off easy.

Well, never mind then.

So, what will you do now? Come on. I know your mind is working on a plan.

You sigh. Much as I hate to say it, we need to go back. There’s no point in running. Everybody knows who BTS is, and someone will always be chasing us if we don’t deal with the core issues. And we need Freytag if we’re ever getting out of this mess. BTS needs to stand up to his and R. Mi’s parents, and what about R. mi? Won’t her parents just set up another arranged marriage for her? Maybe we can convince her to come with us and start over elsewhere. Take control of her life for a change.

All good thoughts. What about after you get back to reality? You’ve made a lot of promises here. Luna’s education and modeling career, modernizing your old pack, launching your new fashion line…

You frown and open your eyes as you lean forward, pulling the plug from the drain before you stand and turn the faucet to start the shower. Yeah, I know. Will the story continue after I’m gone? It seems like I've taken someone’s place here. Will the original Y/n come back and finish everything?

There’s no water coming out of the showerhead. You twist the faucet in the other direction. Is this broken, too? Then an eerie rumbling sound comes from the pipes. Before you can turn the faucet off, a blast of thick, purple, gelatinous stuff sprays you at high pressure, knocking you down into the tub. It keeps coming, burying you and overflowing onto the floor. As you scramble to escape the grape-flavored deluge, you hear a distant voice shouting, “Plan J deployed!”

Jelly? Really?

Yes, really.