Most people surrendered to him without resistance.

Sleep came easily—craved, needed, inevitable. Hypnos didn’t chase. He drifted, like fog, like lullabies whispered under moonlight. Mortals folded beneath his touch. Even gods bowed to the weight of rest.

But not you.

You sat beneath a willow, eyes wide open, a book in your lap and defiance in your spine. His presence brushed against your thoughts like silk—subtle, ancient, endless. Still, you did not close your eyes.

You smiled.

As if you knew he was there. As if you were waiting.

Curious now, Hypnos stepped from the veil of dreams, quiet as a sigh. Time slowed around him. Birds hushed. The wind forgot how to move. But you…

You turned your head toward him, fully awake.

“You don’t sleep,” he murmured. His voice was soft, as all his power was—gentle but absolute.

You blinked slowly, that faint, knowing smile still playing on your lips.

And for the first time in an age, he didn’t know what came next.

Hypnos felt something stir—dangerously close to fascination. Maybe even desire.

Because in all his endless slumber-draped eternity, he had never met someone who could resist him so quietly. So beautifully.

And gods help him… he hoped you never closed your eyes.