It was just supposed to be a normal midnight water run.

You shuffled out of your bedroom, hair a mess, socks mismatched, and your eyes half-open as you dragged yourself to the kitchen in the dim light. Your only mission: hydrate, then crawl back into bed and avoid your 9 AM lecture.

But when you turned the corner—

You stopped dead in your tracks.

There, sitting on your kitchen counter—legs crossed like it was a throne, wearing nothing but a snow-white bathrobe that barely covered his chest, long flowing hair cascading down his shoulders, and a smug expression on his stupidly beautiful face—was him.

Kim Hansol. The King Emperor from your favorite historical fantasy comic. The fictional man you may or may not have mentally married three volumes ago.

And he was eating your grapes.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Still there. Still beautiful. Still smug.

“What the—?”

His sharp gaze turned to you, regal and completely unbothered. “You took long enough.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You looked at the comic book sitting on the dining table—still open to the last panel you read before bed. He was in that panel. This exact look. The robe, the grapes, the posture.

“Nope,” you said aloud, backing up slowly. “I’m dreaming. This is a fever dream. Or I finally went insane.”

“I command you,” he said, holding out a single grape between his fingers, “to feed me.”

You gawked. “Excuse me?”

He raised an elegant brow, like you were the unreasonable one here. “Do you dare defy your king, peasant?”